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Title: Exploration of the Valley of the Amazon, Part II (of 2)
Author: Gibbon, Lardner
Language: English
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[Illustration: LLAMAS TRAVERSING THE ANDES LADEN WITH SILVER.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
33d CONGRESS,} HO. OF REPS. {EXECUTIVE,
1st Session.} { No. 53.
EXPLORATION
OF THE
VALLEY OF THE AMAZON,
MADE UNDER DIRECTION OF
THE NAVY DEPARTMENT,
BY
WM. LEWIS HERNDON AND LARDNER GIBBON,
LIEUTENANTS UNITED STATES NAVY.
PART II.
BY LT. LARDNER GIBBON.
WASHINGTON:
A. O. P. NICHOLSON, PUBLIC PRINTER.
1854.
MESSAGE FROM THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES,
TRANSMITTING
THE SECOND PART OF LIEUTENANT HERNDON'S REPORT OF THE EXPLORATION
OF THE VALLEY OF THE AMAZON.
JANUARY 6, 1854.—Resolved, That there be printed, for the use
of the members of the House, ten thousand extra copies of the
report of the Secretary of the Navy communicating the reports
of the exploration of the river Amazon and its tributaries,
made by Lieutenants Herndon and Gibbon, with the accompanying
maps and plates.
APRIL 13, 1854.—Resolved, That there be printed twenty
thousand additional copies of the reports of the surveys and
explorations of the river Amazon, with the plates and maps
accompanying, by Lieutenants Herndon and Gibbon—two hundred
and fifty copies for distribution by Lieutenant Herndon, and
two hundred and fifty copies by Lieutenant Gibbon, and the
remainder for the use of the members of the House.
To the Senate and House of Representatives:
I herewith transmit a communication from the Secretary of the Navy,
accompanied by the second part of Lieut. Herndon's Report of the
Exploration of the Valley of the Amazon and its tributaries, made by
him, in connexion with Lieut. Lardner Gibbon, under instructions from
the Navy Department.
FRANKLIN PIERCE.
WASHINGTON, February 10, 1854.
NAVY DEPARTMENT, February 10, 1854.
To the PRESIDENT.
SIR: In compliance with the notice heretofore given and communicated
to Congress at its last session, I have the honor herewith to transmit
the second part of the Report of the "Exploration of the Valley of the
Amazon, made under the direction of the Navy Department, by William
Lewis Herndon and Lardner Gibbon, lieutenants of the United States
Navy."
The first part of the exploration referred to was transmitted to
Congress by the Executive on the 9th of February, 1853, and has been
printed. (See "Senate Executive No. 36, 32d Congress, 2d session.") The
second part, which completes the report, is the result of the labors of
Lieutenant Lardner Gibbon, after his separation at Tarma, on the 20th
June, 1851, from Lieutenant Herndon, the senior officer of the exploring
party.
I have the honor to be, with the highest consideration, your obedient
servant,
J. C. DOBBIN.
WASHINGTON, D. C., February 7, 1854.
SIR: I have the honor to submit, herewith, a report of an exploration
of the countries drained by certain tributaries of the Amazon, made by
Lieutenant Gibbon during the years 1851-'52.
It will be recollected by the department that, at Tarma, in Peru,
I divided my party, and confided a portion of it to Mr. Gibbon's
direction. This report is the result of Mr. Gibbon's labors consequent
upon that division, and will form Part II of the "Exploration of the
Valley of the Amazon."
I have the honor to be, very respectfully, your obedient servant,
WM. LEWIS HERNDON,
Lieutenant U. S. Navy.
Hon. JAMES C. DOBBIN,
Secretary of the Navy, Washington.
WASHINGTON, D. C., January 25, 1854.
SIR: By instructions, a report, accompanied by maps and sketches of
scenery in South Peru, Bolivia, and Madeira river, in Brazil, made by
me to the Navy Department, is herewith submitted.
Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
LARDNER GIBBON,
Lieutenant U. S. Navy.
Lieut. WILLIAM L. HERNDON, U. S. N.,
Commanding Amazon Exploring Expedition, Washington.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Page.
Tarma—Inca road—Juaja valley—Quichua Indians—Trade—Juaja
river—Snow mountains—Stone bridge and stone
coal—Temperature of springs—Llamas—Lieutenant
of police—Quicksilver mines of Huancavelica—Wool
growing—Molina Posta, or Country tavern—Silver mines
of Castro-Virreyna—Population of Huancavelica—Its
mineral productions—Sandstone pyramids—Chicha and
chupe—A New Englander among the Andes—Fruits and
flowers of Huanta—Blacksmiths. 1
CHAPTER II.
Gold and silver ornaments—Bridal trip on the
Andes—Manufacturers of bark rope—Cotton
trees—Winds and currents of the
mountains—Population—Cultivation—Flocks
of sheep—Frosty nights—Reports of
Robbers—Shoemaker—Ancient fortification—Indians
travelling—Condor's wings—A padre on the
road—Sugar-cane patches—Spanish Creoles—An African
slave—Apurimac bridge—Cabbage patch—Peruvian
widow—Bull fight—Fish and horned cattle—Cuzco—Market
place—Steamboat navigation—Eastern side
of the Andes—Coca plantations—Head of
Madre-de-Dios—Rivers Cosnipata, Tono and
Piñipiñi—Forests—Tigers—Monkeys—Chuncho savages—View
of the lowlands from a peak of the Andes—Cinchona
bark gatherers. 27
CHAPTER III.
College of Sciences and Arts at
Cuzco—Students—Library—Popularity
of Fenimore Cooper's
works—Convents—Cock-pits—Procession—Condition of
the Aborigines anterior to the Incas—Manco Capac
and his wife—Their language—Antiquities—Incas
fortress—Worship of the planetary bodies—Suspicion
of intercourse between ancient civilized Asia and
south Peru—Temperature of bull's blood—Reception
of the prefect's family—Sham fight among the
Quichua Indians—Barley and corn crops—Trade—Loss
of Paititi—Thermal springs—Hospitality of
a Cura—Lampa—Gold mines of Carabaya—Lake
Titicaca—Appearance of the Indians—Puno
military—Niggardly soil. 55
CHAPTER IV.
Manto silver mine—Trade—Shores of Lake Titicaca—Rush
balsas—Animals—Loftiest mountains—Aymara
Indians—Mode of cultivation—Bottled fish—Frontier of
Peru—Rio Desaguedero—Rush bridge—Bolivia military
and custom-house—Southeast trade-winds—Tiahuanaco
ruins—Evaporation and precipitation—Planting
small potatoes—Difficulty among postillions—City
of La Paz—Population—Cinchona bark—Beni river
and Madeira Plate—Transit duty—Gold washings
of Tipuani—Productions of Yungas—Dried
mutton and copper mines—Articles of the last
constitution—A Bolivian lady's opinion of North
Americans—Illimani snow peak—Church performances of
the Aymaras—Benenguela silver mines—Growth of cedar
bushes. 96
CHAPTER V.
Silver mines of Sicasica—Productions of the Puna, or
Table lands—An exile returning home—Department
of Oruro—Silver, copper, and tin—Climate—A
chicha factorer—The expedition out of Titicaca
Basin, and into Madeira Plate—Department of
Potosi—Population, climate, and productions—Rio
Pilcomayo—Mint—Quicksilver trade—Imperfect
mining operations—Smuggling of precious
metals—Statistics of silver—Trade with the
Argentine confederation—Port of Cobija—Desert of
Atacama—Eastern side of the Andes—Frosty mountain
tops and thermal streams—A washwoman—Cinchona
bark ascending to the South Pacific—Department
of Cochabamba—Increase of Creoles—Incas colony of
Quichua Indians—Hail storm—Gardens—Fig trees—City
of Cochabamba—Hospitality of the merchants—The
President of Bolivia and his cabinet—Commercial
proposition—Brazilian minister—President
Belzu—Cavalry and infantry—Armor of the Bolivian
troops—Public force—Calacala gardens—Market
people—Rio Mamoré—Legislative power—Church
ceremony—Climate—A bishop's opinion of the
consequences of steamboat navigation—Cabinet
ministers—Reception of a Farmer by the
President—Heavy shock of an earthquake—Sudden
departure of the government—Clisa fair—Trade to the
Pacific coast. 121
CHAPTER VI.
Market place—Cinchona bark—Funeral
ceremonies—Longevity—Kindness of British and
Brazilian ministers—French schoolmistresses—Ancient
habitations—Sucre, the capital—Departments of
Chuquisaca and Tarija—River Bermejo—Distribution
of vegetable life—Visit to Lake Uara-Uara—Snow
line—Balls—Theatre—Department of Santa
Cruz—Creole population—Daily life—Province of
Chiquitos—Indians—Labors of the Jesuits—Paraguay
river. 146
CHAPTER VII.
Diamonds—Animals of Chiquitos—Decree of 1837, and act
of Congress—Señor Oliden's voyage on the
Paraguay river—Salt—Fall of trees—Descending
the mountains—Monkey meat—Coca plant—Espiritu
Santo—Creole workmen—A night in the wild
woods—Yuracares hunting—River San Mateo—Province of
Yuracares. 169
CHAPTER VIII.
Cinchona forests—Indians shooting fish—Department of
the Beni—Vinchuta—Small pox—Canichanas boat's
crew—Cotton cloth and silver coins—Our faithful
servant José Casas and the mules—Trade at Vinchuta—A
night on Coni creek—Embarkation at the base of
the Andes—Chaparé river—Canoe life—Floods—Bark
cloth—Pick up the sick—Indians at prayers in the
wilderness—Lassoing an alligator. 193
CHAPTER IX.
Pass the mouth of Chimoré river—White cranes—Rio
Mamoré—Woodbridge's Atlas—Night watch—"Masi"
guard-house—Pampas—Ant-houses—Cattle—Religion—Sugar
cane—Fishing party of Mojos Indians—River
Ybaré—Pampas of Mojos—Pasture lands—City of
Trinidad—Prefect—Housed in Mojos—Don Antonio de
Barras Cordoza—Population of the Beni—Cotton
Manufactures—Productions—Trade—Don Antonio's
Amazonian boats—Jesuits—Languages—Natural
intelligence of the Aborigines—Paintings—Cargoes of
foreign goods in the plaza. 218
CHAPTER X.
Horned cattle and horses—"Peste"—Salt trade—Church
service—Bull fight—Mariano Cuyaba—Rules and
regulations of the town—Laws and customs of the
Creoles—A walk through the plaza at midnight—Scenes
on the road to the town of Loreto—Annual deluge—The
beasts, birds, and fishes—Loreto—Inhabitants—Grove
of tamarind trees—Winds of the Madeira Plate—A
bird-hunter—Trapiche—A black tiger burnt
out—Departure in Brazilian boats—Enter the Mamoré
river again—An Indian overboard. 240
CHAPTER XI.
Exaltacion—Cayavabo Indians—Descending the Mamoré
river—Indians shooting fish—Houbarayos savages and
birds at midnight—Ascend the Itenez river—Forte do
Principe da Beira, in Brazil—Negro soldiers—Kind
attention of the commandante—Favorable notice of
the expedition by the President of Matto Grosso—The
wilderness—Friendship of Don Antonio, his boat, and
a crew of negro soldiers—Departure for the Madeira
river—Birds and fishes congregated at the mouth
of the Itenez—On the Mamoré river again—A negro
soldier's account of the Emperor's service—Roar of
"Guajará-merim" Falls. 263
CHAPTER XII.
Jacares savages—Mouth of the Beni river—Obstructions to
steamboat navigation—Madeira river falls—Lighten the
boat—Pot holes—Granite—Pedreneira falls—Caripuna
savages—Pedro milks a savage woman—Bilious
fever—Arrive at the foot of San Antonio falls—The
impracticability of navigating by steamboats the
falls of the Mamoré and Madeira rivers—Proposed road
through the territory of Brazil to Bolivia—Physical
strength of the white, black, and red men, compared
under a tropical climate—Tamandua island—Turtle
eggs—Oil-hunters—Borba—Mouth of the Madeira river. 287
APPENDIX.
Observations with the sextant and artificial
horizon—Meteorological observations—Table of
distances in South Peru and Bolivia by government
measurement—Boiling water measurements of heights
above sea level—Map of roads and rivers, with
situation of mineral wealth. 315
LIST OF PLATES.
Page.
Llamas traversing the Andes laden with silver, (to face title page.)
View to the east of Juaja, (Peru). 6
Encamped near Huancayo, valley of Juaja, (Peru). 8
Quichua Indian family and hut, (Peru). 10
Alpacas on the Cordilleras, near Huancavelica, (Peru). 12
Matriz de San Antonio, Huancavelica, (Peru). 16
View to the south from Huanta, (Peru). 24
Matara post-house. 28
Camp Ladron, (Peru). 32
Ruin of the Incas Fort, Quramba, (Peru). 34
Apurimac bridge, (Peru). 38
Descending the Andes to the east of Cuzco. 44
Coca plantation, (Peru). 46
Rio Madre-de-Dios. 50
North view of the remains of the Incas fort, Sacsahuamam,
Cuzco. 75
Agua Caliente Posta, (Peruvian tavern). 86
Titicaca Balsa, off Puno. 94
View of Nevada de Sorata, from the west shore of Lake
Titicaca, (Peru). 100
Illimani snow-peak; Vicuñas pasturing with the sheep on
the Puna of Bolivia. 117
Cochabamba market-women. 146
Ancient Quichua Indian hut, Cochabamba, (Bolivia). 152
La Laguna de Uara-Uara. 156
Yuracares plantation. 184
Yuracares Indians shooting fish. 194
San Mateo ferry, (Bolivia). 196
Vinchuta, (Bolivia). 200
Descending the river Mamoré, (Bolivia). 220
Housed in Mojos. 230
Maria Nosa, Casemira Nacopearu, José Vicente, Cayuba,
Juana Jua. 246
Plaza de Trinidad, (Bolivia). 258
Don Antonio's Amazonian boats, Exaltacion, (Bolivia). 264
Brazil shore of the Itenez river. 272
View down the river Itenez, from Forte do Principe da
Beira, (Brazil). 274
Descending Ribeirao falls, Madeira river, (Brazil). 292
Matuá and his brother Manú, Caripuna boys, and their
bark canoe. 294
Crossing the mouth of the Madeira river, (Brazil). 312
PREFACE.
WASHINGTON CITY, January 25, 1854.
SIR: A Passed Midshipman, suddenly drawn from duty at the National
Observatory, in Washington, to enter upon an exploration of distant
lands and rivers, among strange and divers people, will not be
expected to furnish a polished report of observations made under many
disadvantages.
In revising notes, hastily scribbled upon a mule's back, on mountains,
or in a canoe, the writer has endeavored to present familiar images
of the objects he saw, as they impressed him at the time, leaving
intelligent readers to draw their own conclusions from his facts, or
the best information he could gain from reliable sources on the route.
The statesman, the planter, the merchant, the farmer, the manufacturer,
or the artisan, can estimate, from every-day occurrences, in what
manner habits and customs of inhabitants of the southern continent,
or productions of its climates, lands, rivers, forests, and mines, may
advantage the industry or promote the enterprise of the people of the
United States of North America.
Being limited by instructions, the writer commences his observations at
the division of the naval party at Tarma, in Peru, and closes them on
reaching the mouth of the Madeira river, in Brazil.
Descriptions of fishes collected from snow-water lakes and streams
in Peru or Bolivia, and from rivers in Brazil, botanical specimens,
varieties of birds, different ores, earth, and metals procured on the
journey, are unavoidably omitted.
Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
LARDNER GIBBON,
Lieutenant U. S. Navy.
Hon. JAMES C. DOBBIN,
Secretary of the Navy, Washington.
CHAPTER I.
Tarma—Inca road—Juaga valley—Quichua Indians—Trade—Juaja
river—Snow mountains—Stone bridge and stone coal—Temperature
of springs—Llamas—Lieutenant of police—Quicksilver mines
of Huancavelica—Wool growing—Molina Posta, or country
tavern—Silver mines of Castro-Virreyna—Population
of Huancavelica—Its mineral productions—Sand-stone
pyramids—Chicha and chupe—A New-Englander among the
Andes—Fruits and flowers of Huanta—Blacksmiths.
Tarma, a small town in Peru, by alpha and beta, Centauri, in latitude
11° 25' south, is situated in a rich, well-cultivated, narrow valley,
between the Andes range of mountains on the east, and the lofty
Cordillera chain on the west.
On the 9th of July 1851, the writer turned southeast, accompanied by
Henry C. Richards, a native of Virginia, in the United States, and José
Casas, of Spanish descent, native of Peru.
A volunteer mestizo, Arriero, with his little son, drove a train of
mules which carried the baggage.
Our path was shaded by willow trees, and the way obstructed with droves
of llamas, loaded with rock salt from mines in the neighborhood.
The leaves of the trees seemed calling for water, while the temperature
of the air, at mid-day, in the shade, was 68° Fahrenheit. Peach and
apple-tree leaves doubled up, showing both their edges to the sun; the
fruit is small, oblong, and unthrifty-looking.
The ravine through which we ascend is thickly populated with Quichua
Indians. Their houses are built of stone and mud, and thatched with
coarse mountain grasses.
The natives are busily employed gathering in the harvest of maize, which
is small-grained and of four colors, red, white, yellow, and blue. It
is of excellent quality, generally used as food, roasted or parched.
Potatoes, of which there are numerous varieties, are also now gathered;
they grow in perfection, though much smaller than their descendants in
the United States.
The little estates—chacras—are owned by descendants of Spaniards,
Indians, or Mestizos, the latter a cross between the two former.
In almost all cases the cultivation of the soil is performed by the
aborigines, at wages from ten to twenty cents a day.
As we rise above the foliage, the mountain tops begin to look wild and
barren, with rocks and red clay; below we have a beautiful view of the
town of Tarma, amidst its green trees and pasture fields. My mule, Rose,
pants for breath; she is so fat and plump that the climbing troubles
her.
On the mountain-side is seated a fine looking Indian, blowing a
semicircular shaped trumpet, made of a number of cow's horns, stripped
one into the other, with the joints sealed; he don't seem to be so
particular as to the tune, as he does to the distance he may be heard,
and he makes the valley ring. José thinks he is trying to blow up a
wedding with a fair one among the flowers below. The Indians celebrate
harvest-time with merry-making. Their meals are cooked in the fields,
where their kitchen utensils are carried. They have music and dancing
in the barley stubble. It is amusing to see these happy people enjoying
themselves in the open air. As we pass, the reapers are seated near
the road, in a barley field, at dinner, upon the ground, in rows one
behind another, laughing and talking among themselves. When we meet them
they are very civil, modest, and unassuming in manners. The men carry
enormous loads of barley or wheat on their backs, while the women drive
the loaded ass, and sling the children over their own shoulders. Their
horses, mules, sheep, horned cattle, pigs, and dogs, are all admitted,
together with the family, into the harvest field; while the father
reaps, and the mother gathers, the boys tend the flocks, and the older
girls take care of the babies and do the cooking, while at the same time
they spin woollen yarn by hand, for stockings. One of them offered a
pair for sale at twenty-five cents, which were nearly long enough for
trowsers. They are always employed, go to bed early, and rise before
the sun, as their Incas taught them to do.
At the top of the mountain, not a house or tree was to be seen, and
no sign of cultivation. On tufts of coarse mountain grass, a flock of
sheep were grazing; some of them merinos, and of good size. Their wool
is sent to Lima, where it is sold, to be exported around Cape Horn, to
the manufacturers in the North.
To the east is a snow-peaked mountain, and as the moon rises, as if from
the Atlantic ocean, we are followed by a cold north wind. The sky is
clear and of a deep blue. On our left we see the remains of an ancient
Peruvian road, used in the times of the Incas. It is said that _good_
roads are marks of civilization; could my mule, Rose, give her opinion,
she would certainly decide in favor of the Inca road, in preference to
those found in Peru at the present time. These remains show a width
of thirty feet of rock pavement, with well placed curbstones on each
side. Where the road has considerable inclination, rows of stone are
placed across, higher than the general level of the pavement, so that
it appears like a stair-way on the side of a hill. That it was not
a coach road is no argument against it; it was before the horse, the
ass, or the cow were introduced into South America from Europe. It was
constructed for the Indian and his llama, the surest of the sure-footed
and, therefore, the improvement speaks well for the civilization of
those times of which we have but a traditionary record.
Passing over a plain on the mountain top, there was a cistern by the
side of our path, where water is caught during the rainy season to
supply the thirsty in the dry. The rainy season commences here about the
middle of September—sometimes later—and lasts six months. The remainder
of the year is dry.
Night had overtaken us where not a living thing was to be seen, except a
black eagle, returning to its roosting-place under overhanging rocks, on
the west side of a lofty peak. Our little tent was pitched; the baggage
piled up and covered at the door; the mules let free for the night to
feed upon the mountain grass around us. A fire was kindled, and water
from a small spring heated, and tea was made. José produced bread and
cheese from his saddle-wallets; placed them upon a clean cloth over a
trunk; looking into the tent, he says, very slowly, "_Señor! La hora de
cenar_," (Sir, it is the supper hour.) Both men and beasts seem tired;
we have ascended all day. The first day's travel is always the most
harassing. Our arriero, Francisco, a mestizo, is a small, slim built
man, with respectful manners; he and his little son Ignacio keep watch
by turns over the mules. The little boy is out while his father gets
supper. The night was clear and cold; the moon shining brightly. The
world is not so silent in the middle of the ocean. I do not think I
heard anything; I almost listened to hear the globe turn upon its axis.
Long after the people were asleep, I heard little Ignacio singing to
himself, wrapped up in his homespun poncho, as he follows the mules.
At daylight in the morning we found heavy frosts and ice about us, with
thermometer 24°, and wet bulb 30°. The mules were loaded; breakfast
over; observations made; and we off, soon after sunrise. This is the
way to travel at an elevation where we find no inhabitants.
The mountains are becoming more rounding, and covered with a fine sort
of grass. Shepherdesses are following thousands of sheep and lambs.
The girls spin wool and chat together, while the dogs follow lazily
after. If we pass close to the flock, and the sheep run back, these
dogs make a furious attack upon us, keeping between us and the flock.
The temperature of a spring of excellent water near the path was 48°.
To the southeast snow peaks stand up in full view. The day is warm
and pleasant. Here comes a cheerful party of ladies and gentlemen on
horseback. As we pass each other, the gentlemen take off their hats,
and the ladies look prettily under their white straw ones. Their
figures show to advantage in riding-dresses, and they manage and set
their horses well. The cool mountain air gives them a fresh color,
which contrasts well with gazelle-eyed beauty and long black hair. I
thought their dresses rather short, but a sight of the foot of one of
them, small as it was, reminds one there is proof positive against the
propriety of a man's travelling through this world alone.
Now we meet the market Indian driving asses loaded with potatoes, corn,
and saddles of mutton, to Tarma. I wanted some mutton for the party, but
José was positively refused by an old woman, who got out of his way by
twisting the tail of her donkey, who was disposed to come to a stand and
be relieved of his load. I was told Indians scarcely ever sell except
after they arrive in the plaza. I can account for it by the woman's
wanting to go to town, for José offered her more than the market price.
At the end of a thickly populated valley, which stretches off to the
southeast, we halted at an Indian hut for dinner. The wife was at home
with her children—fine, healthy-looking little ones. Boiled mutton,
potatoes, and eggs, with good wheat bread, were placed upon the ground
at the door. The children and dogs formed an outside circle around us.
After dinner the woman gave me an orange, which she said came from the
woods, pointing to the Andes, to the east of us. Some of these Indians
cross the range of mountains, and garden on the eastern slopes for the
markets, on these table lands—_Puna_—as the Spaniards call the elevated
flats.
The husband was threshing barley with his neighbors. The grain is
separated from the straw by the tramping of oxen and horses. Over
the surface of this level valley there are numbers of such threshing
parties. The grain is cleared from the chaff by being poured from the
top of a man's head on a windy day. Many of them suffer with inflamed
eyes, and even lose them sometimes by a shift of wind, which blows the
barley beards into the eyes.
Black cattle are numerous here, and at the foot of the mountains; so
are white churches, which stand in the midst of a thick population of
Indians. We met a number of tax-gatherers, going among the threshers,
with silver-headed canes, receiving a measure of grain instead of
contribution-money. They are old Indians, very well dressed, with a
respectable, quaker-like air about them; broad-brimmed hats and standing
collars. It is an active time also with the priests, who go abroad among
the farmers for tithes. The valley is all activity, and merry are the
people. Women are visiting about from place to place, astride of plump
little jackasses. This is a plentiful season.
When the crops fail on these table lands, the suffering among the
Indians is very great. Seeding time is in September, just before the
rains commence. If there are hard frosts in February, the chances are
that a famine follows.
Crossing a small ridge on the east, we came in full view of the great
valley of Juaja, stretching away south. The snowy peaks are represented
in a sketch from our camp near the town.
José's wife and children came to the tent, brought _us_ supper, and
lucerne for our mules. One of the sons, a fine-looking boy of eighteen,
volunteered to go with me. José desired that I should let him go, and
I had no objection; but when his mother came to ask me if I was not
satisfied to take her husband without taking her son and only protector,
I referred José and her son to her. She settled the case her own way,
and gave me her blessing.
Juaja has a population of about 2,500 inhabitants. I say _about_,
because there is no such thing as a census known at this elevation. The
houses are built one story, of adobe walls, or of unburnt bricks, and
tile roofs. The streets are well paved, and run at right angles with
each other. A pretty little white-washed church stands upon the plaza,
where the women sell their marketing and say their prayers. The Indians
come to market and church at the same time; Sunday morning is the great
market day. A drove of horses are most miserable-looking little rats;
the horses of the lowlands and coasts are much their superiors.
Men live to a good old age in this climate; 70, 80, and 90 years are
common; some have arrived at 120 and 130. I am under the impression that
the Indians live longest. Mestizo and Spanish Creole girls have been
known to bear children at 8 and 9 years of age.
The Spanish Creole population is small; they are generally shopkeepers,
the only dealers in foreign goods, which are retailed to the Indians
at enormous profits. They travel to Lima and purchase goods, which they
use as an inducement to the Indians to work the silver mines, existing
three leagues to the east of Juaja, in the Andes range, but which at
present are little worked. The Indians prefer blue, in their dresses,
to any other color, and consume considerable quantities of indigo. The
demand for wax in the churches is of some account. Eggs and wool are the
principal exports to Lima, and are carried over the Cordilleras on the
backs of jackasses. Travellers do not know why they meet with so many
bad eggs at breakfast in Lima. It is customary to pass them round the
country as current money or coin for some time before they are sent to
the coast to be eaten. Mrs. José says, three eggs will buy her a glass
of brandy, or sixpence worth of anything in market. The carrying trade
is superintended by the Indians.
The mestizos are shoemakers, blacksmiths, and saddlers. They seem fond
of music and dancing, and assume the pride of a superior, and lord it
over the honest Indian.
Our road lies through a rich valley, often four miles wide, and level as
a floor. The mountains on both sides are dry and unproductive, except in
the ravines. The half-yearly displacement of earth is very great; during
the rainy season the mountain torrents come down from the summit loaded
with soil. The decrease in the size of the mountains from the time of
their creation to the present day, and the filling up of this basin,
naturally leads one to wonder, whether the present valley was not once
a lake. The Juaja river, which takes its rise in Lake Chinchaycocha to
the north of Tarma, flows sluggishly and serpent-like through the whole
length of the valley, and creeping through the Andes, suddenly rushes
off at a rapid rate, as though sensible of its long journey, by the
Ucayali and Amazon, to the Atlantic ocean. The bed of the river is half
a mile wide, and in the wet season is probably eighteen feet deep. There
is very little water in it now. The banks break down perpendicularly.
The growth of small trees and flowers gives a fresh appearance to the
valley, but the sun is very warm as we pace along the dusty road. The
apple trees are about the size of raspberry bushes.
There are few varieties of birds in the valley; some pigeons and doves
keep the table pretty well supplied. Little Ignacio takes great interest
in the sport, and his sharp eyes are constantly on the look-out for a
shot. By the river snipe are found; among the flowers, the humming bird
is seen and heard.
[Illustration: VIEW TO THE EAST OF JUAJA, Peru.
Sketched by L. Gibbon.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The road crosses a number of dry beds, streams of considerable size
in the rainy season. There is only water enough, at present, for the
washwomen, whose soap-suds spoil the water for our beasts. We pass
through the village of San Lorenzo, and the small town of Concepcion. A
death-like silence pervades these places; the people are in the fields,
except some creoles, seated among the flowers in their neat little
court-yards. The streets are narrow and the houses small. All the towns
of the Puna are built pretty much after the same fashion, and of the
same material; the only difference in their outward appearance being
produced by the cultivation of foliage and flowers, where the soil and
climate permit. When this is not the case, the town presents a stupid,
uninteresting aspect. Children, dogs, and pigs, earthen pots, and beds
of straw, surround a smoking fire on the ground floor of a one-roomed
house. The smoke escapes through the door-way; the only opening for
light or a change of air. During storms, or at night, the door is
closed. One peep inside satisfies the North American he can find no rest
_there_. But here, in the valley, the cooking is done under the trees,
and the inmates of the house wander out in the shade. We have often
noticed expressions of friendship between children and dogs; the latter
shows his pleasure by wagging its tail, while the smiling child pulls
his ears. The pig is the most restless creature at this height. While by
himself, he is seen tossing up the bottom of the valley; when he sees
the child and dog together, he gives a corkscrew motion to his tail,
jumps and swings his body about with an inviting grunt to play. Before
long he is laying on his side, with the child on top of him, while the
dog is pawing and snapping at that laughable twist of the tail. The
affection the different species of animals have, in these associations,
is remarkable. The dog in any other place will sometimes kill and eat
the sheep; here, he protects it by night and by day. The pig forms an
attachment to the jackass, who leaves it, at this season of the year,
for the female of its own kind. The ram becomes intimate with a horse
or a bull, and it is with difficulty they can be separated. The lamb
follows the Indian girl in direct disobedience of its mother's call.
Domestic cats are few. They cannot live on high elevations.
There is no part of Peru which is more densely populated than the valley
of Juaja. There, close under the mountains, on the east side, stands
the town of Ocopa, with its convents and schools. From that place,
missionaries have branched off in different directions to the forests in
the east, at great risk of life and loss of all its comforts, to teach
the savage red man how to change his manners, customs, and belief. Some
have succeeded, others have failed, and were murdered or driven back by
the battle-axe; their settlements destroyed by fire, and years of labor
lost; yet some never tire!
Ignacio carries our tent pole across the pommel of his saddle. His
thirsty mule ran between two others, loaded with baggage. The boy was
swept off and dropped over the creature's heels in the middle of the
stream. He regained his saddle in a short time. His father laughed at
him, and took the pole himself.
In the centre of the valley are the remains of an ancient city; the
ruins of stone walls were 12 feet high, and from 1 to 1½ foot thick.
Those of the present day are generally adobe, from 3 to 4 feet thick.
Some of the buildings have been round; others oblong, but generally
square, 12 by 18 feet. The round ones are largest and best situated. The
streets very irregular and narrow; no appearance of plaza, or church.
The ruins extend half a mile north and south, and 200 yards east and
west, on a knoll, which may have been an island before the Inca road was
built, now hedged in on both sides with cactus. As the land about this
ancient city is now cultivated as a corn-field, no remains of curious
things could be found. The mason-work is very rough, but remains of
mortar are there. How the houses were roofed is doubtful, but by the
slanting down on the inner sides of the stones of those houses which
were round, the mason work may have been carried up till it met at a
point, which would give the house a sugar-loaf shape. Besides doorways,
there were window openings.
Droves of jackasses pass, loaded with small raw-hide bags filled with
quicksilver from the mines of Huancavelica, on their way to the silver
mines of Cerro de Pasco.
On Saturday evening, July 12, 1851, we encamped on the south side of
the town of Huancayo, and remained till Monday morning, giving the party
their usual day of rest. Upon entering this town we saw the first signs
of improvement in the construction of a stone bridge; the mason work
compares well with that of more flourishing places. The men and cows of
this place are larger than any we have seen. The people are very polite.
The Indians oblige us with all we require, and seem interested in our
industry. José asks permission to go to church, and for money to buy
shoes. The singing of frogs reminds us of home. Some of the trees are
much larger than those hitherto passed.
Marks of small-pox are seen among the people; but there are no chills
and fevers here. Some of the women have dreadful swellings in their
necks, called by them "_cota_," or goitre, caused by drinking bad water,
or snow-water deprived of salts. But why this disease is generally
confined to the women I cannot say, unless the men never drink water. It
was very certain, from the noise after church, that they find something
stronger. I do not think the people are generally dissipated, except on
Sunday afternoons, when both sexes seem disposed to frolic. During the
week they are otherwise employed.
Leaving the Juaja valley, we passed through a rough, hilly country. In
barley stubbles ewes are giving lambs.
[Illustration: ENCAMPED NEAR HUANCAYO, VALLEY OF JUAJA, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
A woman planting beans after the plough, has her baby slung over her
shoulders; by the noise it made, I doubt its partiality to beans. The
plough is drawn by oxen, yoked by the horns. It is made of two pieces of
wood—the handle and coulter are of one piece, into which is jointed the
beam; the coulter is shod with a square plate of iron, without a shear,
so that the furrow is made by throwing the soil on both sides, like the
North Carolina bull-tongue. On a hill some Indians are planting, while
others are carrying up water in large jars from a stream for the purpose
of irrigating the vegetables peeping out of the ground.
Some of the Indians on the road look very sad after their Sunday frolic.
A man on horseback, with his wife astride behind him, and her baby
slung to her back, looked quite as uncomfortable as his miserable little
horse. The road is marked with stones at every league of three miles:
some of the measures must have been made on a Monday morning after a
frolic. The small towns of Guayocachi and Nahuinpacyo are inhabited
solely by Indians, and have a ruinous appearance. The streets are
pasture-grounds, and decayed old houses serve as roosting-places for
buzzards. We had thunder, rain, and hail; the hail-stones as large as
peas, and soft, like snow-balls. Lightning flashed all around us in the
valley, while the black clouds brought up by the southeast winds were
hurried back by a heavy northwest squall. Thermometer 45°.
The Indians gather the dung of animals for fuel. Wood is too scarce to
burn here. The green waters of the Juaja rush down through deep ravines;
its power is used for a flour mill. The grain is mashed. The branches
of a few large cedar trees, give shade to the door of the polite old
mestizo miller. Descending the river, we came to a beautiful whitewashed
new stone bridge, with one arch, 30 feet above the stream. Paying a
toll of one shilling per mule, we crossed the Juaja into the small town
of Iscuchaca. Near the river there are patches of lucerne, and peach
trees in blossom. A native of Copenhagen, in Denmark, came forward
and invited us to his house. The people had told him his countrymen
had arrived. He was silversmith and apothecary, but had been employed
by the Peruvian government to construct this beautiful stone bridge,
which he had finished, and married the first pretty girl on the street
leading therefrom, the daughter of a retired officer of the Peruvian
army. The bridge across this stream was formerly built of wood. During a
revolution, one of the parties set it on fire to the stone foundation.
The Copenhagen man gathered a quantity of this stone, made a fire of
it in his forge, and heated a piece of iron red hot. He called it brown
slate coal; rather hard; not good for blacksmith's work; but the same is
used for running an engine at the mines of Castro-Virreyna, in which he
is interested. There are thermal springs near; and specimens of magnetic
iron were collected from a mountain 1½ league to the northeast of the
town. The "Matico" bush is found here. Many stories are told of the
effects of this medicinal plant, which has been in use as a tea among
the Indians, and as a poultice for wounds.
Iscuchaca is pleasantly situated amidst wild mountains, which seem to
lock it up. The Juaja winds its way towards the Atlantic, while we climb
a steep towards the Pacific.
The water of a rapid stream is somewhat salt, and its temperature 50°,
while the air was 65°. Many fine mules are dashing down the narrow road.
The drover tells me he is from Iça, bound to the Cerro Pasco mines,
where he trades mules for silver. Iça is situated inland from Pisco, on
the coast.
Among the mountains, at the top of a dangerous and precipitate pass,
there is a wooden cross, erected by the people in the neighborhood.
Travellers universally take off their hats as they pass, praying for
a safe passage, or feeling thankful for one. The women often decorate
these emblems with wreaths of flowers, cross themselves devoutly, and
pass on. José begged me to hang the mountain barometer to one arm of the
cross. While I took the reading of it, he looked on in great admiration.
The small Indian town of Guando is the first we have seen built of
stone. It is situated high up on the mountains, and presents a most
dilapidated appearance. On one side of a narrow street, little school
boys were seated, saying their lessons to the teachers, who were on
the opposite side. As we passed between them, the boys all rose and
bowed politely. Among the inhabitants were an unusual number of elderly
women. The temptation was great to ask their ages; but as some dislike
questions of that sort, I might make an enemy without getting a fact. An
Indian hut in the valley sketches the inhabitants. José appears between
the man and his wife, telling them, in the Quichua language, that I live
far off to the north, and want to show the people there what kind of
people are here. The old Indian chews an extra quantity of coca leaf.
The woman looks astonished, and the child is disgusted, though all stand
still _as they are told_. The man was employed threshing barley with a
long pole. The woman was cooking, and the child playing with the dog,
when we arrived. The nights are very cold, the days warm and pleasant.
To a church and few houses near the road has been given the name of
Acobambilla. The Indians around answer the bells to prayers.
[Illustration: QUICHUA INDIAN FAMILY AND HUT, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
We ascend the top of the mountain and see perpetual snow in all
directions, overhung with heavy, black, cumulus clouds, above which the
cirrus shoot upwards; in the zenith the sky is clear and of the deepest
blue. Spring water 44°; air 45°.
Richards shot at four wild geese with his carbine and single ball; two
of the geese flew off, leaving the others very much frightened. The
geese flew across a small snow-water lake. These birds are white, the
ends of wing and tail being black, with red bills and legs, as large
as the domestic goose, though not so tender. Tadpoles, but no fish,
were to be seen. Wild ducks kept at a distance. The llama is pasturing
and giving birth to its young close under the perpetual snow line. The
alpaca and huanacos—species of the llama—are in numbers also. Llamas
occupy the useful position among the aboriginal race of South America,
that the camel does to the wandering man in Arabia. These animals carry
loads of one hundred pounds, over roads too dangerous for the mule or
the ass, and climb mountains difficult for man. They are principally
used for conveying silver from the mines. The Indians are very fond
of them; though they drive them with a whip, it is seldom used; when
one lags behind or lies down on the road, the Indian talks to it, and
persuades it to forget its fatigues and get up again. They hang little
bells about their graceful necks, and decorate the tips of their ears
with bits of colored ribbon. Their disposition, like those of their
masters, are gentle and inoffensive, except when too much hurried; then
they cast, saliva at the Indians, or at each other; this is their only
offence; it is thought to be poisonous. They require very little food,
which they pick up on the mountains, and are much more temperate than
their drivers; they require very little water. Their loads are taken
off at mid-day, so that they may feed. I am told that they never eat at
night. They seek the cold regions of the Andes; nature has provided them
with a warm fleece of wool, and they need no shelter. Though they are
feeble animals, their usual daily travel is about 15 miles; but after
three or four days journey, they must have rest or they perish on the
road. The motion of the head and neck as they cross the mountain crags
may be likened to that of the swan, as it floats over smooth water.
The wool makes good coarse cloth, of various colors, seldom all of one
color. The huanaco is known by its being rather larger than the llama;
it is said to be difficult to train, even if taken young. It never gives
up its ideas of liberty, and will regain its companions whenever an
opportunity admits.
The alpaca is the smallest, with the finest long wool; its body
resembles the sheep, with the head and neck of the llama. José tells
me they are good to eat, but like the others the meat is not very
palatable. The alpaca wool is well known in the markets; the Indians
make clothing of it, and trade it off on the coast. In this department,
and further south, great numbers of these new world camels are raised.
It has been remarked that they seek the south side of the mountains;
probably there is less evaporation than on the north side, and the
pasture is more fresh and inviting. Barley is generally raised on the
north side of the mountain.
After a long and tiresome descent we halted in the main plaza of the
town of Huancavelica, in front of a small shop on the corner. Drawing
out a letter of introduction to the owner of the house, given to me by
his friend, my Copenhagen "countryman," I handed it to a very pretty
young woman, seated in the doorway, sewing. She invited me in, and I
followed to the bed-room of her husband, who was napping. There were
so many female dresses hanging around I was obliged to be seated on the
bed. The husband shook hands, rubbed his eyes, gaped, and then laughed.
He said he was very glad to see me, that everything in the house was
mine. Our baggage was put into a room, and preparations at once made for
dinner. While I was resting, an officer, with a gold-laced cap, gray
trowsers, and a half-buttoned military jacket, came in, and inquired
from whence I came, and as he was a lieutenant of police, he would
thank me to show him my passport. In return I inquired, whether, in his
opinion, the world was not sufficiently civilized to permit people to
pass without such documents. It is very certain the lieutenant never had
such a question put to him before. I told him to call when my baggage
was unpacked, but I never saw him again, though I heard that Don — had
said, "North Americans required different treatment from those of some
other parts of the world; _they_ did not know what passports meant,
notwithstanding they were a very intelligent people!"
Don — keeps a gambling house, where hot coffee and ice cream may be
had by applying at the shop, attended by his pretty little wife. All
the ladies in town visit in the evening to refresh themselves after
promenade, while the Spanish Creoles spend their time at a game called
"Monte," until day-light in the morning. This is a hotel, so far as
eating and drinking goes, and the only house of the kind in the town
kept by a Spaniard. The house was established after the marriage of the
young couple, and is thought a good business, though the bride may be
disgusted with her laborious life, even amidst so much ice cream, during
the honey-moon.
[Illustration: ALPACAS ON THE CORDILLERAS NEAR HUANCAVELICA, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The town of Huancavelica has a population of about 8,000, and is
situated in a deep ravine, amidst a cluster of lofty peaks. It is the
capital of the department, and was named by the Incas. The ravine runs
east and west, with an average width of one mile. A small stream flows
through it to the east. Thermal springs, of 82° Fahrenheit, found in the
vicinity. The town is divided into two parishes; counts six churches, a
hospital, and college for young men, in which physics, chemistry, and
mineralogy are taught. The plaza is adorned with a fountain of stone.
A cathedral stands by the side of the mountain of Cinnebar, which
contains the celebrated quicksilver mine of Santa Barbara. Climbing up
this mountain, we came to a door-way 15 feet high and 12 wide, carved in
the sand-stone. The entrance on the southwest side of the peak was like
a railroad tunnel. The eternal glaciers are at this door-way. Icicles
hung overhead, and sheets of ice spread under our feet. Sooty-faced,
rough-looking Indians trundled wheelbarrows loaded with quicksilver ore.
As the _administrador_, a tall, smallpox-marked mestizo, said to me—We
are all ready, sir, to escort you through the mines of Huancavelica—I
felt as though he was going to say, to be buried alive. We entered this
dark hole, about 600 feet below the top of the mountain. As we left
daylight, I thought of home; then I heard a dreadful crash, which the
mestizo informed me was the upper part of the mine falling in. A hollow
sound was followed by a splash in the deep waters somewhere below; then
came suddenly a strong smell of sulphuret of arsenic. A little further
on I saw a pair of eyes through the darkness. I called to Richards to
hold his torchlight; we were travelling east-northeast by my compass;
the eyes belonged to a little Indian boy standing on the side of the
mine, with a load of ore on his back, while we passed; he had come
through a narrow passage called "Take off your horns," on his hands and
knees, and had raised a choking dust. After refreshing ourselves at a
spring of water of 50° temperature, we passed into a plaza, where the
market women sell to those men who seldom leave the mines. On one side
of this plaza, by holding the torches over our heads, we see a beautiful
bridge, and beyond it a stairway leading into utter darkness; on the
other side a lake—the opposite shore not in sight, though the sound
of a hammer floats over its smooth water. As we move along among red
brick-colored columns, which support the immense weight overhead, we
see a dim torch by the side of the workman, seated with his hammer and
chisel, cutting away and honey-combing the Andes. The _administrador_
tells me we are half way through; if I wish to climb up stairs, we can
get near the peak. Turn which way we will, we find a road to travel. I
told him to be pleased to keep as near a level as possible. He halted,
and after some words to the Indian guide, he said he had taken the
wrong road, and must go back some distance. After bumping our heads,
and walking doubled up in a most tiresome position, with great want
of fresh air, we finally stood up in the San Rosario church, which is
rotundo-shaped, with a height of 100 feet to the ceiling. Over the altar
was carved, in solid cinnebar, the Virgin Mary, with the Infant in her
arms. As the Indians pass, with hat in hand, they turn, and, kneeling
under their heavy loads of ore, say a short prayer, cross themselves,
and pass on by the light always burning at the altar. The laboring
Indian, who seldom leaves these dark regions, attends when the church
bell calls, and offers up prayer for protection from the dangers of the
mine. On a Sunday evening, in this rotundo, he meets his countrymen, who
work on the opposite side of the lake; they tell of seeing daylight at
the point of the chisel overhead, instead of driving it farther towards
the bowels of the earth.
After a walk of two hours we came into the fresh air on the north
side of the mountain. The Cinnebar is so narrowly separated by layers
of sandstone, that the peak may almost be called a solid mass of
quicksilver ore. At present there are 120 Indian men, women, and boys
employed in extracting the metal. Those who cut out the ore work very
much as they please—that is, they cut without compass; this makes it
dangerous to those inside, the proper supports being cut away by the
ignorant Indian. The ore is carried out at both sides of the peak, in
bags of raw hide, slung over the backs of the boys, and then wheeled to
the furnaces near by, where men break it up into bits, and women make
small cakes of the dust. These cakes are laid in the bottom of a large
iron grate, sufficiently open to allow heat to pass, and over them the
ore is filled in to the depth of three feet. A fire is made underneath
of coarse mountain grass; a strong draught carries the vapor from the
heated cinnebar, through a retort of earthern pipes, slipped one into
the other, to a distance of five or six feet, where it condenses, and
the quicksilver lodges in the floor. After the ore becomes well heated,
which generally takes eight or ten hours, the doors of the furnace are
closed, and, for three or four hours, the distillation continues. After
this the quicksilver is swept into pots, washed in water, and dried,
when it is ready for the market, and is sold here at one dollar per
pound. It is sent off in all directions to the silver mines of Peru.
By the rude method of mining and smelting, the loss of mercury is
great. The joints of the earthern pipes are luted with clay, through
which the vapor escapes before it has time to condense. It is difficult
to regulate the heat by the dry mountain grass, which blazes up and
passes away in a moment, so that the doors must be kept open, and a man
constantly feeding the fire.
The mine is owned by the government, and leased to a company, who keep
secret its annual yield. The laborers' wages are never more than fifty
cents a day. They are supplied by the company with all they require from
the shop—a sort of purser's store-room—altogether a profitable business
for the company. It often happens that when the day of reckoning comes,
the laborer is in debt on the books of his employer; he is then obliged
to return to the mine and work.
Cinnebar is said to be found the distance of ten leagues, in all
directions, from Santa Barbara, and that the Incas knew of and made
use of it. Remains of small ovens, in the shape of retorts, have been
discovered. The Indians used it to paint their faces.
The only account found of the annual yield of this celebrated mine
was from 1570 to 1790; during this 220 years, Santa Barbara produced
1,040,469 quintals (100 pounds) of quicksilver, or an average of 47,294
pounds per annum. The price during this period varied from fifty to one
hundred dollars per quintal, according to the tariff of prices fixed by
the Spanish crown.
Huancavelica is on the inland route between Lima and Cuzco, distant
from the former 73 leagues. This, although not the shortest distance
to the coast, is yet the best road at the present day, leading to the
best seaport. Of this immense mass of cinnebar, not a pound is exported.
England finds a market for other quicksilver in the silver mines of
Peru; carried in iron jars around Cape Horn at great expense, it is
transported on the backs of mules, almost by the very mouth of Santa
Barbara. The roads are very narrow and rough; it would be impossible to
draw a piece of artillery over them in their present condition; a piano
was brought from Lima to Huancavelica, and remains cracked to this time,
though the house containing it is the centre of gayety and attraction;
the owner expects the music of "The last rose of summer" by the next
train of mules. Cargoes arrive from Lima in ten days; mail-boxes, on a
mule, travel the distance in six days. To Iça, 50 leagues; cargoes take
eight days.
There are no foreigners in Huancavelica. Creole families are few, and
the Indian population very poor. Its vegetable productions are raised in
this cold ravine; the inhabitants, generally, keep in doors; almost all
the Spanish Creoles have been to Lima on visits, or educated there, and
possess a gay, agreeable manner, and make the cold dreary evenings pass
off pleasantly. They have no fires in their houses; as a substitute,
they play romping games, and under the exercise keep comfortable until
bed time. This was decidedly a merry way of bringing families together,
and pleasing to see old folk's romping, like children, with the young
people. On one such occasion, a corpulent gentleman had his thumb put
out of joint; a pretty girl held the end of it, while others pulled
it in place again—by his coat-tails. One of the games is somewhat like
"hunt the slipper." All the players stand up in the middle of the room,
and carry on to the music of a guitar, violin, or flute. The houses
are tolerably well furnished and carpeted. The Indians act the part
of servants. They are taken when young, grow up with the children, and
frequently remain all their lives in the family; others run away when
they become of age, or whenever they are dissatisfied. The Indian girls
are often very much attached to their employers, and make cooks and
house servants; remarkably neat in their dress, which is not unlike the
bloomer style. People wear thick cloth here, even in the house; it is
unusual to see ladies without shawls, or gentlemen without cloaks or
overcoats. The only fuel known is mountain grass, and dried droppings
of llama, like what our hunters call "Buffalo chips."
The Prefect of the department was very kind and attentive. He gave me
passports for all the lieutenants of police in South Peru, and called
upon them as good citizens to assist me; besides, he offered me private
letters of introduction to his friends on my route. He expressed the
opinion that Mr. Gibbon was probably going to Carabaya, for the purpose
of ascertaining whether the gold there was not "the other end of the
California vein." I paid off Francisco and his little son Ignacio, when
they returned home. Here we take regular post mules and new arrieros,
or mule-drivers. José's saddle wallets were replenished with bread and
cheese. An Indian girl came up in time for Don ——'s pretty little wife
to purchase part of a lamb for us, and we marched on, feeling quite an
attachment to the town, for though the climate and soil be inhospitable,
the kind-hearted people are not.
[Illustration: MATRIZ DE SAN ANTONIO-HUANCAVELICA, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
Dog-killers were rushing through the streets with short clubs, and as
a wounded dog came running for protection among our baggage mules, the
arriero's fat wife clung to her own pet dog until the killers were out
of sight. The women generally accompany the arrieros some distance on
the road, carrying provisions, which are eaten and drank on the road
side just before parting. Ascending a rough, rocky road, over deeply
washed ravines, we gain the smooth grass capped mountains. Between peaks
of perpendicular strata, flocks of llama are pasturing. Yonder is a lake
of clear snow-water, and there stands five beautiful vicuña, looking
intently at us. What pretty animals, and how wild they look. They come
here to pasture with their kinsfolk, the llamas. "Richards ride round
the mountain; José go with the baggage steadily along the road, while
I take up this ravine, and try a shot." We all start. The male gives a
whistle, which sounds among the hills like the cry of a wild turkey; the
four females are off. He stands still; as I near him, he calls louder,
and long before I get within ball range, he is away over the mountain
brow. The sailor-boy Richards will never give up the chase; he has run
his mule out of breath, and now he takes after them on foot.
The vicuña is smaller and a much more neatly-formed animal than the
llama, with a coat of fine curly wool; its color resembles that of the
smaller deer. In the distribution of animals, as well as I can judge,
the vicuña naturally seeks an atmosphere just below the llama. It is
very swift and difficult to capture. The Indians take them by driving
them into pens. Now and then a young one may be found tamed, and kept
as a pet among the children; they are never used as beasts of burden.
Fine cloths and valuable hats are manufactured from the vicuña. A skin
sells in the market for fifty cents, and the meat is better than that of
the llama, though José expresses rather a disgust at the idea of eating
llama meat.
Our course is to the eastward. The snow-capped mountains are in sight
to the west. Temperature of a spring 48°; air, 44°. Lightning flashes
all around us; as the wind whirls from northeast to southwest, rain and
snow-flakes become hail, half the size of peas. Thunder roars and echoes
through the mountains; the mules hang their heads, and travel slowly;
the thinly-clad aboriginal walks shivering as he drives the train ahead;
the dark, cumulus cloud seems to wrap itself around us.
The first house we met was Molina post; the men passed the night with
their mules in a storm, which beat against our tent all night. The
postman, a Spanish Creole, invited us into his house; I saw his wife,
two children, one Indian servant, and five dogs, seated around a fire
made of dung, over which the woman was cooking mutton. Their bed was of
barley straw, and a miserable old donkey was peeping in the door at it;
so I had the tent pitched. At 7 in the morning the thermometer was 37°
Fahr. This is a barren country, and seems to be inhabited by the wilder
animals. We chased a fox among the rocks, and shot two _viscachas_,
which resemble the rabbit in size, color, and head, but the feet and
tail are like those of the opossum. The people are very fond of them.
The arriero smiled when he saw his supper. Richards cut one of them open
to bottle its young, but we had misjudged its appearance. An Indian boy
said if the mules ate any of the hair of this animal it would cause
instant death. We had no extra mules to prove the assertion. The fur
is very fine and valuable; they are running in and out of holes in
the ground or the clefts of rocks, to nibble the mountain grass. The
mountains are more rolling, and covered with a thick coat of pasture;
flocks of sheep speckle the mountains—black and white—cleanly washed by
the rains. They seek the atmosphere next below the vicuña, while the
good-natured shepherdess follows with a womanly regard for the wishes
of those she loves.
Another storm is coming; we hurry on, and arrive at the next post in the
small Indian town of Pancara. The postman told José that the Alcalde had
come to pay us a visit. A respectable old Indian, with a silver-headed
cane, who could not speak Spanish, appeared, so José was my interpreter
in Quichua. "How many people live in this town, Señor Alcalde?"
_Alcalde_, (eating parched corn from his waistcoat pocket,) "Don't
know." "Have you plenty to live upon in this part of the country?"
_Alcalde_, (with the most laughably contented air,) "Roast corn and
few potatoes. The people are going away; will soon be left by myself."
_Alcalde_—"Going to Cuzco?" _José_—"Yes; and as we have a long travel,
we have to feed our mules well. Will you order us barley?" _Alcalde_—"I
will go now and fetch it."
The town is falling to decay; many houses deserted, and their roofs have
tumbled in. Climate cold and unpleasant. Except our kind friend, the
Alcalde, the people look wretched.
The vegetable productions of this department are few, and can only be
raised in the deep valleys, where the dense atmosphere interrupts the
parching rays of the sun, and they are protected from the cold mountain
blasts of the night. No department in Peru is more broken and barren
than this, with a greater variety of climate. In our sight are peaks of
eternal snow, which run up to sharp points of pure white, standing in
rows; the humble Indian, cultivating his patch of green lucerne in the
valley, far below.
The animals are mostly those native to the country, and few of them
tame. The horse, ass, and horned cattle, are much smaller than those
on the coast, and are little used. Birds are very few, and seldom found
domesticated; even the common poultry find the climate uncongenial.
Fishes are rare and small; only taken, I believe, in the Juaja river.
Of minerals and metals already known, there are silver, quicksilver,
copper, lead, iron, stone coal, and lime.
The silver mines of Castro-Virreyna have been worked for many years.
They are situated south of the town of Huancavelica, in the Cordillera
range. They count thirty mines, of which, at the present day, but seven
are worked. Stone coal is found near by sufficiently good for engine
purposes. One steam-engine made a voyage round Cape Horn, and arrived
safely at these mines, where it is said to be doing a good business.
In all cases, the _pieces_ must not exceed one hundred and fifty pounds
weight, or they come to a stand-still at the landing on the coast. Two
pieces are balanced on the back of a mule, which carries the heavy
loads, never exceeding three hundred pounds. This is the only way a
steam-engine can possibly travel through the department of Huancavelica.
The unoccupied mines are said to contain water, and air so offensive,
that it is dangerous for the workmen to enter them.
This department has a population, by the government estimate, of 76,111
people. Two of the aboriginal race to one Creole will not be far from
the average proportion. As the old Alcalde honestly confesses, he don't
know how many people live in his small town, it will be understood how
difficult it is to get anything like a correct list. The people are
scattered over a great space of country. We travel a day over the wild
heights without meeting with a man, or find a valley too thickly peopled
for the productions raised therein.
The department is divided into four provinces, each governed by
a sub-prefect. These are again divided into districts, under
governors, all of whom are responsible to the prefect at the
capital—Huancavelica—who is allowed a secretary, three assistants, and
a porter. The civil list amounts annually to six thousand four hundred
and ninety-five dollars. The prefect is appointed by the government
at Lima, and holds his office during the pleasure of the President of
the republic. The sub-prefects and governors are also appointed by the
supreme government, though generally through the recommendation of the
prefect of the department.
Early in the morning we left Pancara; our good old friend, the Alcalde,
still eating roasted maize, while he cheerfully expressed a desire to
see us when we returned again. The Indians show great surprise when they
are told that we will not return _that way_, and seem to be buried in
deep thought, as though it troubled them to make out the white man's
motions.
Near this small town the road leads through a number of standing
rocks, which have been washed by the rains into sugar-loaf forms; and
so uniform are they, that it seemed like passing through tents in an
encampment. The rock is a soft sandstone, which wears away very fast at
the sides, and not on the top, where seems to be the end of the grain.
Their heights are from 12 to 18 feet, and so well shaped, that one might
be erroneously led to believe they were the work of a pyramidal-minded
race of men; but, upon closer examination, we found the work going
on in the side of a bank, which was being regularly divided off into
sugar-loaves. Had we entered this apparent encampment at midnight, I
should have called out, for those rocks which stand off on the plateau a
little distance look like sentry boxes around the main body of an army.
The constant wearing away of these elevated portions of the earth is
beautifully demonstrated here, where the uplands seem to be _dissolving_
and settling down towards a level—examples of the natural working of
_weather_ upon stones, so nearly resembling that of human hands with
hammer and chisel. We found these pyramids for some distance along the
road. Some of them were inhabited by families of Indians, large square
holes or rooms being cut in the north side. Some rooms required steps
to ascend; others were even with the ground. I found the family at home
in one of them. Near the doorway was a horse-trough cut in the stone,
and above it a place like the handle of a pot, where the end of the
halter was tied. Cooking utensils, dogs, and children were seen in the
lower story, while the Indian woman was spinning wool in the upper,
or bed-room. A few regularly-built stone houses near by are not so
interesting.
On this part of our journey, Indian girls, with _chicha_ and _chupe_
for sale, are seated at the tops of the steep ascents. Chicha is
the favorite drink of the Indians. A party—generally old women—seat
themselves around a wooden trough containing maize. Each one takes a
mouthful, and mashes the grain between her teeth—if she has any—and
casts it back into the trough in the most sickening manner. As the
mill-stones are often pretty well worn, the operation requires time
and perseverance. The mass, with water added, is then boiled in large
coppers, after which it is left to ferment in huge earthen jars, when it
is sold by the brewers without a license. It is an intoxicating drink,
but very healthful, the Indians say. Chupe is the Peruvian national
dish, and may be made of any and everything, so long as it holds its
relationship to soup. It is made generally of mutton, potatoes, eggs,
rice, all highly seasoned with pepper, &c.
As the weary traveller arrives almost breathless at the top of the
hill, the girl tempts him. I halted by one of them, and addressed her in
Spanish, but she answered in Quichua, and pointed to her chupe, which
I believe she had kept warm by sitting over it during the morning. I
thanked her kindly, and pushed on. Here and there an Indian hut is to be
seen at a distance. In the valley to our right are flocks of sheep; and
the merry laugh of the shepherdesses echoes through the mountains. Two
girls walking after their flocks, have their arms around each other's
necks, joking and laughing as they leave home for a day among the hills.
The sheep have just been let out of their pen, and run, one before the
other, nipping the frost-tipped pasture. The dogs follow sulkily, with
heads and tails hanging, as though they would rather stay at home if
there was any company.
Here, as we rise to the top of a mountain, we behold all around one
broken mass, ridge beyond ridge, as far as the eye can reach, like waves
of the tempest-tossed ocean. Our mules are harassed, and the chronometer
positively refuses to go any further. As we descend the Indians are
harvesting barley. Horned cattle seem to fancy the atmospheric pressure
just below the sheep.
The arrieros keep the higher road which brings us to the left of a
valley. From the ridge we see the small town of Acobamba, and a turn
in the Juaja river, dashing over its rocky bed, as the wild duck flies
quickly against the current. The country has a fresher appearance. In
the ravines, clusters of green bushes and flowers bloom; 5 p. m., air,
43°; wet bulb, 39°, at Parcas post.
I succeeded in securing a duck supper from a small lake, with a thick
growth of rushes in the centre. The common mallard duck, and a black
species, are found with red and green bills, and red legs. When these
take fright, they hide themselves in the rushes and seldom fly. There
are a number of beds of lakes which are filled in the rainy season;
at present they are dry; on this route it is usual for travellers
to carry bottles of water with them. A man in poncho and mountain
travelling dress rode up behind us, with an Indian girl seated behind
his saddle. He refreshed us with the compliments of the morning in
_plain English_. He came out of the valley from Acobamba, though born
in New Haven, Connecticut. His spirited horse was fretting itself over
the rugged road. This man was proprietor of a circus company; had been
many years in South America, and as we slowly wound our way up the
mountain, told us his past history; what he had seen, and how often he
thought of returning to New England. "But nobody knows me now. Years
ago I heard of the changes there, and don't believe I should know my
native place. I have adopted the manners and customs of these people,
and if I should return to the United States again, I fear my earnings
would not be sufficient. I have worked in this country for years, and
am worth nothing at last." His stories of travels were interesting. He
had encountered travellers of all nations, and amused me with the way
in which some of them worked their way through the rough country, among
the people of Mexico and South America. Speaking of the mountain roads
between Popoyan and Bogota, in New Granada, over which travellers are
borne in light bamboo chairs upon the backs of Indians, I discovered
that he had encountered two of my own near relations on that route,
nearly twenty years before.
He had sent a branch of his circus to Cerro de Pasco, and ordered the
horses, on a raft at Huallaga river, to descend that stream, and the
main trunk of the Amazon, to Pará. He had navigated the Mississippi in
a canoe, and assured me at first he would try to sell his horses and
go with me down the Purus. Every now and then his English ran off into
Spanish. Then he would beg my pardon for not speaking his mother tongue
as well as when a boy.
The Indians of the surrounding country were gathered at Marcas post,
to celebrate the saint's day of San Jago, an old church in the valley.
The obliging master of the post had just returned from church, a little
intoxicated, like most other folks about him. The Indians were dressed
in queer costumes, marching in procession, with drums and fifes,
through crowds of women; some wore cows-horns and black masks, others
cocked hats and gold laced coats; while the women were dressed in all
colors. Young Creoles dashed about on horse-back; girls were singing
and hanging most affectionately on the shoulders of their lovers. The
whole crowd was _high_ on a chicha diet. The morning had been spent in
prayers, after which a grand procession, headed by the priest. We came
in at the evening ceremony. The scenery was as beautiful as strange;
the church below us, and the people lining the road from it to the post
house, while drums mingled with the shouts and singing of the women.
Down the sides of the mountain, Sage's circus company slowly advance. A
queer-looking Mexican is the clown. A little dark complexioned Guayaquil
girl, a neat rider, accompanies a fine looking Peruvian, whose fat wife,
with sun-burnt face, follows. Then a pony and his playmate, the dog,
with a beautiful Peruvian girl, servants, and a long train of baggage
mules, all mixed in with the congregation. As the sun sets over the
western mountains, a storm rises in the southwest, with thunder and
lightning.
A long steep descent brought us into the valley of Huanta, where we
entered the department of Ayacucho. The horse stands at ease; the swine
repose coolly under the shade of a fig-tree; humming birds buzz among
the flowers, and the fresh-water streams ripple through the highly
cultivated lucerne fields. The gay, laughing faces of the people speak
for the happiness of the valley, as do the beautiful flowers for its
richness. Potatoes, beans, apples, chirimoyas, and granadillas are for
sale by the road-side. Indian girls often invite us to take chicha. The
climate is pleasant. At 9 a. m., thermometer 60°. The fig-tree is very
large, and bending with fruit, while peach blossoms overhang the road;
large clusters of green cactus shade the quiet little ring-dove; the
partridge calls from beneath the barley beards; the people are seated
by the shady brook in midsummer costume. Yesterday we were shivering
under a midwinter snow-storm, high up on the mountains.
At the town of Huanta, my letters were handed to the governor, who
kindly gave me possession of the house of the sub-prefect, who had gone,
with his family, visiting about the country. Huanta has a population of
two thousand people. From the balcony we have a full view of the plaza
and the market people, with the hills in the back ground, among which
there are some rich silver mines. Many have been abandoned on account of
water. People are anxious to receive silver bars, but not over anxious
about paying the necessary expenses for getting them. The Indian finds
great hardship and little profit, while he goes with hammer and chisel
mining out the rich metal. The Creole seats himself at the mouth of the
mine, wrapped in his broadcloth cloak, and receives the treasure. The
poor Indian prefers cultivating the soil, from which it is difficult
to persuade him; force, at times, is _indirectly_ applied through the
influence and power of the authorities. The more intelligent race take
advantage of his ignorance. Some, who are very intemperate, of course
are generally very poor; such are enticed to the mines by a regular
supply of chicha; others, again, are taught to believe that to labor in
this world for the benefit of others is to lay up treasures for them
in a better place; they have a dreadful fear of temporal powers, and
dare not disobey. There are different sorts of slavery existing among
different kinds of free people. If obliged to choose, many would rather
be negro slaves in North America, than free Indians in the South.
The governor had our mules cared for, and invited me to his table under
the shade of the eastern balcony. He was a cheerful, agreeable man; if
he knew how, no doubt would better the condition of those around him.
His fine, healthy boys are growing up in idleness, and a pretty little
daughter stands most of the day in the balcony watching the Indians in
the plaza, under their umbrella shades, selling fruit. She pointed out
an old Spanish Creole, said to be one hundred and five years old.
There are beggars and marks of the smallpox. In the ravines, along the
sides of the valley, ague and fever sometimes prevail, but, generally,
the valley is very healthy. The nights are cold and days warm. During
our few days' stay here, the twilight was followed by flashes of
lightning, which lit up the whole valley. The nights are cloudy, which
baffles our watch for the stars. The day's travel before our arrival
here was harassing.
The roof of the government house in Huanta is well tiled, and the
walls well plastered, with paintings of full figures of saints, fairly
executed, on them; the rooms are large, furnished, and carpeted. This
is the exception to the rule.
The Huancavelica mules and arrieros returned, and we engaged others. The
postman examined the baggage; pairs off the loads; and receives _half_
the passage-money in advance the day before starting. He inquires, with
an enterprising air, what time we would like to leave in the morning? I
have found it best to tell them to come before the time appointed. The
frequent excuses are various—a mule will be missing, or, the arriero
may want a wife—he is never at a loss for a reason to keep you waiting
until _he_ is ready. The best way, after fretting a little at first,
is to take things a little _easier_ than they do. It is amusing to see
how they dislike to be outdone, and hurry to break down opposition.
Whenever these people meet with difficulties, the rule is to take a
seat, and from the pocket take a small piece of paper or corn husk; a
tin box supplies tobacco, to be rolled up in the shape of a cigar, and
placed behind the ear; a match box and strike-a-light are produced, and
the difficulty is considered in so cool a manner, while the smoke curls
upwards, that unless you saw a mule, baggage and all, had broken through
a miserable bridge, or fallen down a precipice, you would not believe
anything had happened. The tobacco imported from Havana into Peru is
highly prized, and a quantity consumed. Massachusetts cotton goods are
sold by the Indians, in the plazas of these inland towns, at three times
their value in the United States.
[Illustration: VIEW TO THE SOUTH FROM HUANTA, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
Passing through the small town of Macachara, I made José ask an Indian
woman, seated on the side of the street, how old she was? She answered,
one hundred years, God bless you, and "_very poor_." At a well built
stone bridge, dated 1770, a flock of parrots flew by. Our course is
south, over a rocky, dusty road; the day clear and calm. At noon,
thermometer, 71°, with snow-capped mountains to the northeast. There
is very little growth on the mountains—here and there some cactus.
We arrived at the side of a stream through which a number of women
were wading. No wonder they carry such loads on their backs, they are
so stout built. An old woman, with four handsome daughters, kept her
dress much dryer than any of the girls, though they were more careful
after they found how deep it was. They are not nervous, and don't mind
men much. A plateau is cultivated with barley, and we felt somewhat
interested in the ground over which we travel. It is the battle-field
of Ayacucho, where the royalists of Spain, under command of Viceroy
Laserna, met the independent South Americans, under the brave Venezuelan
Sucre. This battle took place on the 9th day of December, 1824, when the
whole of the Peruvian territory was surrendered, with the exception of
Callao.
The country around is wild and deeply washed with gullies and ravines
in the wet season. The Spaniards flocked to this country for silver and
gold; they built a large city, and called it Huamanga; the republicans
changed its name to Ayacucho, in honor of the victory. It is the capital
of the department, which is divided into five provinces, and contains
a population of 129,921.
The complexion of the people becomes lighter as we get south, and fewer
Indians speak Spanish. They all say "buenos tardes" (good evening) when
we meet them, even if it be at sunrise. Many of their expressions in
Quichua sound like the language of the natives of the South Pacific
islands, as I recollect it ten years ago, while cruising as a midshipman
in the ship-of-war St. Louis.
The city of Ayacucho has a population of ten thousand people; the houses
have two stories, with large rooms and court-yards; the streets run
at right angles, and are paved. On the grand plaza stands an immense
cathedral, of stone, with heavy bells and iron-fastened doors. There
are twenty-two other churches. The whole city was built on a grand
and expensive scale. The present population indicate a falling off in
numbers and wealth. The streets are strewed with ragged children and
beggar men. Under large corridors are seen lounging sleepy old soldiers,
with muskets and fixed bayonets; officers parade the streets, buttoned
up to the throat, with dangling swords, and some of the most unclean
looking priests we have ever beheld.
In the two schools there are only thirty pupils. A professor of belles
lettres and _poetry_, informed me that geography was only provided
for in the college of Lima; and a teacher of _latin grammar_ said the
reason they had so few scholars was, the parents were too poor to pay
for schooling. Among the aboriginals it is very unusual to find one who
can write his name, and not unusual to find Creoles who cannot write.
As to reading, I have never seen a person in the country so occupied,
and have not seen a public journal.
In the plaza the Indians sell barley, wheat, maize, potatoes, onions,
lucerne, and fruits, brought from the other side of the eastern ridge.
In a blacksmith's shop I found the mestizos burning charcoal, and upon
asking whether they used stone coal, they all stopped work, and, with
an air of astonishment, said they had never seen coal dug out of the
ground, nor iron neither. One of them showed me a piece of charcoal,
and inquired whether I had seen any before! As they were about shoeing
a mule, I remained. The smith came into the street with a short-handled
whip, long lash, and box of tools, accompanied by four workmen. One of
them doubled a hair rope and slung the mule's hind foot to its tail; in
doing so there was some kicking. The tools were at once set aside, and
the sprightly mule most cruelly whipped; after which the shoe was nailed
on and the hoof cut to fit it. The horseshoes are imported.
CHAPTER II.
Gold and silver ornaments—Bridal trip on the
Andes—Manufacturers of bark rope—Cotton trees—Winds and
currents of the mountains—Population—Cultivation—Flocks of
sheep—Frosty nights—Reports of robbers—Shoemaker—Ancient
fortification—Indians travelling—Condor's wings—A
padre on the road—Sugar-cane patches—Spanish Creoles—An
African slave—Apurimac bridge—Cabbage patch—Peruvian
widow—Bullfight—Fish and horned cattle—Cuzco—Market
place—Steamboat navigation—Eastern side of the Andes—Coca
plantation—Head of Madre-de-Dios—Rivers Cosnipata, Tono, and
Piñipiñi—Forests—Tigers—Monkeys—Chuncho savages—View of the
low lands from a peak of the Andes—Cinchona bark gatherers.
This town was formerly celebrated for manufacturers of beautiful gold
and silver ornaments. Exported to Spain they were highly prized. Old
ornaments are still for sale, which are of virgin metal, some of them
curious imitations of birds and animals. In the small shops around
the plaza, cotton goods are sold, but there is little activity in
anything. The picture of decay is distressing; blind people walk arm
in arm with cripples; no sound of busy wheels or of business is heard;
a death-like silence prevails, both day and night, only broken by the
chime of enormous steeple bells, where the ragged population kneel
before an altar groaning with the precious metals. The priests, with few
exceptions, are the only fat looking people in this part of the country,
others being taxed for the support of the government and the church.
There are many pleasant families here; the gentlemen frank and
agreeable. Several of them came to see me, and expressed great pleasure
at the idea of advancing their country by steam navigation. One
gray-headed gentleman told me _he_ probably would not live to see the
result of the expedition, but he believed his sons would, and daughters
too. He gave me his blessing, which was quite sincere. The prefect was
also interested in the enterprize, and showed it by presenting maps,
and furnishing everything necessary for an easy passage through a rough
country. We were comfortably quartered, and kindly treated by all. The
ladies of Ayacucho are handsome, ride well on horseback, are extremely
agreeable in conversation, and naturally talented. One who can boast
of having been in Lima, is never a "wall flower" among them. With a
modest bearing, they speak out, and to the point. Some answer _serious_
questions affirmatively at the age of twelve years. One of the first
they ask is, "are you married?"
Sugar and vanilla beans are produced on the eastern side of the
mountains. Ice and rock salt are brought from the glaciers, in sight,
with cream from the valley. Ice-cream is made and sold by the Indian
women in the plaza. Our pistols kept bright, and burnished steel remains
in the open air without rusting. Grapes are not very fine in quality.
Goats seem to thrive better, and poultry again appears here. At dinner,
seated by a lady, with large gold rings on each hand, and heavy gold
chains around her neck, supporting a locket and gold cross, it was
remarked that, those wearing expensive ornaments were supposed to be
wealthy. She, evidently pleased, asked me to help her cut her chicken
bones into tooth picks. Some of the dishes, cups, spoons, and forks were
roughly made of solid silver, though there are thought to be few wealthy
people in the city.
Breakfast is taken at from 10 to 11 a. m., dinner from 4 to 5 p. m. If
supper is taken, it is at a very late hour; coffee is drank early in the
morning, and tea in the evening. Tables only are set twice; their meats
are served in different forms, highly seasoned with pepper and spices,
generally accompanied with potatoes. Quinua, a native plant, considered
a delicacy, is also prepared in different ways; the seeds are cooked
with cheese, or boiled with milk and pimento.
On Monday, August 4, 1851, at 8 a. m., thermometer, 59°; wet bulb, 54°.
Our course stretches to the eastward again, over a dry, uninteresting
road, hedged in with cactus, bearing the _Tuna_ fruit. The country is
uncultivated, except in the valleys. Crossing a well-built stone bridge,
over a stream flowing northward, we passed a grist-mill. Peach trees
were in blossom, and some few flowers. After a ride over these barren
heights, the sight of a fresh rapid brook gladdens the hearts of our
mules.
Matara post house is near a gorge in the range of mountains trending
southeast and northwest. The potatoes and barley are of good size here;
on the northwest side of a hill, I cut eleven stalks of wheat, produced
from _one_ seed, and counted four hundred and fourteen grains from the
heads of these sprouts. It is not unusual to see twenty stalks produced
from one grain—eleven is about the average. These crops are only raised
after a careful system of irrigation. The Indians lead the water from
the heights to a great distance; this seems to be a favorite occupation
with them. Wherever water can be had, there the soil yields a rich
harvest; in other places, the mid-day sun kills the young stalks.
[Illustration: MATARA POST HOUSE.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
One of our arrieros—a Quichua Indian—has his wife; being just married,
they are very fond. This appears to be her bridal trip. Mounted like
a man, on a white horse, her blue dress and scarlet manto show to
advantage. She wears a straw hat, with broad ribband. Her hair, after
their custom, is plaited and hangs in two braids over her shoulders.
The Indians all salute her as she rides by, and has something pleasant
to say to both; she bows and receives it smilingly, while he looks
modestly, and becomes very much engaged attending to his duties; while
nearly out of sight, among the mountains, he is constantly talking by
her side.
Over these rough roads the arrieros generally travel on foot. They walk
for days with more ease than the mules, and quite as fast. On the plains
they trot along after the baggage for hours at a time. Messages from the
governors and sub-prefects are often sent to the prefect by Indians, on
foot, rather than by horse or mule. The man cuts across the mountains
and delivers his despatches long before they could arrive by the road.
I believe the Indians prefer walking to riding. Sandals protect their
feet from the rocky and gravelly road, being at the same time cool.
Whatever they have to carry is fastened to the back, leaving the arms
free. Sometimes they have a short cane in one hand for protection
against dogs, or for support over steep, irregular paths. I have seen
them crawling on all fours, up hill.
We expected an extended view over lands to the east of our range, but
when we arrived at the ridge in the gorge, we saw mountains beyond
mountains, snow peaks and rocky rounded tops, deep valleys and narrow
ravines, all thrown about in confused shapes. After travelling for
hours, we made leagues by the road; yet the distance from the Pacific
to the Atlantic is short on our map.
In the small town of Ocron, the people were threshing barley and
twisting bark into rope. A good-looking young man arose from the
rope-making party of men and women, and offered us a glass of chicha.
It seemed impolite to refuse a kind offer when the people do you a
favor and wish you to consider it as such, but I cannot drink it; so
declining with thanks, we pass on leaving José, who naturally leans
the chicha-way. After a long descent, we encamped by a lonely house,
enveloped in foliage. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 73°. We have sand flies,
musquitos, bugs, bees, and humming-birds. The whole scene is changed to
mid-summer; cotton grows upon small trees, so do peaches and chirimoyas.
The Peruvian mail passed by from Lima on its way to the southern
departments. The letters are carried in two small hide boxes on the
back of a fine mule, with a swallow-tailed red and white flag flying
from a short pole fastened between the trunks. The conductor is well
mounted and armed; wears a scarlet cloak, and rides after; while the
mounted arriero trots ahead, blowing a horn. They travel at a quickened
pace up hill and down. I should like to overhaul that letter-box, but
remittances are often made by the mail, and a desire to look for United
States letters on the road might be considered unlawful.
We crossed the Rio Pampas, flowing northwest, upon a suspension bridge
made of bark rope. Eight cables are stretched across, over which small
cross-pieces of light wood are fastened to form a floor; two large
cables above the sides bear part of the weight, by small ropes laced
from the floor over them. Great care had to be taken by leading the
mules one by one. My mule, Rose, gave more trouble than any; she was
very much frightened, and would not budge until another mule walked
just before her, and we all urged her not to turn back. I feared she
would rush through the lacing into the river, one hundred and twenty
feet below. The creaking and swinging of the bridge was fearful for
about forty yards. We saw fishermen in the light-green water below;
on the rocks sat numbers of cormorants, ready to dive for fish. The
stream is rapid and very winding, turning snake-like round the base of
mountains on its way through the Apurimac, Ucayali, and Amazon, to the
Atlantic. It takes its rise to the south of us, near the tops of the
great Cordilleras; our road leads along its banks, ascending through
stunted trees, from which sweet air plants hang in full flower. Here
the vegetable productions seem to suffer in the struggle between the
moisture from the river and the burning rays of the sun, which seem to
obstruct and keep down the plant that shows a desire to improve.
After a long and tiresome ascent we reached Bombam post house; the
postmaster offered his house, and seemed astonished that we did not seek
it in preference to our tent. He sent us chicken soup and boiled corn
for supper. A flock of kids came playing about our tent; their faces
resemble those of monkeys. The Indians killed a large hog, and the women
made blood pudding. José assured me it was good _with chicha_; he seems
to fancy the custom of living among the Indians.
There is no regular wind in this region; currents of air draw in through
the mountains from all directions; although the clouds far above us show
wind, we are unable to tell that it comes from any particular direction,
and below it is quite calm. While encamped on the high places, frequent
efforts were made to distinguish the satellites of Jupiter by the naked
eye, but we are not high enough for that yet, though our sight is very
good. The rivers around flow to every point of the compass, and make
it difficult to decide if the waters make the winds, or the relative
positions of the mountains _alone_ cause these drafts. The winds are
very gentle, and curl the cirrus or hairy clouds in most graceful
shapes about the hoary-headed Andes in rich and delicate clusters;
when the peak is concealed, all but the blue tinge below the snow, we
see a natural bridal veil. An easterly wind lifts and turns them to
dark, cumulus clouds, settled on the frosty crown, like an old man's
winter cap; the physiognomical expression is that of anger. The change
is accompanied by thunder, and seems to command all around to clothe
themselves for storms. The cold rain comes down in fine drops upon us;
the day grows darker, and the clouds press close upon the earth. Our
oil-cloth hat-covers and India-rubber ponchos were admired at a small
settlement. The children were at school under a shed, pulling their bare
feet under them to keep them warm; they looked as if they wished school
was out. The people are better looking as we travel south, and are more
cheerful. A girl stowed José's saddle-bags with fresh bread and cheese
from a door-way, and said she would rather travel than keep shop. José
said his work was wet; she answered, hers was too dry. The road becomes
very slippery when wet; it is best to have the mules shod for safety
as for the comfort of the animal. They worry very much sliding about
under heavy rain; some of the baggage mules fall upon the ground. The
flat lands are thickly populated, and well cultivated. On the rolling
mountains we come to grazing again; the flocks roam in the desert, where
we pass the night. At supper the arriero tells José, in Quichua, this is
a dangerous country; robbers live in numbers among the mountain-tops.
They meet the travellers at night upon this uninhabitable part of the
road, and make what terms they please. Their modes of attack differ. If
they see the party in day time, and know the number, they come boldly
up and make their demands; if they are in doubt, their guide comes
alone; inquires after the traveller's health; requests a light for his
cigar, keeping his eyes about him. After expressing a wish to purchase,
he returns to his party, with a full report of his reconnoissance.
Whether they attack or not, the chances are that they will steal the
mules at pasture during the night. José don't feel at ease; is anxious,
after telling me the story, to know what we shall do. The plan for the
night was arranged. If the _guia_ comes, he was to be made fast to the
baggage as soon as he lit his cigar. José was to keep hot water at the
fire; one arriero to sleep with a lasso at hand, the other to watch the
mules. Should any one approach our tent, the arriero was instructed
to lasso and haul him in under José's hot water. Richards was armed
with a carbine and two large ship pistols; my double-barrelled gun and
five-shooter, with rifle bore, made us in all ten shots. At midnight
José peeped into the tent, and after several anxious calls, said, "Sir,
the guia is coming." José did not admire the general plan of action,
but it was not changed. Upon close examination, we found the supposed
guia to be a donkey gazing at the fire. The weapons used by the robbers
is a short thick club, slung stone balls, and knives. They seldom use
fire-arms, but dread them. The savage, dissipated negro, or Peruvian
robber, may come up bravely with his dagger, intent to commit murder;
but let him hear the click of a revolver and he vanishes; the _noise_ is
offensive to him. Robbers waylay travelling merchants, lonely strangers,
and trains of merchandise with loads of silver. The mules are turned
from the road into a wild mountain gorge, where none but robbers live,
and forever lost to the owner. The Montaneros, as they are called,
control the country around.
About daylight in the morning, José was heard grumbling to himself.
While he was _asleep_ a shepherdess's dog robbed his saddle-bags of
our bread and cheese. Sketched the encampment; called it _Ladron_; and
pushed on. A thick fog, and snow under foot. At 6 a. m., thermometer,
39°; wet bulb, 37°. The pasture is improved by burning down the grass
at this season. While the rain storm beats from the eastward, flocks
of vicuñas are grazing to the west of us. The rain turns to hail as the
wind veers to northeast.
In the valley of Andahuailas, we see the wild cherry tree for the first
time in South America. After sundown, the bright pink light, which often
attracts attention at Lima, and sometimes alarms the natives, appears
not unlike the aurora borealis, rising far above the Cordilleras in
the west, while the bright moon lights our path over the Andes to the
east. In Andahuailas we joined the sub-prefect and family at breakfast.
Our baggage was placed in a large room, and mules in the corral. If
hospitality was not quite so highly seasoned with hot pepper it would go
down easier. The rough life on the mountains agrees with body and mind
much better than the luxuries of the valley seem to do.
[Illustration: CAMP LADRON, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
This town has a population of fifteen hundred; mostly Indians. The
valley contains six thousand. There is a great deal of poverty. The
cultivated portions of land seem to be over populated. Deaf and dumb
lounge about. A good-looking woman, with a baby in her arms, came to
my door begging for bread. Her intelligent face was sad. When I gave
her money, the poor creature nearly bent on her knees before us. My
gun-cover wanted repairs; and while applying to a mestizo shoemaker,
with three or four apprentices, the sub-prefect joined me. I unguardedly
told him what I wished, and remarked that the man had so much business
he could not repair it in time, when I was astonished to hear the
sub-prefect order him in a loud and passionate way to do the work. The
shoemaker pointed to the large amount of work on hand, and said he could
not possibly attend to it; when he was at once ordered to do what he was
told by the next morning, and to bring it to the government house. The
cover was repaired, and shoemaker paid. Afterwards I was more careful.
There are abandoned silver mines five leagues south, one of which has
been re-opened by a North American—Charles Stone. I did not see him,
but understood he hopes to work profitably.
The productions of the valley are maize, barley, wheat, lucerne, beans
potatoes, small apples and peaches, with a few chirimoyas of inferior
quality. The tanas fruit is very abundant; the cactus flower beautiful.
The wine drank at the sub-prefect's table was manufactured from the Yca
grape. The wife of the sub-prefect was a very kind person. At breakfast
and dinner hours, ten to twelve poor Indians were sometimes fed by her.
She teaches her little son to treat them politely, telling him to help
them to water, &c.
Entering the small town of Heronimo, we find all the inhabitants
bare-headed, on their knees in the streets and doorways; church bells
ringing; host on the way through the town. A padre walks, with book in
hand, attended by a man with a large umbrella to keep off the sun. A
number of women and men follow, uttering prayers. One of them rings a
small bell. We halted under the shade of a house while the host entered
the church. As the people rose, we travelled on. Six leagues brought us
to Pincor post, where we enjoyed a supper of wild pigeons, six of which
were killed at one shot. They are large, and very like tame pigeons. The
arrieros and José cooked them on sticks before our camp fire. Here, for
the first time, we saw a snake. The songs of frogs are heard among lofty
mountains. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 65°; August 15th. Next morning at
6 a. m., thermometer, 38°; wet bulb, 36°; temperature of a spring, 46°.
On a narrow ridge, with deep valleys on both sides, we have a view of
snow-clad mountains to the east; by the road-side an ancient fort,
called by the arrieros "Quramba." The arrieros (Quichua Indians)
expressed pleasure and surprise when they saw the sketch, wrapping
themselves up in their ponchos, and kneeling on the ground, looking on.
A party of Indians came silently up the ridge; on a journey they are
quiet; when at home they play upon wind instruments and drums. The girls
often sing, but I never heard any whistling; they are not great talkers,
except when excited, and then the women's tongues are remarkably fast.
Nor do I believe they are active thinkers. Their eyes are constantly
moving, for they are sharp-sighted, and notice every thing near them by
a quick, sly glance. Their hearing is very good; so is their knowledge
of the manners, habits, and peculiarities of animals, being constantly
on the watch for game, which they trap, as they are not practised in
the use of fire-arms; nor do these Indians use the bow and arrow. A boy
in the party had a pair of condor's wings; one of them four feet five
inches from the body joint to the tip end. The bone and joints remind
one of heavy iron door hinges. The boy had caught the condor in a trap,
and the bird being too much for a load, he cut off the wings and seemed
to be troubled with the weight of them on his back. The condor is often
seen along the sea-shore, feeding upon cast-up dead fish; but it is
among the lofty peaks of the mountain this wild bird builds its nest.
The most daring and experienced climbers among the boys are unable to
reach their young, or rob their eggs. We looked for the nest and longed
to see the extraordinary bird rise from the valley, bearing in beak and
claws a young lamb to its little ones; or flying from one mountain to
another with a young vicuña. The Indians are fond of baiting condors;
they sometimes hide close enough to the bait to lasso them, and have
been known to conceal themselves under the bait and catch them by the
legs.
Huancarama, a small Indian town situated in a valley, with a little old
church, and Indian population. We met the priest on the road returning
to town; he was followed by a number of persons, to whom he read aloud
as he rode along up hill. Our baggage mules met him in a very narrow
pass; all came to a stand-still, and the not over-cleanly padre was
addressing the arriero in a loud and excited voice. José assured him it
was up-hill work for his party to back out; if he would be kind enough
to stand on one side, we would pass on, which was done. As we cleared
each other, after some chafing of baggage, the extreme politeness of the
padre was more becoming. Sometimes arrieros engage in dreadful fights
with stones, followed up with knives; on such occasions the weaker party
are forced to give way to the strong. It is generally considered proper
for those coming up, to halt on one side to give their mules a rest.
Those standing with heavy loads, head down hill, suffer, and are anxious
to push on. Noises made in the valley resound through the mountains; an
uproar on the summit causes little noise; the echo among these hills
is very great. These people are very careful to unsaddle animals only
_after_ they are cool; otherwise, they say bumps rise on the back, which
become sore. They even leave the bridle a while for fear that taking it
off suddenly will give the mule cold in the head.
[Illustration: RUINS OF THE INCA'S FORT QURAMBA, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
We see at the bottom of the valley of Carquacahua the first sugar
plantation. An old Indian, with hoe in hand, is leading the snowy
waters of the Andes between rows of sugar plants, which are now two
feet high, with rich, yellow leaves. Man seems to suffer like the plant
from the heat of the sun; both would perish under it in this valley,
without sufficient water for irrigating the soil; with it, he plants and
produces a crop every year. A little above his head, on the mountain
side, there appears another climate, with stunted clusters of cactus,
small dry bunches of grass, rocks, and dusty soil, deserted by animal
life, except a green lizard basking in the parching rays of the sun. A
little higher the surface is covered with a lead-colored coat of grass,
turning a little greenish as the eye ascends; when suddenly a streak
of dark earth is capped by the pure white snow, and as you look up it
seems to get deeper and deeper, until the soil is completely enclosed
in a pyramid of eternal snow.
The old Indian exchanges his sugar crop in the plaza for Massachusetts
cotton goods.
Crossing a stone bridge, dated 1564, over a stream of water flowing
northwest, we met a party—ladies and gentlemen—travelling on horseback.
The gentlemen wear green goggles, and the ladies green veils, to protect
the eyes from the glare of the sun, as the reflection of his rays on
the snow often causes inflammation of the eyes, said to be very painful
in the rainy season, when the snow-line reaches below the road. Though
we experienced no inconvenience from the _surumpe_, as this affection
is called, the Creole portion of the population seem to be much afraid
of it, particularly the gentlemen. When a middy, on a visit to Lima,
eleven years ago, I formed a high opinion of the Peruvian horseman as he
pranced through the alameda in the evening, on a well-trained animal.
The Peruvians, anxious to make a show before strangers, put spurs to
their spirited horses, ride at full speed, halt suddenly, and worry the
animal by turning short round and jumping him. A man rode by me at full
speed, and drew up just before my mule; in doing so he pulled rather
hard on the Spanish bit, and the horse throwing up his head, struck the
rider in the mouth, cutting his lips and displacing six of his teeth,
which saved him from pitching over the horse's head.
The ladies and their maids are fresh-looking, and manage their horses
with ease. A negress rode a man's saddle, and wore a flat straw-hat,
trimmed with fancy colored ribband. The riding skirt is dispensed
with under the bloomer style; she wore very long orange-colored _silk_
stockings, and on the heel of a small and neat black shoe were buckled
her woman's spurs. Her horse had a rocking pace, her hat gracefully
placed on one side of her plaited wool, with a large cigar between white
teeth; she smoked her way through the mountains, carefully guarding
her smiles, only condescending to deal them out to her mistress's most
deserving friends. African slavery exists in Peru.
On arriving at the town of Abancay, the sub-prefect was in the country.
The governor kindly offered me a house, but as I wished to make some
observations upon the stars during the night, we passed on, and encamped
in the neighborhood. At 2 p. m., thermometer, 77°. The mules were well
fed with lucerne. They suffer and begin to show effects of the travel.
The parrots are talking in the bushes near our tent, and a cricket lives
with us.
The climate is delightful in this sugar valley. Near town is the ruin of
another fort. Flowers, vines, and bushes cover it so thickly that the
traveller would not suspect he was passing a masked fortification. The
road from it leads over the mountains to the northeast. At 11 a. m.,
temperature of a spring, 54°; air, 55°; sun, 60°; cumulus clouds and
northerly wind. The road seems to be getting worse, and the overhanging
rocks are so low, we occasionally bump our heads. By way of resting
our animals, we march on foot. A few hours travel, over a wild country,
brings us into another valley, where the cattle are larger than any we
have yet seen. Passing an idle great mill, on a stream flowing east,
we came to the hacienda Lucmoj, a grove of willow trees shaded the
avenue; the house was of two stories, large and neatly white-washed,
the garden richly supplied with fruits and flowers; the peach tree in
full blossom. The out-buildings for the Indian servants were in good
order; the shelter for sheep, horned cattle, horses, mules, jackasses,
and numbers of goats, showed unusual kind treatment. The owner of this
valuable estate was a young bachelor, of intelligence and hospitality.
The death of his father gave him possession of the property. He talked
with me about his country, and remarked that "the _government_ did
nothing for the people." Upon being asked, why the people depended upon
the government, he looked surprised, and wanted to know whether all the
improvements in North America were not made by the government? The few
silver mines in the neighborhood have been abandoned.
After declining a polite invitation to remain some days, we took a short
cut across the corn-field to the town of Curahuasi, a miserable little
Indian place. The water from the mountains passes down the ravine to
small patches of sugar-cane. The mountains are wild; winding around
one of them, we suddenly came in sight of the long-looked for river
Apurimac. Its waters foam as they dash over its rocky bed. Our view
was cut off by another turn, and leaving the surface of the earth, we
enter a tunnel, cut into the mountain, which stands like its strata,
perpendicular, by the side of the river. Sky-light holes are cut through
the rock, and as we travel along, in alternate light and darkness, the
arrieros shout at the top of their voices at the train. The mules are
fearful of proceeding. Coming to a house, which was open on both sides,
we looked over the Apurimac bridge, and then down into the river, a
fearful distance below. The toll-house is inhabited by two women, a man,
a child, a dog, and two jugs of chicha. The ropes of this suspension
bridge—of bark, about the size of a sloop-of-war's hemp cable—are made
fast to the posts which support the roof of the house. It is best for
travellers not to be too particular in their examinations, how these
ropes are fastened. A windlass in the middle of the house kept the
ropes hauled up when they slack off. One woman, a good-looking black,
was seated by a large jar of chicha, which she sold to travellers, with
her child on the other side; she spun cotton, with a smoking fire close
to keep off the sand flies. These little insects are here in swarms. A
white woman was seated by the windlass, holding her head in her hands.
I thought she had the small-pox, but the red bumps on her face were
caused by these annoying flies. The baggage was taken off the mules as
they were brought through the house, and one by one taken across the
river, when the arrieros carried over the baggage on their own backs.
When Rose, a most sensible animal, saw the bridge, she held down her
head, laid her ears back, switched her tail, and plainly _kicked_ out
the words, "I won't go over." She is generally indulged and coaxed; an
old mule was put forward, and she behind to follow him. As the arriero
walked on with the bridle, the toll man pursued the old mule with a
rope's end, when it backed, kicked with both heels, pulling the arriero
along. We took shelter behind the windlass, with a barometer, the
woman screamed, picked up the child with one hand by the neck, and the
chicha jug by the same extremity, and beat a retreat. She mounted the
windlass, and, in a towering passion, commanded with her tongue, telling
the men to secure the animal at once. José stood out of the way with
Rose, for the old mule had charge of the house, and was getting warm;
he succeeded in putting his hind-legs in the fire, when the chunks flew
in all directions; the mule became angry, as if it had been abused here
before. As soon as he cooled down a little, the bridle was taken off; a
hide rope put over his head and hitched round his nose; each fore-leg
was also fastened by the end of a rope, and three men held the three
ropes. The nose-rope was fast pulled until the mule's neck was stretched
out; one foot-rope advanced one leg; the other foot-rope being then
pulled, brought the first foot down, getting one pace ahead; so they
gradually walked him over. Rose had been looking on at the effects of
his obstinacy, and gently followed. Two dollars were paid for our two
mules and the baggage; the arriero paid six and a quarter cents apiece
for his mules; this is the _custom_ of the country. The bridge is eighty
yards long and six feet wide, distant one hundred and fifty feet above
the dark green waters. There are six floor-ropes, crossed by small
sticks, lashed with strips of hide to the cables. This platform is hung
to two side-cables by small bark ropes. The river flows northwest, with
a width of twenty yards.
The Apurimac empties into the river Santa Ana, and is an important
tributary to the Ucayali, after it receives the waters of the Juaja. We
are told the Apurimac was the western boundary of the Inca territory
during the reign of the first Inca—Manco Capac. The road from this
bridge to Banca post-house winds up the mountain. In some places
the rock has been cut like stairs. The arrieros help up the mules by
pushing against the lower part of the baggage; we were continually
stopping to have the loads fastened on. There are few houses near
the post—uninviting in appearance—the people being mostly mestizos.
A party of women and men, all intoxicated, seated by the road-side
drinking chicha, politely invited us to join them; some looked very
thin and sickly; an old woman was groaning on her bed at the door; a
boy close by her had some horrible disease breaking out on his face;
he was deformed and looked like a person on the edge of the grave, but
amused himself by playing in the dust; his ghastly stare made us fear
he had some infectious disorder. On the other side was a woman shaving
a boy's head—the shape of a mule's more than that of a human being.
An enclosure, containing a patch of cabbages, was found near a stream
of cold water, which flowed rapidly from the snow peaks in sight,
through an expensive aqueduct, supported on pillars of stone, neatly
white-washed, leading to a sugar plantation some distance below us, on
the east side of the Apurimac. We encamped here without permission of
the owner, who was absent. While our mules were feeding and we enjoying
our supper, a woman came in, and in a hurried and excited tone of voice,
addressed me in Quichua. Our difficulty was with a Peruvian widow, very
good-looking, but who talked at a terrible rate. José concealed himself
behind a peach-tree full of blossoms, preparing tea. She said she was
poor, but had sons full grown, and that we had taken her garden fence
down, and turned eight mules among her cabbages. José told her, when we
arrived, tired, after a long march, she was not at home to give consent;
her grounds had particularly pleased us, and we had taken the liberty to
enter them for the night; in the morning the fence should be repaired
to her satisfaction, and money paid for the use of her grounds; the
arrieros' mules should go out, and ours be fastened and fed close to the
tent, which was not among the plants, but at a proper distance on our
side. She, smiling, accepted a cup of tea, and they spent the evening
sociably together, in the clear moonlight, with no sand-flies, and a
westerly wind.
[Illustration: APURIMAC BRIDGE, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
Cabbage, salad, onions, and garlic transplanted here, do not thrive as
well as on the coast, and are less cared for than the potato; except
the garlic, which is a favorite with the Creoles. Leguminous plants are
used in the chupe when nicely made.
_August 19._—At 6 30, a. m., thermometer, 53°; the widow's fence being
repaired, she received pay, saying "God bless you, good-bye." As we rode
off we caught José receiving an answer to his farewell smile. At 11 30,
thermometer, 70°. The country has a dry, uninteresting appearance near
the town of Mallepata, yet the animals and vegetables seem to be in
larger proportion. Flocks of parrots and pigeons increase in numbers;
the sheep appear to be smaller in size; horned cattle and horses are
plenty; the mountains are lower; sugar plantings more numerous. Tall
willow trees grow by the side of a stream we cross, flowing south, and
another running west, with milky colored water, which the arrieros
prevent their mules from drinking, saying it is not good for our
use. The people we meet look like Chinese in the face, and dress like
gentlemen of the olden time—short breeches, long coats, with big buttons
and large pocket-flaps, in cloth of scarlet and of blue.
As we rode through the Indian town of Limatambo, our attention was drawn
to a crowd of people on the plaza, which was barricaded at the corners,
and seats put all around. Flags of different colors were waving in
the air; drums beating to a singular noise of wind instruments. We had
arrived in time to see a bull fight. The matadores were dressed like
the clowns of a circus. People were busy receiving and arranging large
chicha jars by the walls. All were dressed, and behaved well. The boys
gathered round an enclosure with a door opening into the plaza. The
girls sat up straight on their seats, and looked cheerful and pleasant.
Among them all, I only observed two white persons, who were of Spanish
descent, and neatly dressed in blue. The town was filled with people
from the surrounding country. Musicians marched round the plaza in
the rear of six Indian matadores, who taking their positions, a strict
silence followed. A door opened, and out popped an immense _condor_,
fastened by the bill with a line, and to the other end of which a large
man was attached. This _surprise_ brought forth shouts and laughter.
The bird flapped his large wings, and ran about trying to escape. The
music commenced again, and he was taken out, when, during another silent
pause, in bounced a young wild bull. As the Indians shouted, he came
to a stand in the centre, as though waiting to be heard. He soon began
to play; shaking his head, he made a dash, and knocked a man down. The
Indian lay flat upon the ground; the bull bellowed with rage, while he
endeavored to get his horns under the body to toss him, throwing back
dirt with his fore-foot. Not succeeding, he got down on his knees, yet
the Indian was too flat for him to lift. Others came up and teased the
bull away, when he charged at several, until the animal was completely
exhausted. Then he made for the door, and the people so laughed at him,
that he came back in a rage; but there were many on the ground, and he
was bewildered, and could not make up his mind who among us all he could
attack. He retired with the music; others entered, till the afternoon
passed away. When we were far on our road, José said the people were
merrily dancing away the night. The chicha is brought from a distance
on jackasses, in large raw-hide bags, well corked; two bags are slung
over the sides of the animal.
In the flat bottom near the town of Suriti, some small fish were bottled
from a snow-water stream. During a heavy hail storm from the southeast,
sheep flocked together in small gangs, and stood in a ring, with heads
out, like a drove of partridges going to rest. The hail-stones were as
large as peas. Thunder clapped about our ears. At mid-day thermometer,
65°; two hours after, amidst the hail storm, it fell to 41°.
Ducks, geese, snipe, and a large black curlew, are found in the valley
in great numbers. In the rainy season, a portion of the lands are
flooded. Now the cattle have good pasture. This land shows the remains
of a large lake, to judge from appearances. The annual deposits washed
from the mountains decrease the depth of water at the end of each rainy
season. The land gradually rises, channels are formed, and the water is
drained off, which in time will leave the valley free of floods. When
fish become extinct, horned cattle and the shepherd's herd occupy their
places. The Indians are breaking up their barley stubble with ploughs.
Population increases. The road is paved as we rise to the top of a small
gap, and pass under a large arch, which supports a well-built stone
aqueduct. We halted, and gazed with delight at the ancient curiosity
of the New World—the city of Cuzco, centuries ago the seat of the
Incas. The view is beautiful. Close against the hills, at the west of
the valley, we see the ruins of the Temple of the Sun; Catholic church
steeples rise amidst smaller buildings of a large city. The floor of the
valley is carpeted with green, while afar off, opposite the churches,
are the white snow-capped Andes in a clear blue sky. Suddenly a heavy
cloud came over the city from the south, and we arrived in the plaza
under a heavy rain. Entering the government house, I found the prefect
of the department of Cuzco very sick in bed with "peste," (influenza,)
attended by a doctor and a priest. His aide-de-camp appeared in full
uniform, and laughingly told me he was a lieutenant in the Peruvian
navy, with a major's commission in the army. We arrived in time for
a good dinner: soup, fish from the Apurimac, beef, poultry, potatoes,
yuca, rice, and salad, with pine-apples, chirimoyas, plantains, oranges,
and granadillas. The wine made in the valley is sweet and mild, superior
to that of Yca; excellent coffee is grown on the eastern slope of
the Andes. José hung his saddle-wallets behind the door, for fear the
dogs might again eat his bread and cheese. The old man and the mules
need rest. We have been forty-five days on the road from Tarma. Upon
paying off the arrieros from Andahuialas, I advised them to be more
particular with their money; never to spend it in chicha for themselves
before they buy food for their mules, which they promised me should not
occur _again_. When leaving, they wished to _kiss_ my hand—a practice
encouraged by the priests and authorities, but particularly offensive
to the North American, especially after the poor Indian has faithfully
performed his duties.
_August 23, 1851._—At 8 a. m., thermometer, 57°; wet bulb, 55°. In the
plaza we find, for sale, maize, barley, wheat, beans, sweet potatoes,
white potatoes, chirimoyas, plantains, bananas, oranges, limes, papayas,
watermelons, granadillas, and dried figs, in their season; also peaches,
apples, grapes, and cherries. There is a great display of pottery, well
made, and fancifully colored. White and printed cotton goods bring high
prices; so do coarse woollen cloths, particularly those of blue and
scarlet. The whole population require thick clothing here. The Indians
consume the coarse goods, and fancy large dark bone buttons. The Creoles
generally wear broad-cloth. Everybody has a cloak, worn out against the
door-post, or at the corners of the streets, where the wearer lounges
in the sun. White sombreros or Texan hats are worn during the week, but
on Sundays black beavers. Scull-caps are very much the fashion, made
of wool and cotton, with ear-flaps, and strings to tie under the chin.
The ladies, at church, wear black silk dresses, fancy silk shawls and
stockings; bonnets are not _yet_ worn. On Saturday, the shoemakers enter
the plaza, where their wives and daughters sell the week's work. It is
an amusing sight to see the inhabitants trying on shoes; gentlemen take
this opportunity to compliment the ladies upon their small feet, which
never offends.
The city of Cuzco has a scanty population. The department contains
346,031 souls. There are very few African slaves in the southern
departments.
I found a very friendly disposition towards the expedition, with a
desire to aid me. The prefect offered twenty soldiers as an escort
in the low country, to the east of the Andes. A number of young men
volunteered to accompany me. A meeting of the citizens was held for
the purpose of forming a company to join me. At their suggestion, the
President of Peru was applied to for the payment of twenty thousand
dollars, appropriated by Congress, for the exploration of the Rio
Madre-de-Dios, supposed to be the same with the river Purus, rising
among the mountains to the eastward of Cuzco. I was very much pleased
also to hear a spirited young officer had applied to command the
soldiers. From investigation made, I learned that the head of the Rio
Madre-de-Dios, was some distance _beyond_ the line between civilization
and the savages, the Chuncho Indians.
_September 16._—The day for my departure had arrived, but neither
volunteers nor regulars were ready. Richards was sick, and left behind
with the baggage. The party was reduced to José and an Indian boy, who
drove an old horse, with a box of instruments, a little camp furniture,
and biscuit as his load. The mules were in good order. We mounted the
hills to the left of the valley, taking the short or twelve leagues
road to Porcatambo. The wind and course were easterly, with a cold rain
falling in small drops; temperature of a spring, 60°; the air, 54°. A
bridge over the river Urabamba is constructed of brush-wood cables. Our
mules gave much trouble to get them across. José was sent some distance
below to wade the mule—"Bill"—as a phthisically fat woman declared
his heels were too dangerous to her charge—the bridge. The river flows
north, between mountains, ranging north and south, with perpendicular
strata of rock and red clay, and is a tributary of the Santa Ana. We
met droves of mules, loaded with bales of the coca leaf, on their way to
Cuzco. At daylight, in the morning, as we entered a deep gorge, the warm
east breezes, mixed with the cold mountain air, remind me of spring time
at home. A well-dressed old Indian, with scarlet vest, kindly offered
us part of his breakfast; he was taking it in the doorway of his lonely
little hut, among these rugged mountains. At 6 a. m., thermometer,
60°, and at 6 p. m., 66°. We crossed a well-built stone bridge over the
Mapacho river, which is said to flow north into the Santa Ana, but this
is doubtful. The houses of the town of Porcatambo are small, and the
population seven thousand; miserable looking, excepting the Indians,
who are full of health and life. Many of them have noble faces, and are
willing to do anything required of them, except to enter the low country
to the east. Like the creoles of the town, they have great fear of the
Chuncho tribe of Indians, who are at war with the Peruvian government.
The sub-prefect and his wife were very kind; twenty-five able-bodied
Creoles volunteered to accompany me; I accepted their services, but the
next day the arriero being alarmed, deserted; the volunteers backed out
to a man, when José suggested an opinion that volunteers did not act so
in North America; at the same time he frankly acknowledged he was afraid
of the Chunchos.
Our road lay along the river in the narrow valley, where Indians were
ploughing with oxen; peach, apple, and cherry trees in blossom. The
Indians build their houses partly of wood; they carve spoons, bowls,
plates, and baskets, beautifully, with iron chisels. At 5 p. m.,
thermometer, 68°. At Totora farm, we halted for the night, and met
a young Philadelphian, named Charles Leechler, engaged in collecting
Peruvian bark for a number of years. At first, he spoke with difficulty
in his native language, but with a true American spirit assured me I
might depend upon him as a companion. He knew parts of the country I was
directed to explore; his services were the more acceptable. He joined
me.
Turning from the river we ascend a steep ridge of mountains—the eastern
range at last. A heavy mist wafts upwards as the winds drive it against
the side of the Andes, so that our view is shortened to a few hundred
yards. We hope the curtain will rise that we may view the productions of
the tropical valley below; but the mist thickens, and the day gets dark
with heavy, heaped-up black clouds; a rain-storm follows. The grasses
are thrifty, and the top of the ridge covered with a thick sod. By
barometer we stand eleven thousand one hundred feet above the level of
the sea. I was obliged to leave my box of instruments in Porcatambo on
account of bad roads, and take barley for the mules. By law, the cargo
of a mule descending the eastern slope of the Andes is one hundred and
fifty pounds—one-half the usual load. Wild ducks are seen feeding in
the small lakes.
_September 21, 1851._—At mid-day, thermometer, 54°. Riding along the
ridge to the northward, the road suddenly turned east, and immediately
descending, we met with foliage, flowers, and fruit; among them a few
intimates—the common blackberry and whortleberry; the fruit large, but
very acid. At every step we take the growth increases in size, until,
after descending the mountain-side, we are enclosed in forest trees.
Our course in winding down being towards the centre of the earth the
compass is of no use to us. The way is lined with the bones of mules and
horses killed by falling down these precipices, which don't deserve to
be called roads. Among the limbs of the trees parrots were chattering
with monkeys; trains of large ants cross our path. This insect is never
seen on the top of the Andes. Under a rude shed by the side of the
mountain torrent, Cherimayo, we found shelter from heavy rain in large
drops. Thermometer, 61° at 5 p. m. There is no pasture for our mules;
they are confined to the path by the dense growth of bushes and vines,
and are kept near all night by fencing the track on both sides. Upon
inquiring of Leechler the number of inhabitants, he informed me a few
men were gathering Peruvian bark in the woods, but it was difficult to
tell where they were, as the cinchona trees are thinly scattered over
the country. The bark is represented as inferior near the base of the
Andes here. The best quality sells at twenty-five dollars the hundred
pounds in the market of Cuzco.
The regular rainy season will soon set in, when all the _cascarilleros_
(as the bark gatherers are called) carry the bark home. They enter about
the commencement of the dry season, or about the middle of May; roam
through the wilderness. When they meet with trees, a little house is
built for protection at night, under which the bark is kept dry. The
tree is felled by an axe, the bark stripped off, dried, made into small
bundles, and carried on the backs of men—who are generally mestizos—to
the nearest point at which a mule may be brought.
This life is one of great hardship; the workmen are often caught in
the forest without a supply of provisions. In case of fever, however,
they are well supplied with quinine; but many of them die. The climate
is very changeable; a cold, heavy rain falls, alternating with the
rays of a tropical sun. Leechler pointed out the cinchona trees; the
_cascarilleros_ distinguish them at a distance by their bright-colored
leaves; very smooth and light green, with here and there a yellowish
leaf. Standing on one side of a ravine, the men count the value of
the opposite side, or they climb to the tops of the loftiest trees and
survey the country around. The forest trees here are very valuable for
their varieties of ornamental woods. Leechler undertook also to give me
an idea of the number of beautiful and valuable tiger-skins to be found
in the bushes. I had been thinking of the water-power dashing by us for
a saw-mill; when, before going to sleep, he said, "Cover your head, sir,
at night; for the serpents here are very large." These are productions
not always enumerated in a commercial list.
[Illustration: DESCENDING THE ANDES TO THE EAST OF CUZCO.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
At 5 30, a. m., thermometer, 49°; temperature of stream, 49°. Clear
morning. The road was much obstructed by bamboo, and in a very bad
condition. We have to halt and repair the road, or cut away the
brushwood; the wet branches keep us damp; now and then a mule ahead
runs into a bee's nest, which sets all into activity. Our mules plunge
into great mud-holes, and are fretted among the roots of the trees. At
mid-day, thermometer, 74°, showing an increase of 20° since yesterday
at this time. The country is rough; the hills completely enveloped in
forest trees. The descent is still great. Arriving at the house of a
squatter, we put up for the night. Cascarilleros bring their bark here
to deposit it. The place is called Cueba. Three families live in bamboo
houses; the men and women are engaged in clearing little patches of
ground, where they plant sugar-cane, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, peppers,
plantains, oranges, potatoes, watermelons, cotton, and yuca. Probably
there may be 40 acres in all cleared. Yuca serves for bread where they
have no flour; it is a species of potato like the yam of Panama. It is
a root shaped like a beet, from a small tree, which grows to the height
of a man, with a trunk as large as his thumb, having crow-foot-shaped
leaves in a bunch at the top of the stalk. It is planted from cuttings
in rows apart, that the plant may be kept free of weeds. The yuca is
valuable and delicious, either boiled or roasted. The people are very
fond of it, and boast about the enormous size of some of them. I never
saw one more than 18 inches long, and of ten or twelve pounds weight;
generally smaller; though seriously told by persons at a distance from
their habitation that in the Montaña _one_ is enough for a mule load.
Yuca is at once liked as a vegetable by most strangers.
Clearing the land is a tiresome business; trees cut down at the end of
the wet season, when they are full of sap, burn with great difficulty.
The brushwood and thick undergrowth is troublesome, though the soil is
very productive, after being well cleared. Our mules found a blue grass,
which springs up upon exposing the soil to the sun, and keeps cattle
in good order. The people are mostly Spanish Creoles, and seem to lead
a miserable life. Including cascarilleros, there are about twenty-five
people who may be said to belong to the houses. There are no others in
the neighborhood. They are glad to see travellers to hear the news, for
they are shut out from the world. This place might be reached by a less
precipitous way, crossing the ridge nearer Porcatambo, and entering the
montaña farther south. Such is the report of the cascarilleros, who are
the best authorities with whom we are willing to consult.
At night, I was politely given the centre of the floor of one of the
houses for my bed. Three men slept on one side of me, and the very
pretty woman of the house on the other, with a sucking baby between us,
which seemed to have a most extraordinary appetite for milk, and kept a
constant snuffling and pulling like a young pup. The houses are built
with bamboo, placed about four inches apart, that air may pass. After
we all got to sleep, something made a noise near our heads, and in the
morning tracks of a large tiger indicated his desire for a baby. The men
thought he must be a monster by the foot prints; and pointed to where he
had his paw through the opening, but his arm was not long enough. They
are seldom so daring, and he must have been very hungry.
Gradually descending, we crossed the Tono river. Water, 63°; air, 74°,
at 9 30, a. m. The hills are getting smaller; the road in some places
more level, until we suddenly come to a cleared pampa, covered with a
rich pasture, on which are grazing a drove of mules. Four houses are
built close to one another, and near them a large patch of pine-apples.
One Indian woman was at home; she was Quichua. We afterwards arrived at
San Miguel farm, where a number of houses are built in a hollow square,
with a little wooden church, and fine orange trees in the centre, under
the shade of which I was embraced by Padre Julian Bovo de Revello, a
Franciscan missionary, honorary member of the Agricultural Society in
Santiago de Chili.
[Illustration: COCA PLANTATION, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
_Monday, September 22._—At 3 30, thermometer, 81°. We are now on
the eastern frontier settlement, where one hundred men are engaged
cultivating the coca plant. The seed is planted in rows like maize.
In two years the bush, five or six feet high, is full grown, bearing
bright green leaves, two inches long, with white blossoms, and scarlet
berries. The women and boys are now gathering the ripe leaves, while
the men are clearing the fields of weeds. The gathering takes place
three times a year, in cotton bags. The leaf is spread out in the sun
on mats and dried. In wet weather they are spread under cover, and kept
perfectly dry, otherwise the quality is injured, and the market price
very much reduced. The bushes produce from forty to seventy years, when
a new planting becomes necessary. The leaves are put up in cotton cloth
bales of seventy-five pounds each, and sent to Cuzco, where it sells for
fifteen dollars per bale. The Indians masticate the leaf, and sometimes
drink it as tea. There is a constant demand for it. Those who work in
the mines are inveterate chewers. On long journeys, or while undergoing
fatigue of any kind, it supplies the place of the tobacco leaf. It has
a soothing effect. Slacked lime or ashes from certain roots are used by
some of the old chewers to give it a finer flavor. The plant can only
be raised in a moist climate. It is never found in the deep valleys of
the Andes. It offers the most important inland trade in the department
of Cuzco, and is the inducement for settlers to venture to the base
of the Andes. Though the tropical productions can be raised, they are
seldom cultivated to great extent. Coffee, sugar-cane, cotton, rice,
chocolate, tobacco, limes, and lemons, are to be had. The padre pays
attention to experimental farming and cattle raising; he has a little
drove, a few cows brought from the tops of the Andes; also ducks,
pigeons, and chickens, which he feeds upon corn cultivated by his own
hands. His upland rice is fine, without flooding. The padre is a perfect
representative of Robinson Crusoe; though he has no goats, he has four
dogs. An old Santa Cruz soldier acts as his man Friday. In his little
hut he has a few books and two old hats. He wears one when he works on
his farm, the other an old hen lays an egg in every day. He seems to be
happy, but said he wanted very much to go home to Italy, by the way of
the Rio Madre-de-Dios and the Amazon, for he thought if he could find
a road to the Atlantic by which his countrymen might come up, he would
make a fortune.
I had arrived at the _end_ of the road for mules. The only way to
shorten the distance between us and the Atlantic was to dismount and cut
a way through the forest on foot. The undergrowth is so thick, that it
is difficult to see where the tigers and other wild animals get through.
José was left in charge of the mules. With a barometer and poncho slung
to my back, revolver in belt, long knife in hand, I pushed through the
woods, accompanied by the padre, Leechler, and four Indians; the padre
whistled up his dogs. After a most difficult struggle, twelve hours
brought us to the bank of the Cosnipata river, in the territory of the
Chuncho savages. The stream is very swift, with a rocky bed, forty yards
wide; the water of greenish color. This stream takes its rise to the
south, in the mountains of Carabaya, where the people are washing for
gold. The day's march was through a level country, with the exception
of two small hills. Leechler shot two wild turkeys, and a fine fish,
which helped out boiled rice and parched corn for supper. We had been
very much bitten by ants and stung by bees. The right arms were tired
of cutting a way with the machetes. According to our reckoning, we have
travelled nine miles; a bush house was constructed; our beds, the bare
ground; the dogs lay by us; they had ranged about in all directions
during the day, and were well tired. The padre called one of them
_Paititi_, after a large town of the Chunchos, in the wilderness to
the northeast of us; another _Alerto_, (vigilant;) a third _Cabezon_,
(big head;) and the fourth, _Valedor_, (protector.) Paititi was a
middle-sized, short-tailed, chocolate-colored dog, the bravest and most
active. The padre kindly presented him to me. One of the Indians was
taken sick; I administered three anti-bilious pills, which cured him
after a sleep. Cutting enough balsa wood early in the morning, the logs
were fastened together, and the first North American-built raft launched
upon this tributary of the Amazon. I embarked with Leechler and one old
Indian for the opposite shore. There were falls above and below us; the
current swift; we poled part of the way, but soon found the river too
deep for that process. We landed on a rocky little island, after being
nearly carried over the falls; Leechler lost the balsa on his return
for the padre; the current was too swift for him, and he had to swim
for life, while our bark was swiftly carried down stream, and wrecked
against the rocks. At 1 p. m., thermometer in the sun, 100°; temperature
of the river water, 70°. In the evening, Leechler had been working
with the padre and the Indians, cutting more timber. He swam over, and
spent the night on the island with me, in preference to sleeping in the
woods; we lay down upon the rocks, under a heavy rain, with loud claps
of thunder, which echoed up the Andes. At midnight, the old Indian
called us from our bed of water; the river was rising; the night was
dark, and rain poured down. A match was lit, when it was discovered we
could not escape; we saw the rushing waters between us and the shore;
a sudden rise of three feet would carry us off. Leechler assured me we
could not gain the shore by swimming. The old Indian said "I was a bad
man for bringing him there, when he could not swim." A mark was placed
by the edge of the water, and we seated ourselves very uncomfortably
to await our fate. The roaring of the waters was terrible. Leechler
looking at the mark, finds our island very much reduced in size by the
flood. The old Indian hears the dogs bark, and we think the Chunchos
are attacking the padre on the main land; I blamed myself for bringing
these people so far. Should the stream continue to rise at its present
rate, we must be lost; suddenly, the old Indian looking up, turned to me
with brightening eyes, pointed to the southeast, and said in Quichua,
"day-break." This was great relief, particularly as I saw the Indian
smile; it was expressive, natural, and knowing. As the day-light came,
the storm cleared off, and we survey our prison. The waters had turned
muddy, the drift-wood came dancing by us, great logs rolled over as they
floated down; the wild Toucan, with its large beak, screamed as it flew
over us to its nest; the fish seemed to rejoice at the flood, jumping
up in the air as though making signs for the river to rise; while the
good old padre, dressed in his snuff-colored robes, motioned to us the
waters were subsiding. The waves made by the rapid motion of the water
in mid-channel were quite as high as our heads, and the island much
reduced in size. The water runs off very soon after the storm passes
away, and we gained the opposite mainland. Leechler lost a second balsa
in trying to cross the stream to the island again for the Indian, and
another night was spent with the party divided. Our provisions were
getting short. A small bamboo balsa was now constructed, the barometer,
pistols, and clothing put upon it. My provisions were left with the old
Indian, and he was told to remain there until we returned. He said, "if
he was left alone, the Chunchos would murder him, or the tigers would
devour him at night; if we left him he would jump into the river;" but
he was again directed to remain where he was while we sought help, to
take care of his provisions, and he would soon be with his friends. He
told Leechler he would obey, but "he must first bring over his coca,"
which was on the opposite side.
With Leechler on one side of the bamboo raft and I on the other, we
jumped into the stream, and after hard work, swimming, we gained the
padre in time to save our raft from passing over the falls. In the
evening we were at San Miguel farm, after three days' hard work, and
two nights without sleep. Resting ourselves we found great difficulty
in getting persons to go with us after the old Indian. The padre made
a spirited speech to them, which had the desired effect. In the evening
we encamped at the junction of the _Tono_ and _Cosnipata_ rivers. To my
great joy, the old Indian came down opposite to us, after being called
by Leechler. In the morning early, we felled a tree across the _Tono_,
where it cuts through a mass of rocks, and descending along the banks of
that stream for some distance, we came to a smooth place in the river.
Another raft was built which rescued the old Indian, but was also lost,
and we saved the men by felling a large tree on the rocks to which they
clung. The old Indian had eaten _all_ he had the night we left him, and
was now very hungry; he was delighted to get his coca, and handed me the
cigars I gave him to smoke. He amused the other Indians, telling them
how the white man had treated him. After following the _Tono_ all day,
we came to the river _Piñipiñi_, a stream as large as the _Tono_, with
an average width of forty yards. I saw at once we could get no further,
but it was a satisfaction to behold these two rivers, the _Tono_ and
_Piñipiñi_, join and form the head of the river called by the Quichua
Indians _Amaru Mayu_, (serpent-river,) which Padre Revello had not long
since named "Rio Madre-de-Dios," for the reason the Chunchos had killed
a number of Creoles and Quichua Indians, and after destroying their
little church, had thrown the catholic image into a tributary stream,
whence it had floated down, and was found on a rock in the centre of
Amaru-Mayu.
This stream is very swift, about seventy yards wide, and _not_ navigable
at the point I saw it, which is in latitude 12° 32´ south, longitude
70° 26´ west of Greenwich, and by barometrical measurement 1,377 feet
above the Pacific ocean; showing a descent from the first flower on
the side of the ridge in sight of 9,723 feet; small hills intercept
our view of the river after it turns. Leechler informs me that the
cascarilleros, from prominent places on this side of the Andes, have
seen Indians crossing the "Madre-de-Dios" in canoes, among the islands,
a short distance below us; and that the river is very winding in its
course through a level country. The padre has seen a stream called
"_Marcapata_," to the west of us, flowing northwest, which probably
falls into the Madre-de-Dios below.
The country is a beautiful one; well watered, and from its general
appearance adapted for cultivation, though wild and unpopulated as
far as we have seen, except by monkeys of different species, who are
very busy in the evening cutting into the bamboo stalks for the water
therein, which they take as _their_ tea.
We feel great anxiety to visit the island in a Chuncho canoe; to make
friends under the shade of a plantain orchard; to contract at the door
of these Indians for a passage to the Amazon, and go home by this route.
Besides, I wished to see the effect produced on these wild men by a
present, from the padre, of angels, pictures drawn from a long tin box
under his arm; but it is impracticable, and we lay down by the head of
the Madre-de-Dios, to sleep till morning, with thirty-eight leagues by
the road to travel back to Cuzco.
[Illustration: RIO MADRE DE DIOS.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The ants troubled us. Before the break of day, we all rose suddenly from
our sandy bed; the dogs skulking in with tails between their legs; all
more or less uncomfortably aroused by the growling of two large tigers
on the opposite side of the Piñipiñi. A light breeze was passing from
us to them; they snuffed a breakfast, while the Indians silently hung
their heads. I was looking upon the water, expecting to see them plunge
in and swim towards us. Leechler examined my double-barrelled gun, and
laughingly called out in English, "thank you kindly, the rains on the
mountains during the night have flooded the Piñipiñi, and we, therefore,
cannot breakfast together this morning."
After _our_ breakfast of boiled rice, we turned, and on our way saw the
tracks of five Chunchos on the sands. Their feet are very small, and
they walk with toes much turned in. They hunt in small parties of from
five to seven, always accompanied by a woman, who carries their fish
and game, cooks and does all the hard work, while they stroll along
with their bows and arrows. They are very bitter against the Peruvians,
and give them no quarters; waylay them on the roads to Porcotambo,
and turn up their noses at all offers of friendship. We are on their
hunting grounds. Here they find large fish, wild turkeys, and a species
of pheasant, the size of guinea fowls. It is said they worship brave
animals and reptiles, such as tigers and poisonous snakes; are generally
smaller men and women than the Indians on the Andes. The inner corners
of their eyes are turned down; they walk with their heads hanging; the
expression of face is morose, without the least sign of a smile. Such
are the reports of the men with me.
We halted at Chapemayo, which joins San Miguel, to see the old Indian
safely in the hands of his wife, who had been told by the Indians,
when we returned without him, that he was murdered by the Chunchos. The
meeting was a very modest one.
José was delighted; the old man had expressed great fears that he would
never see us again. The mules were in good pasture, but very much bitten
by vampire bats, which strike them at night in the skin of the neck,
and they bleed so much as to weaken them. The padre was very sad at the
result of our reconnoissance. He was kind enough to give me an extract
from a meteorological table he is in the habit of keeping. Three crops
of corn may be raised here in one year, yet the people do not descend
the Andes to settle in this productive country.
The farmer labors under great disadvantage. He never leaves his house
in the morning to cultivate the field without fire-arms. They are at the
expense of keeping a watch constantly stationed, lest they be surprised
by the Chunchos. People are afraid to pass from farm to farm alone. Some
have been murdered; others died from sickness brought on by fatigue, a
hot sun by day, and loss of sleep at night. The coca planter generally
leaves his wife and children behind him in Porcotambo when he enters
upon his ordinary duties on this montaña.
I am told there are some cleared lands a short distance to the east of
these four farms which have been abandoned, or rather nearly all were
murdered by the Chunchos some years ago, and others have not ventured
there since.
Upon gaining the top of the Andes, we found the barometer tube had
been broken on the way. A hole was cut in the top of our coffee pot,
large enough to insert a thermometer, and the height of the mountains
determined by boiling water.
The day is pleasant, and we take our last blow and rest; the clouds
lift, and while seated on the smooth top of a peak of the Andes, we
see afar off to the east the magnificent view we have been anxiously
expecting. The rich lowlands are looked down upon from a height of over
nine thousand feet. It is like looking upon the ocean; those regular
ridges trending northwest and southeast, decreasing in height as they
increase in distance, seem like the waves of the sea rolling towards
the mountains. The whole surface is covered with a beautiful growth
of forest trees, whose foliage appears of a deep-blue color. Looking
at the compass, following the direction of the northeast point, we
see interruptions in the ridges, where the Madre-de-Dios cuts her
way through the rollers towards the Atlantic ocean, striking them at
right-angles. Upon looking at our map on the east, the river Beni flows
in an easterly direction into the Madeira; and again on the west, as
our previous remarks go to show, the Santa Ana empties into the Ucayali.
We know that a great river pours from its four mouths a large quantity
of water into the Amazon in latitude 4° south, and longitude 61° west,
where it is called the river Purus. The geographical position of the
Madre-de-Dios forces us to believe it to be the same as the Purus. This
is a matter of importance. If it is navigable for steamboats to where
we now see, it forms the natural highway to South Peru. All the silver
and gold of Peru are not to compare with the undeveloped commercial
resources of that beautiful garden. The wealth, strength, and greatness
of a nation depends upon a well-cultivated and productive soil and
people, aided by commerce and manufactures. Veins of gold or silver run
out; without other industry, poverty follows, particularly where the
people have been principally schooled in poetry and Latin grammar, as
found to be the case on some parts of our route.
Leechler tells me he has not heard his own language spoken for ten
years; that he would like much to go with me; "but," said he, "I have a
wife and two fine boys in Porcotambo." He has been of so much service
and stood by me in my troubles, that I feel inclined to sit still and
talk with him in plain English. The cascarilleros have seen islands
in the bed of the Madre-de-Dios. During the rainy season the mountain
torrents wash away the soil about the roots of large trees; a tree falls
into the stream, and is carried away by the waters; that tree is borne
rapidly down until it reaches the level country, where the current of
the larger river runs slow; there it turns up-side down, the branches
sink, and the roots stick out of the water; the branches evidently hold
to the bottom of the river, while earth and sand are heaped upon them;
drift-wood and vegetable matter catch in the roots or lodge against
the trunk. This is work by the laws of the Almighty. A little island
is thus built; it grows larger and larger every year; as it increases
in size, in the middle of the river, it occupies space which before was
covered with water. The same body of water must pass; as it does so, it
cuts a deeper channel, while it also caves away the banks, whose earth
and growth are carried farther down by the freshets. One channel grows
larger than the other; the smaller one probably fills up, and then our
island is lost by its attachment to the main land. Should the river be
large enough to float a vessel, and there be no falls between it and the
sea, that island is the head of navigation. Suppose it is in latitude
12° south, longitude 70° west, of Greenwich, the distance from the
island to the mouth of the river Purus is 735 miles; course N. E. ½ E.
from the mouth of the Purus down the Amazon to the sea, a straight line
is 806 miles; course E. N. E. ¾ E. 735 + 806 = 1541, which distance a
steamer can run in six days. Triple this time for turnings and stoppages
for fuel, we have eighteen days then from the mouth of the Amazon up to
this island.
A ship, loaded with woollen and cotton goods, and with hardware ploughs,
and farming utensils—of which there are none, except some miserable old
_muskets_—with corn, rice, buckwheat, hemp, tobacco, all kinds of flower
and garden seeds, plants, vines, and shoes, would require twenty-five
days to the mouth of the Amazon, eighteen days to the island, and ten
days to Cuzco: in all 53 days. On the route travelled at the present
day, by Cape Horn to Yslay, on the Pacific—the nearest seaport to
Cuzco—the passage would occupy 105 days, and 15 days from there to
Cuzco: in all 120 days. _Time_ with merchants is money.
But the great river must be explored from its mouth up. When we swam
across the Cosnipata, with our bamboo balsa, I lost my straw hat in the
middle of the stream. Should it be found in the mouth of the Purus,
I shall hereafter maintain that _it_ is fully entitled to the honor
of having decided that the Cosnipata is a tributary of the Purus.
The India-rubber trade is increasing every year. It is now the most
important export from the Amazon, and is destined to be of much greater
value. Few trees are found near us.
The mules being well rested and fed on the mountain grasses, we overtook
a red-haired, thin, sallow-complexioned man, slowly walking after an
old horse, loaded with Peruvian bark. This was a cascarillero returning
from the labors of the season in the forest. He had been sick, and
went homeward with a slim reward. He presented a striking contrast to
his wife, who met him with the horse. She was a smiling negress, very
black, with beautifully-white teeth, who had been a slave, but bought
her freedom when her former master died. He left her money, which the
cascarillero married and spent for her.
We rode into Porcotambo late by moonlight. An Indian girl took me into
the sub-prefect's room, where he and his wife were in bed. I drew back
surprised, but not in time to escape being seen. He and his lady called
out to come in. I apologized through the door; this was not considered
necessary; they both insisted upon my entering. As they sat up in bed,
I, in a seat close by, answered their many questions, while the servants
prepared supper and bed for me in another room. The amount of fancy-work
about a lady's nightcap was becoming to dark hair and eyes. Women, I
find, are much interested in steamboat navigation and the productions
of other countries. This town is remarkable for beautiful señoras.
At the end of the sixth day, from the head of the Madre-de-Dios, we
arrived in Cuzco, after an absence of twenty-one days. Richards was
still much reduced, but gaining health. The prefect expressed his
regrets at not being authorized to send troops with me, and asked the
favor of a written account of my visit to the east, in behalf of the
Peruvian government.
CHAPTER III.
College of sciences and arts at
Cuzco—Students—Library—Popularity of Fenimore Cooper's
works—Convents—Cock-pits—Procession—Condition of the
aborigines anterior to the Incas—Manco Capac and his
wife—Their language—Antiquities—Inca's fortress—Worship
of the planetary bodies—Suspicion of intercourse between
ancient civilized Asia and South Peru—Temperature of bull's
blood—Reception of the prefect's family—Sham fight among
the Quichua Indians—Barley and corn crops—Trade—Loss of
Paititi—Thermal springs—Hospitality of a cura—Lampa—Gold
mines of Carabaya—Lake Titicaca—Appearance of the
Indians—Puno—Military—Niggardly soil.
The city of Cuzco has a population of about 20,000, with a greater
proportion of creoles than any place between it and Lima. There is but
one newspaper published—an official called El Triunfo del Pueblo, (the
Triumph of the People.)
In the museum are many ancient curiosities: mummies, mining tools,
earthen, stone, and metal ware, war-clubs, hatchets, and Indian
costumes. In a small library hangs a translation, into Spanish, of the
declaration of independence of the United States. Among the few readers
met there, questions were often asked of Fenimore Cooper, who seems
to be better known in South America than any other North American. I
received much kindness from those of Spanish descent who had read Mr.
Cooper's works. The distinct pronunciation of his name shows the deep
impression made upon their mind by that distinguished author.
In the college of sciences and arts were three hundred boys. The
president seemed anxious to give a favorable impression of the
institution. In the picture gallery, some of the most choice drawings,
executed by the students from time to time, were preserved. There
seemed to be natural talent displayed, but a want of good instruction.
Mathematics, philosophy, Latin grammar, and drawing, are the principal
studies. While walking on the balcony among the boys, wrapped up in
broadcloth cloaks and caps, we observed a youngster deeply interested
in a very greasy-looking little book. He seemed to be the only one
disposed to study. He said, "_Poetry_ is my lesson for to-day." He was
asked which he preferred to be, a Byron or a farmer? The boys around
us laughed, when he spoke out quickly—"a Byron, sir." On the wall of a
dressing-room hung in line three hundred Napoleon-fashioned cocked hats,
which the president informed me were worn by the boys in procession when
they went to pay their respects to the prefect. Peru has a population of
not quite two millions, more than half of which are friendly aborigines.
On the standing army list there are six "Grandes Mariscales," seven
"Jenerales de Division," with twenty "Jenerales de Brigada," and junior
grades in large proportion.
The people of the country complain of a constant revolutionary spirit
in all places, and there is no advancement in "science and the arts."
It is said that when a creole mother in this country holds her baby
between her hands to tickle and kiss it, she addresses a boy as "My dear
little Bishop;" or, "My President." She objects to allow its head to be
wet with water, for fear of destroying its memory; and prevents it from
sleeping in the day-time, lest it may catch a sore throat. The birthday
of a boy is a cause for rejoicing. The father is congratulated, and the
mother praised for her patriotism. The proportion of females through
this country is great. The women are well developed, healthy, active,
and gay. _Generally_ speaking, the men are not so.
Every Sunday evening there is a cock-fight in Cuzco, at fifty cents
entrance. The pit is built of mason work, with two entrances, and seats,
one behind the other, all round. Gaffs, three inches long, sharp, and
like a dragoon's sabre, are fastened to the cock's spurs; the fight
is very soon decided. A good deal of money is bet on these occasions,
at which the college-boys take part; ladies are not admitted, though
they bet upon their favorites as they are carried by to the pit. The
commander of police presides in uniform, with a small table before him,
covered by a green cloth, on which he makes his bets, and piles his
silver and gold, if he wins. He rings a small bell when he is ready
for the fight to commence, and decides the battle. There are few game
chickens in this part of the country, but the barn-door fowl, aided by
gaffs, are freely used up.
A visit to the churches and convents of Cuzco is interesting; many of
them are immense, built from the hewn stone from the ruined Inca city.
The ornaments are rich and costly; the carving of ornamental woods from
the montaña are well executed. We were surprised to find such a display
of oil paintings, which were used to induce the Indians to change their
worship to that of the Catholic. In the convent of San Francisco, one
represented a graveyard somewhere between Heaven and hell; the dead are
seen rising; winged angels come down from among the clouds, and bore
off the good people; while the devil's understrappers grasped the bad,
and tossed them over a precipice into an active fire far below. This
painting produces a lasting effect upon the minds of the poor Indians.
A major in the Peruvian army remarked "he saw no _soldiers_ in the
_fire_;" at which a polite fat padre laughed, as if he did not consider
the subject in a _serious_ light. In one corner of a filthy room, near
a closet, a robed priest was standing with a small book in one hand,
and a large loaf of bread in the other. He looked ashamed as he saluted
us with his mouth full. Among the flowers cultivated in the area were
a number of priests apparently in deep study, while one of them was
mending a hole in his breeches.
After a long continued drought, the sugar plants, maize, and potato
crops suffer for want of rain. On Sunday, August 31st, the prefect
invited us to walk in procession; a company of soldiers, and band
of music in front; the college boys, with cocked hats, and their
happy-looking president, were ready; the prefect appeared in full
uniform. We marched to the cathedral, which, with the main plaza, were
filled with people. On entering, no seats had been provided, and the
prefect spoke sharply to one of the priests. Three images, of full size,
were raised on platforms on the heads of men; the music commenced,
and we followed through the city. The Indians, who crowded from the
surrounding country, seemed very much interested, but it was _wood-work_
to some of us; with hats in hand we pushed through.
We halted in a narrow street, to allow another procession to pass,
similar to ours, except that it had a more interesting mixture of pretty
women. An image, borne on the heads of men, was called "El Patriarca
San José," followed by a number of priests and women singing. After
them a female figure, richly mounted with silver, dressed in a costly
brown silk dress, trimmed with gold, and spangled with silver. Her black
hair was hanging gracefully at length over her shoulders, and in her
arms she held an infant. We followed "_Nuestra Señora de Belen_" to the
cathedral. The bells announced her arrival, and the population knelt in
prayer.
Nuestra Señora was carried before the altar; those under the front part
of the platform knelt and rose three times, while the men behind stood
still, which made her appear as though bowing. When the Indians shouted
and cried, the women became much excited, and their little children
shed tears and screamed with all their might; even the Indian men wept;
a perfect shower of tears was produced. Their prayer to God, through
Nuestra Señora de Belen was to send rain for their perishing crops in
the country around.
Soon after the conquest, the fishermen of the bay of Callao picked up
a box, and upon opening it they found Nuestra Señora de Belen and her
child, with a letter, wherein it was written, she was intended for the
"City of the Kings;" Lima was Pizarro's name for the city of the kings,
and she was at once claimed by that city; but Cuzco was the aboriginal
city of the kings, and a dispute arose. Those of Cuzco declared, that as
she came in a box, which might be carried across the Andes on the back
of an ass, she was not sent to Lima. This argument gained the lady, and
she travelled over the mountains.
The Indians, and many of the creoles, believe, when they have too much
or too little rain for their crops, and take her through the streets
praying, God will listen, and send water, as required, for their fields.
When they are visited by disease, as at present, and the influenza is
fatal to their children, the Belen lady is implored.
The Convent of San Domingo is built over the ruins of the _Temple of
the Sun, Moon, and Stars_, which were worshipped together by the old
Peruvians—a worship objected to in moral laws. We are told that the sun
of the temple was made of a mass of silver and gold; so were the moon
and the stars. When the Spaniards captured Cuzco the treasure of this
temple was squandered at the gambling tables.
Before the days of the Incas, the Indians of these regions are thought
to have lived in holes in the ground, in crevices, or under overhanging
masses of rocks, and in caves, like wild bears, biscachas, or eagles.
They ate grass and roots of the earth like beasts; roamed among each
other as animals of the desert. Like the Chunchos, they reverenced
brave animals, large birds, and serpents. There were many tribes, with
different languages, and different worships of birds or beasts. In war
they flayed their prisoners, ate their flesh, drank their blood, made
drum-heads of their skins, and sticks of their bones. They went about
in flocks, robbing each other like wolves, the weaker giving way to the
strong. It has been said they fattened the children of their enemy like
lambs or calves, and ate them.
A man and a woman of some different race suddenly appeared among them;
they knew not from whence they came; the opinion was that they were
from out of the great Lake _Titicaca_. The man and his sister told the
Indians they had been sent by their father, the _sun_, to draw them from
their savage life, and to instruct them how they might live, like men,
and not like beasts; to show them how to cultivate the land and raise
food; to teach them to make clothing and to wear it. The Indians were
pleased, and ran off telling their neighbors, who gathered together
about the man, while his sister and _wife_ taught the women how to spin
the wool of animals and to make clothing.
The language taught them was called _Quichua_; they were also instructed
to worship the _sun_, _moon_, and _stars_; to build towns on the western
end of the valley; to rise at the break of day, that they might behold
their Deity as he appeared in the east. They called the man _Manco
Capac_ and Inca; they loved and worshipped him as a descendant of the
sun. The woman they called _Coya Mama_.
Manco Capac reigned many years, during which time he and his wife taught
the Indians from the _Apurimac_ river on the west to the _Porcotambo_
river on the east; south from Cuzco to Lake Titicaca, and north to where
the Apurimac empties into the Santa Ana.
The moon was worshipped as the sister and wife of the sun, and believed
to be the mother of Manco Capac; the evening star, Venus, was considered
the attendant of the sun. They respected the cluster of "seven stars,"
because they were called maids to the mother moon.
They had certain forms of worship and prayers which were made through
lightning, thunder, and the rainbow.
Manco Capac was kind and gentle in disposition, and the Indians loved
and obeyed him. He laid the foundation of great changes in the manners
of the aborigines, founded a church and a nation.
I was permitted to make sketches of some curious things, the works of
the ancient Peruvians, from collections preserved in private families,
who value their little museums very highly; they seldom give away a
specimen, but are anxious to receive anything in addition.
[Illustration: Figure 1 represents mason-work.]
[Illustration: Figure 2, a drinking cup, the handle representing
the head of a llama, of stone, and rudely carved.]
[Illustration: Figure 3, also stone, probably of older date.]
[Illustration: Figure 4, a _stone portrait_ of one of the priests
of the Temple of the Sun; very smooth. Attached by a string in
the hole on the head, to be worn as an ornament round the neck.]
[Illustration: Figure 5, a smooth green and blue stone.]
[Illustration: Figure 6, a stone likeness of the head and arms
of a monkey eating his breakfast.]
[Illustration: Figure 7, a common garden grub-worm, of stone.]
[Illustration: Figures 8, dice, of stone.]
[Illustration: Figure 9, a clay water-ladle, painted red and
worked very smooth.]
[Illustration: Fig. 10.]
It is said that such idols were not permitted to be worshipped by
the Incas. They are of _granite_, found among the Andes—not from the
Cordilleras. In Peru and Bolivia, the Cordilleras are not interrupted
by water-courses, but are the dividing lines between the Atlantic and
the Pacific water-sheds; while the Andes chain is cut in many places by
the streams flowing to the eastward.
[Illustration: Figure 11 is of granite, bird-like in shape. It might
have been made for the head of a war-club or slung-stone.]
[Illustration: Figure 12, an earthen jar, seems to be more modern,
though not used by the Indians of the present day. It is of
brick-color, painted black round the neck.]
[Illustration: Figure 13, a green-colored stone likeness, worn
suspended on the breast.]
[Illustration: Figure 14, a metal armlet, made of copper and tin,
so thin as to spring open when drawn over the hand. The fastening
is a small string through the holes. Bracelets _were_ favorite
ornaments: they are seldom worn in the present day.]
[Illustration: Figures 15, 16, and 17 are of the same metal; the
latter the best representation of a llama we could find; the two
former are in the usual posture of mummies.]
[Illustration: Figure 18, a drinking cup, is of earthenware, and
the most fanciful.]
[Illustration: Figures 19 and 20 are of stone. The general contour
of figure 20 reminds us of the alpaca; while the handle of the
saucer of figure 19 represents an animal unknown to us.]
[Illustration: Figures 21 and 22 are of stone. Figure 22 represents
an animal unknown to us.]
[Illustration: Figure 23, a stone, shaped like a lemon, with
serpents carved thereon, including a vein of gold in the stone,
the production of the montaña of the Madre-de-Dios.]
[Illustration: Figures 24 represent paintings on the outside of an
earthen jar, red and black.]
[Illustration: Figure 25, of stone, may be a caricature of a bearded
Spaniard in his smoking cap.]
[Illustration: Figure 26, of clay, is the head of an animal unknown.]
[Illustration: Figure 27, a stone blade of a knife, sharp on both
edges.]
[Illustration: Figure 28, a drinking cup, with figures of animals.]
[Illustration: Figure 29, a copper chisel, flat on one side.]
[Illustration: Figure 30, a green-colored stone hatchet, shaped like
those found in North America.]
[Illustration: Figures 31, ear ornaments. Their weight stretches
the ear. They are of copper and tin, inlaid with silver and
gold, and were hung to the ear by the string. From their
appearance, not owned by the common Indians.]
[Illustration: Figure 32, a bone wedding-ring, made as though
the bride and groom _both_ wore it during the ceremony.]
[Illustration: Figure 33, a hatchet, made of copper, hardened
with tin. This was found in the grave of an Indian warrior, near
Cuzco, and is the best made tool we found. Iron was not in use,
and their tools were made of this mixed metal. They probably
cut stone with it. Dozens of crowbars or chisels, 3 feet long
and ¾ by ½ an inch thick, were found in the silver mines.]
[Illustration: Figure 34 is a hatchet, of the same alloy as
preceding figure.]
[Illustration: Figure 35, metal head of a war-club. Some are also
found of stone.]
[Illustration: Figure 36, a metal war-hatchet; was taken from a
grave near the small town of Surati.]
[Illustration: Figure 37, a slung-stone, used as a weapon of
war.]
[Illustration: Figure 38, a gold ornament worn on the forehead;
the button, representing the sun.]
On a high hill on the north side of the city are remains of the walls
of the ancient fortress _Sacsahuamam_. The largest sized stone in the
drawing measured twenty-two feet at the base, and twelve and a half feet
perpendicularly, independent of its depth in the ground and wall. The
Indian boy standing near was full grown. We were at a loss to know how
the ancient Peruvians could handle such heavy masses, and transport them
half a mile over ground nearly level; but some recent discoveries by
Mr. Layard, in Asia, show no similar acts by human powers and mechanical
skill.
[Illustration: NORTH VIEW OF THE REMAINS OF THE INCA'S FORT,
SACSAHUAMAM, Cuzco.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The area occupied by this fortress may be about twelve acres. No
fortification in North America would more safely defy the effects
of round shot and shell, though built by people ignorant of such
war agents. The angles and ground plan are systematically laid down;
the stairways, by which the fort was entered, are built so as to be
easily shut up by large stones from the inside, making the door quite
as secure from the outside as the wall itself. The walls encircle
the top of the hill, the peak of which stands considerably above the
ruins. On the north side of the ruins, from which this view was taken,
there are many seats and flat places carved in the rocks, whence it is
supposed people witnessed plays on the flats, which have the appearance
of parade-grounds. Among these rocks there is a hole, said to be the
entrance to a subterraneous passage under the hill to the Temple of the
Sun, a distance of half a mile. I entered it, but could not proceed far,
and came away with doubts. Subterraneous roads, made by the order of
the Incas, are believed by some to exist between Tarma and Cuzco.
In the small stream flowing by this fortress, and through the city
of Cuzco, I washed some sand in a pan, and found grains of gold. The
Indians now seek the cultivation of the soil rather than gold-washing,
and find it more profitable. During the reign of the Incas, the precious
metals were solely used by them as ornaments and utensils, and not for
a currency, as now.
From time to time, during the reign of the Incas, the neighboring tribes
of Indians were brought under their control, either by persuasive means
or by force of arms, until their territory extended from the Pacific
coast on the west to the eastern slope of the Andes, and from Quito,
near the equator on the north, into Chili, near latitude 40° south. Some
of these Incas were great warriors, who marched to the frontiers with
a determination to extend their laws and religion over other territory,
until their possessions became so great, that the twelfth Inca decided
to deviate from the constitution established by the first, and gave the
southern portion of the kingdom to his eldest, and the northern portion
to another son. These brothers quarrelled. Francisco Pizarro took the
conqueror prisoner and had him hung, which completed the fall of the
Peruvian empire, the civilization of which yet astonishes the Spaniards.
I met an old woman in Cuzco who claimed to be a descendant of the Incas
family. She was unable to trace the account of descent farther back
than her own mother. Old ladies tell their children wonderful stories in
this part of the world. Those who claim to be of the same blood as the
Incas, assume a haughty manner towards their neighbors, which becomes
the Indian as little as other people. In the ruins of forts, roads, and
canals, the art of spinning, weaving, and dyeing, curiously-carved stone
tools and metal castings, are the true remnants of the Incas. The people
seemed to fancy the hewing of stone and working in metals, but we find
no traces of wood-work.
The Spaniards brought with them to Peru horses and mares, horned cattle,
asses, goats, hogs, sheep, tame cats, coins, and dogs of good breed.
They planted the grape vine in the valley of Cuzco, made slaves of the
Peruvians, who joined to hurl their oppressors in their turn from the
territory of Peru.
A traveller told me that in 1825 he could read the news of the war in
the _faces_ of the Indians as he met them on the roads. If a battle had
been decided in favor of the republicans, the Indians looked up and were
cheerful; if in favor of the others, they hung their heads and were sad.
The histories of hard fought battles between their forefathers and the
Spaniards, and the overthrow of their religion and government, had been
handed down from generation to generation. Various changes of manners
and customs had interfered with their happiness. The _natural_ man never
forgets an injury, and it seems characteristic of the Indians, as well
as of some others, to hate their enemies and to love their friends.
These people enjoy the recollection of the example of Manco Capac to
this day. He seems to have shaped his conduct to the _disposition_ of
the nation.
The worship of the planetary bodies, "the sun, moon, and stars," is some
evidence of astronomical information, which gave its votaries power over
others, ignorant of the natural laws which regulate the movements and
periodic changes of these heavenly bodies; and thus gradually enforced
a perverted reverence for them by the multitude.
The Hebrew moral law specially objects to such worship, which appears to
have been _previously_ known, and, _therefore_, was forbidden by Moses.
_During preceding revolutions_, which are referred to in the scriptures,
ships employed in commerce between India and Egypt may have been driven
from the Persian gulf or Red sea, and have reached this continent.
A remnant, one man and one woman, well educated and instructed in
the arts of agriculture, mechanics, and domestic industry, would have
effected all the improvements shown by the education of an intelligent
race, as the Peruvians appear to have been.
Their customs, manners, and enterprises, assimilate so much with those
of remote antiquity, in Asia and Africa, as scarcely to be distinguished
from them.
Modern discoveries in Egypt and Assyria exhibit the same bridges and
idols, the same tools, weapons and utensils of clay or stone, and of
_mixed_ metals—copper hardened by tin.
What things are dissimilar may have been the result of intention and
reform. The victory of Alexander the Great over the Tyrians, who were
active, enterprising, and _intelligent_ navigators, and the description
of explorations to the Arabian sea, made by ships built upon the Indus,
authorize a suspicion of very ancient intercourse by some competent
means between civilized Asia and America, at the south, as well as by
northern navigators upon our eastern coasts.
In evidence of ancient art and contrivance, when Alexander besieged
Tyre, more than three hundred years before our era, he employed "_chain
cables_" for his ships, after the Tyrian divers had cut the rope cables
and set his vessels adrift.[1]
The hitherto recognised dates are not considered competent to compute
the period of man's existence on this earth. _The original_ estimate
being possibly founded upon a different basis of calculation, similar
to the comparison alluded to by a sacred writer: "A thousand years in
Thy sight are as yesterday when _it_ is passed."
The existence of a strange pair of foreigners, who arrived from some
unknown country, to introduce agriculture, arts, manufactures, and
systematic morals, among the native tribes of the Andes, does not appear
to be a traditional fiction, but a confirmed fact, in the history of
the aborigines of Peru.
The grateful recollection of the present race of Indians, for the
kindness, gentleness, and humanity of the Incas rulers towards their
ancestors, are often compared disadvantageously with the sufferings and
privations they think they experienced from subsequent governments, now
modified, by peculiar changes.
The writer cannot doubt that Manco Capac and his wife were realities.
Long voyages, attributed to a commercial people of very ancient date,
may authorize an attempt to show the possibility of the discovery and
improvement of the aboriginal people, distributed upon this portion
of our great continent, by some race versed in arts and knowledge,
descended from the Asiatic family, to whom primitive advances in
civilization have been most anciently attributed.
The Phœnicians are described to have made voyages from their colonial
settlements on the shores of the Mediterranean, to obtain amber from
the Baltic, and tin from the British islands.
These Phœnicians, originally passing by the waters, or along the shores
of the Euphrates, from the Persian gulf to the Mediterranean sea, are
stated by tradition to have introduced agriculture, manufactures, arts,
letters, architecture, and civilization, to the aborigines of Europe
and of Africa, in "the antiquity of ancient days."
The colonies of Sidan and Tyre in Asia, of Carthage in Africa, and
some on the European shores, in Greece, Italy, and Spain, have been
attributed to these remote people. They are described in our venerated
records as the merchants, navigators, and wise men of their distant age.
To pass the stormy Bay of Biscay, and encounter the boisterous seas of
the Northern ocean, these explorers must have possessed vessels with
officers and equipments, experienced pilots, and competent seamen,
to authorize suspicion of enterprise, intelligence, and powers quite
sufficient to lead them "to compass the earth."
The three years' voyages described in the Scriptures to have been
undertaken by Tyrian seamen, and the valuable productions enumerated as
portions of their cargoes, illustrate the mercantile character of that
age, confirmed by curious modern discoveries in Egypt and Assyria.
In the hazardous voyages of the Phœnicians, in search of tin, we
discover some proof of its importance in the arts and manufactures of
antiquity, more than equivalent to its uses at the present day.
The comparative absence of steel and iron tools among the relics of
ancient nations, may be explained by the fact that they possessed
a substitute in the easy combination of tin with copper, which, by
accident or their accurate acquaintance with these metals, enabled them
to produce results in the arts which still astonish us.
The immense rocks removed, ornamented, and elevated upon ancient temples
and pyramids, or carved in their natural positions for habitations
of the living and cemeteries for the dead, have long believed to have
been wrought without the employment of iron tools. Bronze was certainly
fabricated at very distant periods for the same uses as steel and iron
now.
Layard describes ornaments, weapons, tools, and armor of the ancient
Assyrians of copper "hardened, as in Egypt, by an alloy of tin."
The natives of Peru executed some significant works in porphyry and
granite, hewn by similar implements of bronze or copper, tempered by a
small alloy of tin.
By means of such tools, they wrought hard veins of silver, and are
supposed to have engraved the emerald.
M. de Humboldt carried with him to Europe a chisel, from a silver mine
opened by the Indians, not far from Cuzco, which, upon analysis, was
found to contain ninety-four parts of copper, united with .06 of tin.
The writer has been enabled to procure the partial examination of a
bronze crowbar, or long-bandied chisel, from an ancient mine of silver
in Peru. An exact analysis has been delayed, but of from ten to twelve
per cent. of tin are understood to be combined with the copper.
This alloy is employed for casting of bell-metal and cannon, for
the touch-hole of muskets, mirrors, or specula, for astronomical
observations, musical instruments, and formerly for coats of
impenetrable armor.
These affinities in the manufactures of the Egyptians, Assyrians,
and ancient Peruvians, offer some suggestions of very remote
intercommunication between portions of civilized Asia and the natives
of the Andes, further elucidated by reference to other similarities
in their mode of agriculture by irrigation, and the employment of
manures; the construction and suspension of bridges; their causeways and
aqueducts; the working of mines, knitting, netting, spinning, weaving,
and dyeing; their roads, posts, inns, and grainaries, arms and armor.
The order, system, and policy of their morals; the arrangement of public
records; their duties; the worship of the sun, the moon, the planets,
and natural elements, distinctly and strictly forbidden in Hebrew laws,
because such practices had existed before the Exodus, and, therefore,
were objected to in the reformed code.
Indeed, the resemblance in the manners and customs of the Peruvians,
before the Spanish conquests, to those of oriental nations of the most
remote antiquity, has been frequently referred to by historians best
acquainted with the peculiarities of each.
The revolutions of the civilized nations of ancient Asia are repeatedly
referred to in biblical history to instruct the people in the causes
which led to proposed reformations in their moral laws.
To obtain relief from oppressive superstitions, famine, diseases, and
wars, or to find means fully to express the wonderful movements of
mental action, ancient revolutions may have driven numerous colonies,
in long forgotten ages, to seek refuge in most distant lands as now.
That such emigrations were made by land occasionally, a curious proof
exists in the interior of China. A town is inhabited by descendants of
people from the neighborhood of the Mediterranean, bearing manuscripts
of Hebrew laws, written upon rolls of skins or parchment, in the
peculiar characters of that people, and still remain as evidence of
their original descent, although the present inhabitants have become
so assimilated with the Chinese, that no one among them can read or
comprehend the language of those ancient commandments.
If the modern knowledge of the winds and currents of the ocean permit,
the writer will attempt to show, that sea-going vessels, well managed
by Phœnicians, Tyrians, or Carthaginians, equal, at least, to those
in which Columbus made his discoveries, were perfectly competent to
traverse the Indian and South Pacific oceans, and to have landed a
civilized pair on the coast of Peru, sufficiently near Lake Titicaca
to give permanent credit to their appearance from that direction, to
instruct the gentle and tractable aborigines of those mountains, who,
by the mild, intelligent, and persuasive character of the strangers,
adapting their moderate government to the peculiarities in the
dispositions of the natives, gradually acquired that prominence in the
peaceful arts of life which put to shame the acts of later conquerors.
In comparing the skulls of the Incas family with those of the
aboriginal Peruvians, engravings demonstrate the latter were deficient
in intellectual character, while the Incas exhibit very distinct
differences of conformation and of ability.
The oriental practice of travelling, by water or land, accompanied
by wives, is notorious. It still appears a trait of character
distinguishing eastern people, both in Asia and America.
Captain Gallownin, of the Russian sloop-of-war Diana, sent by his
government in 1811 to make a survey of the Kurile group, and to attempt
friendly relations with the Japanese, was induced to land with a weak
party, and taken prisoners. The officers of the Diana, in retaliation,
intercepted a Japanese vessel of the largest size. Fortunately, the
captain of this vessel was a great ship-owner and merchant—a person of
much influence and ability. He and his lady, the inseparable companion
of his voyages, are described to have borne their misfortunes with
wonderful composure, like old sailors.
We are taught by the winds and currents of the north Atlantic ocean,
that had Christopher Columbus sailed on his voyage of discovery in a
different month of the year, he never could have reached the New World.
He would have perished amidst calms, of which he knew nothing.
The temperature of the blood of a young bull in Cuzco was 100°
Fahrenheit; air 57°. At the base of the Andes 101°; air 78°.
We were invited to join a party of gentlemen on horseback to meet the
prefect and his family from Arequipa. At the hacienda _Angostura_,
a large dinner table was spread on the piazza near a fresh stream of
water, shaded by willow trees, the air fragrant with the perfumes of
flowers and orange blossoms. The farm yards were filled with cattle
and sheep, while the fields around were planted with maize, barley,
potatoes, or green with lucerne. In the garden, peach, apple, and pear
trees were seen. We dismounted in the court-yard. A mule came into the
gate with a square box on his back, covered like a market wagon, with a
raised cotton-cloth cover upon hoops. Inside were three noisy, laughing
children. From the number of persons ready to assist the youngsters,
there was no mistaking these little Arequipanians, who were delighted
to get out of their box. The Señora and Señorita were in their riding
dresses. The ease of manner and beauty of the Arequipa ladies have
been celebrated; the daughter was about eighteen. She received the
compliments of a hundred beaux with graceful modesty. The dinner table
was well supplied with meats and wines, and a desert table with many
good things. Champaigne wine and sweetmeats seemed of more assistance in
speech-making and toasting than keeping the party together on the road
back. A judge of the court assured the party "he should give up drinking
_water_ as soon as the navigation of the Madre-de-Dios was open."
Angostura belongs to the Bishop of Cuzco; it is one of the best
cultivated haciendas in the valley.
A number of Indians collected in the small town of San Sebastian were
celebrating the Saint's day of the little church. The main street was
decorated with flags; arches were made with poles on each side, and
strings stretched across, to which were suspended _coins_ of silver. The
first we passed under was adorned with one dollar pieces; the next, half
dollars; then quarters, shillings, and sixpences. Other arches were made
to which were hung pottery, fancifully-painted pitchers, jugs, pots, and
jars—all of earthenware. These hung so close to our heads that some one
plucked a specimen, which disrespectful act brought down a string, and
almost all were broken under our horses' feet.
The Indians were dancing in the little plaza, some in _black_ masks,
others with cows' horns and the skin of the cow's head over their heads
and shoulders. A crowd of them were teasing a young bull, pulling his
tail and mounting him. The poor animal was tired down and secured,
specially disgusted at the music of a cane flute and hide drum.
We halted in the plaza and witnessed a sham fight with bows and arrows,
war clubs, and large wooden swords, gotten up for the moment for the
benefit of the prefect and his family. It was the representation of
a fight between the Quichua Indians of the Andes, and the Chunchos
of the lowlands. The killed, wounded, and prisoners in Chunchos shoes
was dreadful; while the delighted Quichuas went through the motions of
cutting their enemies up, one by one, into small bits, and heaped them
on one side like sticks in a wood pile.
The church doors were all open; the altar brilliantly lighted with
tallow candles; and along the walls on the outside stood rows of immense
chicha jars, carefully guarded by the women who huckstered it out—a
sixpence for an earthen jugful. The whole affair was a curious mixture,
difficult to digest by those unaccustomed to such habits. Many of the
ancient Indian customs seem to be allowed; this has a good effect upon
the aborigines, who give preference to cows' horns and chicha over the
more expensive requirements of the church.
From the balconies in the streets of Cuzco flowers were showered upon
the heads of the ladies, and the people shouted "Huzza for the new
Cuzcanians!" Many families were ready to welcome the lady and her
children into the prefectura, and after night she was serenaded by a
brass band. We have never seen the moon rise with such splendor as it
does over the snow-capped mountains to the east of Cuzco; she throws
her light quietly down over this interesting valley. There are two
noises which disturb its midnight stillness—the braying of a jackass
and the baying of a dog; both seem to wake up as the moon peeps through
the silvery peaks. The cocks crow as the moon is eclipsed by a passing
cloud.
The house of a prefect is generally a gay one. The gentlemen meet in
the evening to talk over the news of the day, play cards, and so on.
There is very little visiting among the ladies of Cuzco except on Sunday
after church. They are seldom seen walking in the streets. On Saturday
evenings they repair to the plaza to purchase a new pair of shoes,
which is the time to see them at most advantage. On these occasions
the priests appear with little silver images, standing on one side of
a large silver plate; as the ladies pay the Indians for their shoes,
the padre presents the image to be kissed, and the plate receives a
donation or church-tax upon the price of shoe-leather. There are very
few who kiss the image that do not pay, unless it be the _second_
time the priest has offered it on the same Saturday, and then they
bashfully decline. On these days poor families send old books, bits
of iron, horse-shoes, nails, spikes, bridle-bits, and stirrups, or any
other article they may want the money for, and the Indian servant sells
them for what she can get. There is little wealth in Cuzco; with a few
exceptions, the people are as poor as they are indolent. Some of the
more energetic, who own haciendas in the valley, and have mercantile
houses in the city, are called rich—that is to say, they have more than
they require to live upon.
The climate of Cuzco, during our stay, was not pleasant; cold rains
water the hill-tops, which, in the morning, are white with frost, and
being evaporated, form clouds. Though Cuzco is within the tropics, and
the dry or warm season extends from May to September, the people are
dressed in winter clothing. When the sun passes Cuzco, on his way south,
the rainy season commences; the drops come down in hail and snow flakes,
and under the vertical sun the people are in mid-winter storms, and
require more clothing in what, astronomically speaking, is their summer,
than they do in their winter months. Strangers suffer somewhat at first
by not watching closely the changes of the temperature, and dressing
accordingly. Influenza and rheumatic affections are very common; many
of the poorer classes have small-pox for the want of vaccination. There
is a good deal of dropsy, but few cases of consumption.
The Indians use more coca here than elsewhere, and seem to injure their
health by chewing such quantities. Those living in the city are thin and
miserable-looking, in comparison with the country people. The Indians
seem to be much neglected; when they are sick, they wait patiently until
they die or get better. The charges of medical men are high; Indians
cannot afford to employ a Doctor. The native physicians are generally
the most moderate, and understand the climate the best. There are a few
foreigners in Cuzco, among them a French baker. The people seem as fond
of talking with him as they are of eating his bread.
The city abounds with shop keepers and tailors, who pass their days in
the sun. As the twilight commences, the street doors are closed, and the
town presents a dark and doleful appearance. Here and there a lamp is
hung out in front of eating, government, and gambling houses. The young
men play billiards at a sort of club, where the room is decorated with
a likeness of Napoleon Bonaparte on one side, and George Washington on
the other. A Frenchman keeps the house.
The French are much the most popular foreigners. They soon marry a
country woman, and adopt the manners and customs of the Spaniards. An
Englishman don't manage so well; one may mistake a Frenchman, who has
been in the country a long time, for a Spaniard; but the florid English
face declares his nation at first sight. John Bull seems delighted
with an opportunity to speak English, while the French tongue seems
slung for Spanish. The Frenchman practises the courtesies and habits
of these people; introduces his wife and all the children to you. He
seems settled for life; the other talks constantly of returning to old
England. He is more active, sometimes cultivates the soil, or is engaged
in mining. Since my return from the Madre-de-Dios, a young Englishman
gathering bark, with a party of Quichua Indians, in a southeasterly
direction from San Miguel farm, were all murdered by the Chunchos.
The mail arrives and leaves Cuzco for Lima, and other places, twice a
week. There are two mail routes to and from Lima; one inland through
Ayacucho and Huancavelica, distant 189 leagues; the other by the English
steamer from Callao to Yslay, thence through Arequipa. This is the most
expeditious route; the distance from Cuzco to Arequipa is 95 leagues.
_October 28, 1851._—Our baggage well covered with tarpaulins. José's
saddle wallets received two roasted chickens, a leg of mutton, and a
large cheese fresh from the dairy, a present from the kind lady of the
house. This is the custom of the country. José tells me, as we follow
our train out of Cuzco, when guests are treated in this way, they may
be sure they are considered friends of the family. The hospitality of
this country is conspicuous and delicate.
The arrieros contract to go from post-house to post-house, on the road
south. I was recommended to go by the post, instead of engaging mules
for so long a distance. Although the change of mules is desirable, the
daily change of arrieros is not; the men work best after they become
accustomed to us.
The Indians are ploughing in barley and hoeing corn. The crops suffer
for want of rain in the valley. The road is very dusty. We halted for
the night in the small town of Oropesa, and for the first time took up
quarters in a Peruvian post-house. The moment Paititi entered the patio,
he began to war with the dogs. The house consisted of one story and one
room. Travellers take a house; we had a table and three chairs, made of
the wood of the montaña; in the corners were _earthen_ couches for beds.
The walls were dirty, painted with pictures of angels and saints. The
ground floor was swept for us. As we took our tea, Paititi sat in the
doorway looking on. I felt a flea. The entrance to the corral where the
post-mules were kept, was opposite the kitchen, where two large black
hogs were feeding. In the doorway was seated the fat, homely wife of the
postman. The smoke of the kitchen fire gracefully flowed out over her
shaggy head; she was a very cross-looking woman. One of her hogs came
near, and Paititi gave him a snap in the ham; she mumbled out something
revengeful, while the jolly postman laughed and praised our spirited
watch-dog.
In the morning at 7, thermometer 58°, the postman came to say good
morning, and inquire how we passed the night, as though he did not
know how full of fleas his house was. After breakfast he left his
sour-looking wife, and accompanied us to the next post. The custom is
to pay fare in advance. Paititi gave the fat woman's sow a farewell nip,
and we marched on.
As we rise the side of the small mountain of rocks and red clay, we
look down upon a lake of clear water, in which a flock of wild ducks
are bathing. Beyond its green shores, we see lucerne, cornfields,
and haciendas surrounded with willow trees, near the base of barren
hills. This is the eastern end of the valley of Cuzco, which is about
five leagues long, and two miles wide in some places. It is thickly
inhabited and well cultivated. Our course lay along the western bank
of the Urubamba river, a tributary of the Santa Ana. The waters glide
swiftly on northward. The river is straight, thirty yards wide, with
little fall; rocky bottom, and muddy water. The stream passes between
two ranges of hills. In places the valley is half a mile wide; then
again there is just room enough for the river and our road. Here the
shores are of black rock, then of gravel, then clay breaking down
perpendicularly, or with a long sandy beach. While the wild ducks feed
upon the water, the snipe seeks his food along the shore. Small fish and
tadpoles are plenty; but we saw no large fish in or out of the water.
The town of Quiquijana has a population of two thousand Indians. They
cultivate the soil as high up the mountain-sides as the producing line;
raise sheep and cattle. Mules are very fine-looking here. Where the
lucerne is not in blossom, we feed our mules with corn-fodder, and they
travel the better for it. Unripe lucerne weakens the animals. There is
an elevation above the sea at which barley grows, but never produces
grain. The stalk is very much liked by the mules, either green or dry.
On the flats it is raised and stored away for the dry summer season,
when the parching sun destroys the pastures.
We crossed the river on a freestone bridge. There was no toll to pay.
The road keeps the east bank of the river. The clouds stand still over
head, while we have a draft of wind through the valley, and every few
moments a wind comes in at right angles through the deep cuts in the
ridges. The mountains on both sides of the river are as regular in shape
and size as though they had been planted by hand. The small, coarse
grass parches yellowish.
Leaving the small Indian town of Checcacappa, the river runs from the
east through the mountains. At the turn there is a brushwood suspension
bridge in such a ruinous condition that we waded the stream above,
and continued our course south, through the valley, by a branch of the
Urubamba, called by the arrieros Sicuani. Beans and jackasses seem to
be the principal productions. After travelling some time between high
ridges of mountains, to come suddenly out upon level land and small
hills, reminds one of the break of day. Changed baggage-mules at Cacha,
a small town, where at midday the thermometer stood at 71°.
_October 31._—Found boiled eggs plenty, and a pleasant postwoman.
The town of Sicuani is larger than any passed through this side of
Cuzco, and built differently. On the long main street, which is crossed
by small, narrow lanes, we saw many pretty faces. The women are in the
majority in the market, buying and selling marketing—potatoes, peppers,
&c. For a country town, some of the houses are very respectable-looking.
The creoles regard us with an air of surprise. As we walk along, they
look very grave, touch their hats, and bow politely; but suddenly
turning, one catches them laughing and making remarks. At first
they called us Frenchmen. We tell them their mistake. They inquire,
"Englishmen?" Upon being told North Americans, they exclaim, with a
wondering expression, "Oh! California!" A party of Indian boys were
playing with tops—one of the very few things reminding us of home.
A printed notice, pasted at the corner of the plaza, forbids the
trapping or shooting vicuña, by order of the supreme government. When
the people gather the wool of the vicuña, they _kill_ the animal,
instead of shearing it and setting it at liberty again. We were told
it was easier to take the fleece off when the animal was dead. As their
numbers are decreasing, the government protects them.
_November 1._—At 8 o'clock a. m., thermometer, 54°. It rained during
the night. The hills are now covered with snow. After leaving the town
and wading the river, we followed up the western bank of the stream. On
arriving at a small town, our baggage-mules passed ahead. Proceeding
some distance, we met a man, who told me the baggage was not on that
road, and we turned. After travelling for some time, I suddenly missed
Paititi. We had turned back without calling him. Paititi had become
a pet, and was now considered as one of the party. José went back in
search of him; but we never saw our brave little animal again. He had
guarded our tent by night, and fought our battles on the road. He made
friends for us, too; for whenever the people heard his name, they wanted
to know his history. The mountain people take great interest in such
matters; and when they learned where Paititi came from, they became
interested in the party, and were the more polite upon introduction
through the dog. We have lost a friend.
[Illustration: AGUA CALIENTE POSTA, (Peruvian Tavern).
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
Agua Caliente post-house is the most miserable habitation imaginable,
surrounded by a few ruins of small houses. The evening is cold; the tops
of the mountains covered with snow. The post-mules pastured on coarse
grass in the plain or mountain pass. Our mules are unsaddled and set
at liberty to go with them; but they return to the door, and look for
their usual supper. The postman, a poor old Indian, was with difficulty
persuaded to sell us some barley straw, which José found in one corner
of a ruin. Dark cumulus clouds being about us, as the rain, hail, and
snow came down from southeast, the mules stood shivering at the door.
The scene is wild outside, and miserably dirty and damp within. Five
slim, hungry post-dogs came impudently into our house at supper time.
One of them went so far as to put his nose into José's saddle-wallets.
He at once engaged an Indian to go back to the small town, and look for
Paititi during the night.
A short distance from the house a mist was observed rising from a spring
amidst the hail-stones. The air was 40°, and spring water 122°. This
hot water bubbles up from the earth like boiling water in a pot, and
is the head of the river we have been travelling along. The hot water
flows northward. This spring appears like a small steam-engine, working
with all its might, manufacturing water for one of the branches of the
mighty Amazon. The water on the other side of the house flows southward,
declining to become Amazonian.
The Cordillera and Ande ranges here cross or come together. The Andes
range to the north of this high place is generally lower than the
Cordilleras. From here south the order of things is changed. The eastern
ridge in Bolivia and Chili is more characteristic of the western chain
of Peru and Ecuador. To the south we are told the western range is lower
than the eastern.
Our compass dances about so much that it is of no use here; at one
time it stands still with the south point down, and then again flies
round as though it had lost the north point. The soil is very wet and
swampy. The small snow-water lakes are filled with wild ducks, geese,
and black divers. We shot a pair of white geese, with tail and ends of
wings black, small bills and large heads; the male and female both of
the same color.
The town of Santa Rosa has a population of five hundred Indians; it
is difficult to tell whence they draw provisions, for not an inch of
this part of the country is cultivated, nor do we observe anything
particularly agreeable in the climate.
Our hour for starting in the morning is six o'clock; but here the
postman and arriero went to prayers; so we waited till 9, when we
entered a puna, level as a floor. The mountains dwindled away to hills;
sheep are grazing on the plains; as we breakfasted on our roasted goose
by the side of the path, a tired Indian came up and told José he was
very hungry; with a wing and a biscuit, he followed his drove of eighty
llamas more comfortably. I once asked an Indian what he did when he was
out of provision? He replied patiently, "Don't eat." Here and there
a low ridge crosses the plain east and west; as we rise one of them
our view is uninterrupted, except in the distance on the east and west
sides, when low ranges of small hills stretch along north and south. At
a small stream flowing west we shot a wild duck, and got a crack at a
snipe. As the thunder clapped to the northeast, we rode into the town of
Ayavire, a puna town. The Indians all look neatly dressed in coarse blue
cloth; the houses are clean, but small, with narrow streets. Two tall
church steeples run up in the midst of the houses, and a small plaza in
front. What we first noticed was the silence; not even the noise of the
hoof of a jackass was heard on the paved streets.
We dismounted in the patio of the cura of the town, and met at the door
three young ladies. I gave an open letter to the eldest to read; the
cura was not at home; the letter was from his son and their brother
in Cuzco, and we were welcomed. They had just finished dinner, but we
were served. A servant took the letter to the cura, who was dining out.
A message came from the governor to invite us to join his party; we
brushed the dust off, and the ladies arranged their hair, when we walked
with them through the town. At the governor's house we met the old
cura, who introduced us to the dinner party. It was _after dinner_ with
all; we found them very agreeable. The cura insisted upon our drinking
a glass of wine with every lady in the room, which was tough work, as
there were quite a number. Music and coffee were introduced in a room on
another side of the patio. The cura was a sharp-featured man, tall and
very slim, with a most agreeable expression of face. He smoked a paper
cigar on an average of every ten minutes during the evening. He was
particularly fond of dancing with a pretty young girl of sixteen, though
he was about sixty years of age. He kept remarkably good time; was full
of life and gayety while with her; but when she was otherwise engaged,
he amused the party by falling to sleep in his seat. He received the
laughter and remarks of the elder ladies with good humor; lighting his
cigar by the candle and looking round the room at the same time, burnt
his fingers, which discomposed the musicians, and confused the cotillon.
He had drawn hollows in his cheeks by working so much at the tobacco
leaf, and forfeited every tooth in his head, which was bald. Yet, his
pleasant smile and agreeable manners overcame these particulars, for the
girls certainly liked him. His three daughters were handsome persons,
and had much of the old cura's gayety about them. One was married to a
miner, who she says is doing little.
There are a few silver mines to the northeast of the town, which
have been abandoned, except one or two, from which little silver is
extracted. In the morning, we visited the church and saw the cura in
his clerical robes. To meet him came numbers of Indians, well dressed
in blue—their favorite color. Their hats, made of puna grass, and
covered with blue cloth, are lined with scarlet. The population here go
barefooted. The little town is thickly peopled—about fifteen hundred—but
the plain is not, and resembles a desert in many places. Near Ayavire
barley grows, but no grain is produced upon it. Potatoes and a little
wheat are brought to the plaza, a short distance from the east, and from
the valleys among the hills to the west. Corn cannot be raised on these
flats. Sheep are the principal animals here; black cattle and horses are
very small. The only spontaneous growth is a short, coarse puna grass,
which is not in the least green.
_November 4, 1851._—At 3 p. m., thermometer, 57°; wet bulb, 52°. About
the hill tops there is rain, thunder, and lightning; the rain turns into
sleet, and the hills are white, while clouds appear after the rising
of the sun. On the puna, the reaper cuts his crop and leaves it on the
ground during the dry season; when the rainy season commences, he plants
again.
A strange traveller halted in front of the cura's door, where he and I
were standing. The compliments of the day were exchanged, when a long
pause followed. Upon invitation, the man dismounted, and his horse was
taken away by an Indian. Dinner was ordered by the daughter; the man
ate, smoked, slept, and was off next morning by daylight. The cura said
"that is the way we travel in this country; many a time I have begged
a dinner and night's lodging on the road. I never saw that man before;
he is from Arequipa and going to Cuzco."
One of the cura's daughters had a headache after the dance; she was
cured by one of our Siedlitz powders.
We journeyed along the lazy stream that winds its way towards the south.
Young lambs are staggering after the ewes. Indians of the puna wear
thick woollen skull caps. The sheep are sheared at the commencement
of the rainy season, when potatoes are planted. December is the first
stormy month; now the sky is of the clearest and of the deepest blue;
the days are warm, and the nights cold. We dismounted to drink from
a small stream, and shot a pair of ducks. As we mounted, José's mule
became frightened, kicked at a most furious rate, broke from him and ran
across the plain, through the flocks and sheppardesses; stripped itself
of saddle bags, gun, and part of the bridle, but turning into the road,
joined the baggage mules. Two days ago, José was thrown in the most
ridiculous manner over his mule's head. When a mule becomes frightened,
it is almost impossible for a man to hold on; its whole strength is
brought in opposition to the rider; and notwithstanding the powerful bit
used in this country, it often succeeds in getting away. José generally
finds something to amuse during the day, his grave countenance making
the scene the more laughable.
The master of the post at the small town of Pucará was a judge.
Before our leaving in the morning a case came before him. Two Indians
quarrelled about some property, while celebrating the saint's day of the
church. They both drank too much chicha; then the quarrel took a more
serious turn, and they were arrested. Witnesses on both sides entered
the post-house; the men stood up along the walls; one by one told what
he knew about the matter. The women were then called upon. The two
parties seated themselves opposite each other, near the door. The judge
questioned one; her answer brought on a general discussion. They became
very violent against each other. The scene became interesting. When
the Indian women have trouble, they cry and talk at such a rapid rate,
without listening to what is said, that the judge declared he never
could make head or tail of their evidence. The case was postponed.
There is no dew at night on the puna. Half way between Pacará and Lampa,
the river Ayavire turns east; it is a small stream, about fifteen yards
wide. The wind here was up the river, and on the hill side, and in the
ravines near by, there were a few stunted trees. The small river basin
stretched off to the east; the winds come down over the water and strike
the hill there, and nowhere else do we observe such a growth as on the
hills near these puna table-lands.
The town of Lampa has a population of about four thousand. The Indians
are very black; the hot sun burns them in the day, and in the cold
nights they are smoked in their houses, some of which have tile roofs,
but they are generally thatched with puna grass. Neither the heat of
the sun, nor the effect of the smoke, has as yet made their hair curly
or woolly. It is worn in one long wig, China fashion. Many of them were
hewing stone, and preparing to increase the size of the church, which
appears to us very large, even now.
The sub-prefect was suffering from neuralgia, and many of the
creoles had toothache and colds. Lampa is a sort of half-way house
between Arequipa and Cuzco. The trains of mules, loaded with foreign
manufactures, halt here to rest on their way from the coast.
Our mules were well shod all round for the first time since we purchased
them in Lima. I made an agreement with the blacksmith that they should
not be whipped, in case they refused to stand still. We expected a
kicking from Rose, but she stood quietly. The blacksmith wanted to buy
her, and said she was worth more than she cost in Lima, though mules are
more plenty here. He charged four dollars for eight shoes. The man's son
held the mule; his daughter handed him the nails, and his wife cooked
her chupe by the smithy fire. She makes pottery and he silver spoons;
he is a creole and she an Indian woman. One spoon had a sharp-pointed
handle. After breakfast, which came in between the shoeing of Rose's
fore and hind feet, the woman picked her teeth with the sharp end of the
spoon; after which she used it as a pin to hold on her shawl or manto,
made usually of scarlet, blue, or yellow coarse cloth, cut square, and
sometimes ornamented with white silk or silver thread. When cold, it
is raised over the head, but generally covers only the shoulders. The
blacksmith was very polite, and seemed actively employed. His shop and
house are in one, situated near where the arrieros stop, so that he
is constantly called upon for shoes. He wanted to know if we were not
Germans!
The silver mines of Palca, seven leagues to the westward of this place,
are profitably worked. There are no steam engines. Some of the old mines
contain water, but are said to be valuable.
From Lampa to Crucero, the capital of the province of Carabaya, the
distance is thirty-one leagues in a northeasterly direction. From
Crucero there is a path through a rugged country, crossing mountain
streams, to the gold mines of Carabaya, situated in the wild woods on
the northeast side of the mountains, among which the tributaries of the
Madre-de-Dios take their rise. Gold was discovered and mines worked
in Carabaya many years ago; of late, new discoveries have been made,
and more gold hunters seek their fortunes there. At the commencement
of the dry season three hundred Quichua Indians set out on foot, with
provisions and clothing upon their backs, from Crucero to the mines. The
road near the mines is too rough for a mule. These Indians are employed
to work the mines by creole companies.
The gold occurs in quartz and in veins of black dust, which is sometimes
half gold, and also in grains among the sands of the river. I was told
one of the lavaderos or washings, called "Alta Gracia," worked from May
to December last year, by 150 men, produced one hundred and twenty-five
pounds of gold.
Pavements are built in the beds of the streams five yards square, which
are overflowed in the rainy season, and the gold deposited to the amount
sometimes of five ounces, which is separated from the sand by washing
in the dry season. The men suffer somewhat from sickness and exposure;
provisions are very scarce, for every man has to carry enough to last
during the season, as the country is uninhabited and uncultivated.
Specimens we saw were in lumps of from one to two ounces each, and
closely resembled the gold of California. I am told that persons have
lost money by placing too much confidence in the exaggerated reports of
the riches of these Carabaya mines. The expense is very great. The daily
wages of laboring Indians is fifty cents per day, besides provisions.
They received twenty five cents per day for building the church in this
town, where they enjoy health with their families, and live an easy
life. At the mines the climate is hot.
Those who remain late in the season are in danger of being caught on the
east side of streams which are impassable when flooded. From December
to May during the year the mines are unemployed; they are beginning to
come out now. Peruvian bark is found in Carabaya.
_November 6._—At 6.30 p. m., thermometer, 52°; wet bulb, 45°. A small
stream flows southeast by the town, over which is a well-built stone
bridge. We keep along the east bank. On the plain to the south we
thought we saw a sheet of water, but it was the refraction, which seemed
to raise the hills up; they looked like islands. The country is becoming
more cultivated as we proceed south, and cattle are more numerous. We
find nearly the same dry, burnt-up vegetation and dusty roads, though
the air feels moist enough for green fields of grass.
Halting at the small adobe-built town of Juliaca, with a large church
as usual, our baggage-mules were changed. We spent the night at
Caracota, and changed mules again at Pancarcolla. To the left of us we
beheld the deep blue waters of the great southern lake Titicaca. The
east wind troubled its waters; the white-capped waves reminded us of
the trade-wind region of the ocean. Large barren islands intercepted
our view; not a tree nor a bush was to be seen; the only living thing
in sight was a llama, seeking food among the tumbled-up rocks on the
unproductive hills. The scene is wild and deadly silent. Our only
view was to the southeast, where we saw tops of islands beyond tops of
islands, backed by mountain peaks.
The wind is cold, and the parching rays of the sun scorch the very skin
off. Our green veils are so constantly blown off our straw hats that we
pocket the troublesome things. The Indians on the road are very polite.
We are told that it is a custom among them to salute those coming _from_
Cuzco first, thereby showing respect for their ancient capital.
There are great differences in the faces of the Indians, particularly
among the women. Some of them resemble negroes, with thick lips,
flat noses, and a stupid expression of the eyes. Others look bright,
intelligent, and lively. From the cheek-bone the face narrows uniformly
to the chin. The nose is small, straight, and sharp-pointed; the lips
thin. Should any have Manco Capac's blood, I doubt if they know it.
Some of them are very Shanghai in appearance, while others are taller.
They generally walk together, with the old women behind. The men keep
to themselves, and are remarkable for their family likeness. All seem
serious, well behaved, and are always deeply interested in whatever
they may be employed, let the occupation be ever so trifling. They never
seem to be in a hurry. They commence their work before sunrise, and get
through with it by sundown, provided there is no chicha interference,
which sometimes delays them on the road till after dark. In such cases,
the chances are, there have been some unpleasant feelings _washed_ away.
I saw two Indians meet who had a difficulty. One was very much
affronted, while the other, aware of having done a wrong, wanted to
make amends. He bought a cup of chicha, and begged the other to drink
it. For some time he refused, until the wife of the other persuaded
him. The moment it was taken, their faces changed to smiles, and the
trouble was forgotten. When there is ill-will among them, they are so
quiet, and their hatred so deep rooted, that it is only by witnessing
a settlement that one is convinced of their strong feelings. They are
truthful, honest, and respectful, one towards the other; they have no
affectation. Disinterested kindness and politeness are found among them
in purity. We often amuse ourselves watching the love-making scenes,
as those of marriageable age travel along the road. Exceeding modesty
on meeting others invariably accompanies both the man and the girl. The
men laugh at and joke the man, while the old women scold the girl, and
seem everlastingly opposed to matches.
Winding round a hill, and descending a ravine, we come to an
arched gateway, and enter the city of Puno. It is a dry, dusty,
uninteresting-looking place, of about five thousand inhabitants, and is
the capital of the department of the same name, containing a population
of 245,681. The town is situated about a quarter of a mile from the west
shore of Lake Titicaca. The ground towards, the lake is a flat, green
swamp, with a long stone wharf jutting out into the water, at the end
of which are a few washerwomen, and some balzas laying at anchor. As we
entered the plaza, the captain of the police inquired whence we came,
and politely directed our way to the prefectura.
There were many officers in uniform, and soldiers lounging about town.
There was a warlike appearance here. Two extra battalions of troops had
been lately sent from Lampa, complaints being made by the merchants of
quantities of "bad money" coined and introduced into this country from
Bolivia.
The prefect was a colonel in the army. At his dinner-table, the subject
of _war_ predominated. On the table were two kinds of wine—one Peruvian,
the other foreign; those who preferred the former were praised for
their patriotism, and received an extra invitation from the prefect to
take another glass. The table was well supplied with beef, mutton, and
potatoes. Yuca was considered a great delicacy; wheat bread was scarce.
We saw here what we had before seen at a midshipman's mess—one man
cunningly eating another man's allowance. Salad heads are of good size.
_November 10, 1851._—At 12.30 p. m., thermometer, 54°. The wind blows
from the eastward daily, all the year round; commences as the sun rises;
at sundown it falls calm. Light westerly winds sometimes blow during
the night. In such cases, the stars and moon shine clearly; otherwise,
the nights are overcast, and always cold. The mornings are like our
springs; the midday sun warm. There is neither dew nor frosts, though
the wind sweeps over the surface of the lake. Ice is formed about the
spring-water streams on the sides of the hills.
From an island in sight of Puno, the Indians bring vegetables to market.
Small fish are sometimes taken. Round black pebbles are gathered from
the bottom, and, with sheep's knuckle-bones, sold to pave the patios of
houses in the town. The Indians navigate the lake in balsas or boats,
made of the lake rush, which forms the material for both hull and sails.
They can only sail with a fair wind. It is always fair to market in the
daytime, and sometimes favorable at night to return home. Headway is
made against adverse winds by polling over shoals.
The color of the water near the shore and shallows is green, like sea
water. When deep, it is blue. The surface of the lake in front of Puno
is nearly covered with dead rush stalks. Among them a few wild ducks
are feeding. The stench arising is disagreeable. The water is not used
for drinking in the town, though Lake Titicaca is not a salt lake, as
at one time was supposed.
The rainy season commences about the middle of December, and ends in the
middle of April, when probably the depth of the lake may be increased
_one_ foot. Such is the opinion of intelligent persons in Puno, though
no one is known to have measured the difference of height between the
wet and dry seasons.
[Illustration: TITICACA BALSA, off Puno.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
On the lake there is one small schooner, belonging to Bolivia. The
captain told me he never found more than thirty fathoms water; generally
much less. In some places the water is so shoal that there is just room
to push a balsa through the rushes. The deepest water is found on the
eastern or Bolivian side.
This lake is about forty miles wide, and eighty miles long. By the
appearance of the flat land we found on the north side of it, we judge
it was at one time very much longer and deeper.
In the rainy season the rivers are loaded with soil from the mountains
around, which being emptied into the lake, settles, and the water
flows off, leaving behind its load of earth; and so the work from time
immemorial has been going on. This great lake is gradually filling up;
the water is getting shoaler every year; finally there will be a single
stream flowing through what, in future ages, may be called Titicaca
valley.
The easterly storms beat against the eastern sides of mountains scorched
into dust by the rays of the sun in the dry season. There is no sod or
growth to protect the soil from the heavy rains, which wash it away much
more than on the western side.
CHAPTER IV.
Manto silver mine—Trade—Shores of Lake Titicaca—Rush
balsas—Animals—Loftiest mountains—Aymara Indians—Mode of
cultivation—Bottled fish—Frontier of Peru—Rio Desaguedero—Rush
bridge—Bolivian military and custom-house—Southeast trade
winds—Tiahuanaco ruins—Evaporation and precipitation—Planting
small potatoes—Difficulty among postillions—City of
La Paz—Population—Cinchona bark—Beni river and Madeira
Plata—Transit duty—Gold washings of Tipuani—Productions
of Yungas—Dried mutton and copper mines—Articles of the
last constitution—A Bolivian lady's opinion of North
Americans—Illimani snow-peak—Church performances of the
Aymaras—Benenguela silver mines—Growth of cedar bushes.
The silver mines near Puna, with the exception of one, are standing
idle. Manto, the principal mine, is situated two miles south of
the town. It has been worked for twenty years; the vein ran nearly
horizontally west-southwest, rising a little as it passed through the
mountain. Water flowed out after the miner had gone in some distance,
and a dam was built at the mouth of the mine, which backed it up. Iron
canal boats navigated the stream, and brought out cargoes of rich silver
ore; as the miner travelled on, he found the more use for his boat. The
canal was locked, and the water dammed up by the gates; some distance
farther back, when a second and third gate were built, the stream became
smaller, and the vein rose much above the level of the entrance to
the head of navigation. Pushing on into the bowels of the Andes, the
miner built a railroad of iron from the canal to the head of the mine,
continuing to lengthen it after him. When the train came down loaded
with metal, it was embarked and floated out by boats with lights burning
at the bow and stern, as the canal is winding and narrow, with just room
for the boat to pass between the rocks.
A steam-engine turns a large stone wheel of twelve feet diameter,
under which the ore was ground. It was washed by water from the canal,
and separated from its quicksilver by the heat of fires made from
the excrements of llamas, the only fuel known here. Meteorological
observations at each lock in Manto canal, show at No. 1—air, 70°;
water, 60°. No. 2—air, 68°; water, 60°. No. 3—air, 64°; water, 59°. The
distance to the head of navigation is about half a mile, though the
workmen say more than a mile. An Englishman has been engaged here of
late years, and after spending much time with little gain, has left.
Manto, with all its machinery, stands a ruin. The mine is falling in;
the canal-boats leak; the engine is rusting, and the last boat-load of
silver ore was scattered over the ground. I am told that the vein has
been gradually decreasing in richness as the expensive works have been
going on. The machinery was brought from England, and transported over
the mountains from the coast on mules' backs, at great expense.
The necessity of bringing proper workmen with the machinery is also
costly. Provision is scarce in Puno, and people from other parts of
the country complain of the market. Thick clothing is required in this
climate, and tailoring appears to be the best business. Englishmen
are generous in their expenditures on machinery and preparations for
mining. There certainly has been a great deal of labor expended at the
Manto mine. There are a number of other mines in this department, and
some in this neighborhood; but, with the exception of the gold mines of
Carabaya, there is very little profit gained under the present system
of management.
The annual yield of silver in the departments of Huancavelica, Ayacucho,
Cuzco, and Puno, has been decreasing for some time. The custom has been
to abandon the mine as soon as the chisel struck below the water-line,
and seek for a new vein; until now, when we want silver more than ever,
it is all under water. There are few new discoveries made, and mining
seems to have become, year after year, a less profitable business.
Merchants are afraid to advance large sums of money, lest it may be lost
by the vein running out, leaving expensive machinery on their hands.
Yet there is undoubtedly immense riches in the different metals of these
departments, which might be extracted after a scientific exploration of
the country, and with a judicious system of mining.
From what we see, there is no reason to expect so large an amount of
silver to flow from South Peru as heretofore. The creole portion of
the population shrink from all kinds of labor; they sit at the mouth
of the mines to receive the silver, and live a life of ease upon it.
To the poor Indian mining is an harassing labor. He seldom reveals
to the creole any new discovery; he never seeks work at the mine, but
turns to the cultivation of the soil in the congenial climate of the
valleys; tends his flocks on the mountain-side, where he is better fed
and clothed, and where his wild and honest feelings are gratified. The
wool of sheep and silver are the chief exports from these departments.
Besides Peruvian bark, copper, alpaca wool, vicuña skins, matico, gold,
hides, and chinchilla skins, there were exported last year over five
hundred thousand quintals of nitrate of soda from the seaport of Arica.
The mail from Puno to Callao goes by the English steamer from Yslay
in eight days, leaving Puno every two weeks. The creole portion of the
population is not very great, except in the army. There is a college of
science and art here, like that of Cuzco. We found the boys practising
the broad-sword exercise with single sticks.
In the larger towns the _government_ has established public schools.
In this department there are sixty-three for boys and three for girls.
In these schools Indian children are admitted and taught as well as the
creoles. There are few African slaves in South Peru.
The country is over populated; I mean for the productive portions of
the land. There are many square miles in these departments barren and
unproductive, unpopulated, and utterly worthless, so far as cultivation
goes, though they may contain great mineral wealth. The inhabitants
are confined to the valleys among the mountains, which are generally
narrow, and crops are principally raised by irrigation. The Puna country
is higher, and better adapted to wool growing, but very thinly peopled.
There are many places so high above the level of the sea that people
cannot live there with any sort of comfort, nor can they gather from
the earth a living. The ant will die an unnatural death, placed where
the llama naturally lives and flourishes. The llama, again, will perish
with heat where the ant builds its nest. In the deep valleys are the
most children, the greatest amount of vegetable life, and more of the
animals known in different parts of the world, such as the horse, horned
cattle, domestic cats, dogs, bees, and humming birds.
People have said that the population of these departments do not
increase in proportion to the increase in northern portions of the
world, and ask, why it is. People upon the Andes do not multiply if they
do not seek the rich lands.
As we ride along the shores of Lake Titicaca, the Indians are seen
sucking the juice from the lake rush; they also make salad of it. The
cattle and horses wade up to their backs in mud and water after it.
The sheep who seem, here in their native soil, glad to get a bite of
something green, run down from the parched hills, and feed along shore.
The hog, too, comes in for his share. The whole animal kingdom run to
the lake for a living. It is a written invitation to navigation and
cultivation. The mountainous parts of Peru are very dry.
_November 15, 1853._—At 1 p. m., half the heavens are covered with
cumulus clouds. Air, 56°; lake water, 64°. Thunder to the northward,
and rain falling there; the east wind blows fresh. The beach is of
gray sand, and in places muddy swamp. The rush grows along shore. Here
and there the lake is shoal to the nearest island, about a mile off.
The rush grows thick on these shoals, which gives them a meadow-like
appearance.
The road lies along the foot of the hills, very near to the water. There
are a few potatoes planted in the sand; the patches extend to the road,
which is just at high-water mark in the wet season. The potato plant is
the only water gauge available; wherever the ground allows, the Indian
carries his row, far from the rocky base of the hills, towards the lake,
and the height of the eastern edge of his potato patch, above the level
of the lake, is one foot. The potatoes are just coming up, sometimes
accompanied by beans. A pig's tail was seen sticking out, as he had
rooted down after the seed. The potatoes are small, but good.
The blue-winged teal, black diver, white and black gulls, feed in the
water. Large and small snipe skim along the beach before us; while
the tall white crane, with beautiful pink wings, legs and tail, with
a black bridged bill, proudly strolls through the water. Green rushes
and different colored feathers present a refreshing contrast to the
dry rocks and dusty hills. In the small gullies may be seen a scrubby
bush, some dry tufts of grass, and by very close search we did succeed
in adding two specimens of flowers to our small botanical collection,
which we hoped to have reported.
The Indians are going to town to celebrate the birth-day of the
President of the Republic; old men are mounted on stunted little horses;
young ones carry drums, fifes, and large feathered head-dresses, of pink
and white, plucked from the crane; while the old women carry babies
slung in cotton ponchos over their shoulders. The young girls bring
provisions; and donkeys loaded with live chickens, to be sold in the
plaza, jog along ahead of the families. On the lake a rush balsa, with a
rush mat for a sail, loaded with fish and potatoes, presses on to meet
the load of the donkey. An old woman is at the helm, which is a long
pole; the wind seems a little too fresh for her; as she broaches to,
her sail lifts, she loses command, and has to pole out of the rushes.
The land party laugh at her, but she pushes and works with a will,
though the heaving and setting of the craft makes it rather wet work,
she finally smoothly sails into port.
From the small town of Chuiento we see the snow-capped mountains in
Bolivia, on the other side of the lake—the loftiest mountains in the
New World; with their silvery heads they cool the eastern winds; we are
bewildered amidst these great works, while looking on with awe. José
cannot understand the language of these Indians. We are among the Aymara
tribe, who were subdued by Capac Tupanqui, the fifth Inca, but never
adopted the Quichua language. José thinks there is little use in going
among people that we cannot talk to. He says that his countrymen have
often told him these people are very savage, or they might speak Spanish
or Quichua! Richards tried English, but it was of no avail; they only
laughed! Their manners, customs, dress, and general appearance is nearly
the same as those of the Quichua tribes. The women are a little more
chunky and rather better featured; they are cheerful, and they look up
more—the usual effect of beauty all the world over. The men chew less
coca, are stronger for it, and have a much more healthy appearance than
the men of Cuzco. As far as I can see, there is very little sickness
about Lake Titicaca.
The governor of the town sent to the post-house for our passports; they
seem to be very particular with persons going south; he read, signed,
and returned it by the postman. Inquisitive people go to the governor's
house on an arrival, and after he reads the passport he passes it round.
This is the way the arrivals are published here. On one occasion I
unintentionally offended a roomful of men, by pocketing my papers as
soon as the proper person had read them. It is the custom for travellers
to present and read each other's passports on the road; you thus tell
your nation, occupation, whence you came, and your destination—a very
good foundation for a travelling conversation. Through the United States
chargé d'affaires in Lima, passports from the government of Peru to
all prefects in the departments through which I passed in South Peru
overtook me. Passports from the supreme government are rare in these
inland towns, and are read with the more interest.
The post-houses are becoming more respectable; some of them are papered,
and near the bed and on the seats pieces of carpets are laid. The
postmen are white creoles, with pretty wives; and the arrieros are
dignified as postillions. Passing through the towns of Ocora and Ylave,
we put up at Juli, which is situated, like the other towns along the
lake, on a knoll with a perpendicular bank, rough and rocky, standing
out into the water. The lofty Nevada de Sorata is in full view, said to
be 25,380 feet above the level of the sea.
[Illustration: VIEW OF NEVADA DE SORATA, FROM THE WEST SHORE OF LAKE
TITICACA, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
_November 17, 1851._—At mid-day, air 51°; lake water 65°; wind east,
right off the snow ridge opposite; temperature of a spring 54°. After
leaving Juli the road turned among the hills to the right. We passed
the night at Tambilla post-house, which stands alone at the base
of the hills between us and the lake, inhabited by the postman, his
postillions, and some Indian women cooks, who made us mutton soup, with
potatoes. The plain is alive with cattle, sheep, llamas, horses, mules,
and jackasses. The pasture is somewhat fresher. The wind draws through
the valley from the north and is uncomfortably cold.
An Indian spade was leaning against the door-post, and while Richards
stood intently looking at it, with his hands in his pockets, the
Indians were closely watching him and talking to each other, as though
surprised a spade should attract so much attention. At the end of a
crooked stick of wood a rude iron plate, narrow and long, was fastened
by a strip of raw hide; near the lashing was fastened, also in the same
way, a cow's horn, on which the digger placed his foot. This spade is
used for digging the soil on the side of the hill where the plough and
oxen cannot go. In the wet lowlands long poles, shod with small iron
plates, are used. One man pushes his pole into the earth, another puts
in crosswise, and while they both pry up, a third, on his knees, turns
the sod over with his hands. In this way they ridge the meadows and sow
on the polled ground. The barley comes to head with very long beards,
but bears no grain.
From the small town of Zepita the contrast between the snow-capped
mountains to the east and the dark blue waters of the lake is
remarkable. Here we succeeded in bottling two fish from the lake,
without scales, about eight inches long, designed for Professor Agassiz.
The town of Desaguedero has a population of five hundred. At 11 a. m.
we arrived, and found the governor busily employed at a fish breakfast.
He was a cheerful, fat, polite, three-quarter-blooded Indian. In return
for fish we gave him our passports; after reading them, he ordered the
Indian servant to fetch a bottle of Ica wine. As he drew the cork he
told me the Indians believed Lake Titicaca emptied its waters into the
Pacific ocean by a subterraneous passage under the Cordillera range.
They had found the Titicaca rush lying on the coast near Cobija, which
differed essentially from weeds growing in salt water. A difference of
opinion seemed to arouse him, and he said: "There are more than twenty
different streams of water flowing from the mountain sides into this
Titicaca basin, and not one has been seen flowing out; now, if I keep
pouring wine into this cup, it will overflow and run down the sides,
won't it?" Provided you do not drink it up as the sun does the waters,
we answered.
After breakfast the governor walked to the river Desaguedero with us.
This river is the southeastern boundary line of Peru. We were detained
a short time at the bridge to allow one hundred unloaded llamas to pass
from Bolivia to Peru. Rush balsas are secured side by side, bridge
fashion, and a quantity of rushes piled upon them. They are kept in
place by large rope cables fastened on each side of the river to a stone
foundation; The distance from the shore of Peru to the Bolivian side
is fifty yards. The river three fathoms deep under the bridge, with a
current three-quarters of a mile per hour running south. The color of
the water is blue; it is fresh and cool—temperature of 60°; the Indians
drink it here. This is the only stream flowing out of Lake Titicaca.
After running southwardly some eighty leagues, the water spreads over a
flat, forming what is called Lake Pampas Aullagas, from which there is
no flow into either ocean.
We were told that in the year 1846 there were heavy rains to the
south of Desaguedero; the river flowed for thirty days north into Lake
Titicaca; with that exception it is reported to flow as we saw it.
In the rainy season the river rises about nine feet, the rapid current
often sweeps away the bridge; at the same time the flats on both sides
of the river are overflowed. The width of the Desaguedero valley, at the
outlet from the lake, is three-quarters of a mile, nearly all overflowed
in the rainy season by the waters seeking an escape between the small
hills on both sides.
At the southern end of Lake Titicaca the water is clearer, sweeter, and
cooler, than it is on the north side. There is no offensive odor from
the lake here. There are nine kinds of fish caught near the outlet, and
as many of water fowl. Fish are found on the tables, while in Puno they
are seldom used. We know on the ocean that currents of warm water pass
through cold water like oil, refusing to mingle. The streams of cold
water are quite as exclusive.
When Lake Titicaca is at its lowest it receives more water from the snow
peaks on its eastern shore, than from any other source during the dry
season. As the snow streams are generally clear, we concluded the cold
water runs through the lake in _streams_ towards the outlet. In the
wet season, as the muddy streams till up the lake, they deposit their
loads of earthy matter on the western and northern side, which disturb
animal life. The fish seek a quiet retreat and are, therefore, found
more plentifully on the southern and eastern sides of the lake.
All the dead rushes, driven by the east winds to the west side, lodge on
the flats and beach, manure the dry places, and deposit their seed; more
rushes grow there to catch the sediment as the water filters through.
Year after year the growth dies off, breaks down, and helps the upward
levelling law. The rush grows from six to eight feet long. It is called
_totora_ by the Indians. The stalk is of the size and shaped like the
blade of a bayonet, with a head and flower resembling clusters of ripe
buckwheat. It supplies the place of wood, iron, canvass, and greens. The
Indians were taught by the Incas to make bridges of it, over which they
passed their armies; besides their boats and sails, houses and beds are
sometimes made of it. An old Indian was seen refreshing himself with
the juice at one end of a stalk, while his little child tickled another
one's nose, and made it laugh with the flower. Such is the value and
uses of this wild vegetable production.
We cannot understand why the population of those mountains have not
cleared more lands at the base of the Andes, where their children
would find beautiful flowers, and the men the real sugar-stalk; where
they might tickle their noses with the fragrance from rich pine-apples
and oranges, and where their tables might be loaded with the choicest
vegetable productions. At the headwaters of the Madre-de-Dios Peru has
a garden, but the lands in all directions seem almost a desert.
When Pizarro came with his followers, they found the mountains filled
with silver; they helped themselves, and the Indians assisted them
in doing so. Little or no attention was paid by the Spaniards to the
cultivation of the soil, to the manufacture of wool, or the commercial
resources of the eastern country.
As we step across the totora floating-bridge, we feel grateful for
the many hospitable favors the kind people of Peru have extended to
us as strangers. We shook hands with the old Indian governor, who was
polite enough to introduce us to the custom-house officers and military
commander in Bolivia. He laughed when told he was not a good Inca,
because he did not believe that the evaporation was great enough to
carry off all the surplus water from Titicaca, and that his ancient
deity drank the water from this uplifted basin, and kept it from
overflowing. He lit his paper cigar, and wanted to know when we were
coming back.
There are only three or four government houses in sight on the Bolivian
side of the river. The military commandant was very civil; he requested
the custom-house officer to let us off easy, saying "they came to serve
our country." The baggage was all taken off the backs of the mules;
one or two trunks examined. The commander took great interest in our
instruments; a woman in her riding dress begged permission to examine
a needle and thread case which struck her fancy; she seemed to think it
hard that a man had to do his own sewing.
Our road, dusty, rocky, and rough, lay along the southern shore of
the lake. On the right were dry, barren hills; on the left, deep blue
waters; and ahead, the heavy snow-capped range of the Andes, looked as
though their weight was too much for the world to bear. The noonday sun
is hot, but the east wind blows in our faces from among the snow peaks,
which may be called the South American fan.
The winds from the Atlantic ocean rapidly run through the ravines
and gorges of the great mountain range. The eternal glaciers cool the
tropical atmosphere. Our animals travel with ease; as they breathe the
refreshing breezes, they seem full of life and ready for a long journey,
even after their day's work is over. These easterly winds on the table
lands of Bolivia meet currents of air from the hills and mountain
valleys. The different streams form whirlwinds, which draw the dust
under our mules' noses, and run it up to the cumulus clouds above, where
the dust seems to float about in the air. Some of these dust columns
are of immense height, standing for many minutes, like waterspouts of
the ocean. Infusoria, found in the blood, rains, and sea dust of the
Cape de Verde islands, resemble that found on the Andes, in Venezuela.
A scientific examination of this dusty road may possibly compare with
a similar one in the southern parts of Africa. There is a battle-ground
not far south of us, where there were left a number of dead, whose dust
is carried heavenward by these winds.
Persons have seen hundreds of waterspouts standing on the water of the
lake at one time, as though the columns were supporting the weight of
the clouds. The Indians' balsas are built with so much beam, and being
a bundle of rushes, shaped like a canoe before it is dug out, that the
falling of one of the waterspouts only washes the dust off the Indians
as they pass through this wonderful phenomenon. We are nearly suffocated
at times with the whirling up of the dust all around us.
As we entered the small town of Huaqui, a man in uniform came out into
the street, and requested to see my passport. He said he was not the
governor, but the military commander. He was informed that we had none;
we had not met with his government. As he assured us Peruvian papers
were sufficient, they were handed over. Upon being returned, we received
a pressing invitation to remain in his house and take coffee; but as
José had prepared tea for us in advance, the commander joined us. He
was a young man in a soldier's coat, which seemed to have seen service
before he was born. It is amusing to see how much uncomfortable time a
man can spend in a tight-fitting uniform, on the arrival of strangers.
Outward show seems to be the sole object with the creole portion of
the population. This man's employment is to read all passports of
persons passing through this town, and he seems to be the only active
business man in the place. He may be seen, long before the traveller
arrives, standing in the street ready to demand, with a bold front, the
license to walk or ride about over ground not crowded with population
or vegetation. We change mules at Tiahuanaco.
To the northwest of us, and a little south of the centre of Lake
Titicaca, is situated the Island of Titicaca, from which Manco Capac and
his wife travelled to Cuzco. He was a navigator. The Island of Titicaca
is surrounded by the Aymara tribe of Indians, whose language was not
understood by José, who spoke Quichua as well as his own. The valley
of Cuzco is the first inviting spot to the northwest of this lake,
and the road from it to Cuzco is level enough for a railroad. Manco
Capac and his wife were carried by east winds, which blow every day
across the lake, to the western shore, and travelled on foot the road
we took between Cuzco and Puno, according to Indian tradition. Among
the scattered stone remains of the ancient edifices of Tiahuanaco, we
observed no resemblance to the stone-work of Cuzco, and were surprised
to find that, although the ruins were in such a dilapidated state as
not to enable us to make out the character of the structure, we could
perceive, and were convinced of the higher order of mechanical art over
that displayed in Cuzco. The stones, immense in size, were hewn square;
one of them had an arched way cut in it large enough to drive a mule
through.
The cura of the town told us there were no stone to be found in the
neighborhood of the same sort, and that he did not know whence they had
been brought. We have reason to believe Manco Capac had nothing to do
with the ancient works of Tiahuanaco. Both the hewing of the stone and
structure of the language of the people are different from his, though
his first appearance was among these people.
We have faith in the peculiarities of the winds to aid the great work
of populating distant portions of the earth. The northeast trade-winds
of the North Atlantic ocean are fair winds for the emigrants of Europe
to North and South America; and the southeast trade-winds in the south
Atlantic ocean hasten the passage of the African to Brazil, the West
India islands, and the shores of North America. Ships sailing around
Cape Horn are headed off sometimes a month by the westerly gales.
We are disposed to chart Manco Capac and his wife's track by the
instrumentality of winds in the South Pacific ocean, from the far West
to the Bay of Arica.
At the gateway, near a Catholic church, was standing two heavy stone
idols, with their hands crossed on their navels, as though there had
been—as is now—a scarcity of food.
Tiahuanaco is a small town, situated upon a rise, in a wide valley, with
a long view to the east. The ruins are close to the town, and from the
level low ground towards the lake, no doubt the palace was originally
built upon the shore, now out of sight. By a rough calculation, Lake
Titicaca contains three thousand square miles. While we look upon the
parched hills and table-lands on the one hand, and eternal ice on the
other, it would seem this basin of ice-water was uplifted more than
twelve thousand feet above the ocean, for the daily use of the sun as he
passes. The evaporation is great, from the numerous streams which flow
into the lake; and was the wet season withheld awhile, the basin would
be emptied; but the precipitation and evaporation are now equipoised.
As the lake is at its lowest, the rains will soon commence and fill it
up again.
As the sun passes on south, he draws the rain-belt after him. He is now
nearly vertical. When he completes his tour to the north of the equator,
he returns next year to find Titicaca brimful, which is evaporated
before the rains commence again. Were it not for the flooding of the
lake every year, we might find the water salt instead of fresh.
We leave Lake Titicaca for the dry table-lands of Bolivia. On the
road-side, at the base of the Sorata range, we halted to look at the
Indians plough in their potatoes. The women were the planters. They
plant the small potatoes of last year whole, instead of cutting the
larger ones for seed. We attempted to explain to one of the women why
she always raised such small potatoes; but she evidently misunderstood
us. Running off to the end of the row, where there was a large earthen
jar, she returned with a cup of chicha.
At Tambillo post-house, after passing the night, the postman was
disposed to charge us double. His mules, like himself, look very poor.
Half a dozen old houses stood out on the plain, with nothing about them
to admire but the lofty snow-peaks. I hired mules to take us all the way
to La Paz, but at Lapa they gave out. The postillions had them changed
in the post-house, and wanted to continue with the fresh mules; but the
Lapa postillions objected; and as ours refused to pay them that part of
the fare which had been advanced, the subject was debated in the middle
of the patio. A very respectable-looking old Indian walked in, and after
speaking some time to the parties, our men paid, and we pushed on over
the plain, in company with Indians and loaded jackasses on their way to
market, and droves of unloaded mules on their return towards the coast,
after having brought in loads of foreign manufactures.
Suddenly arriving at the edge of a deep ravine, we saw the tile-roofs
of the city of La Paz, near the base of the great snow-capped mountain,
Illimani. Descending by a steep, narrow road, and passing the cemetery,
the air was found loaded with the perfume of sweet flowers. Springs
of fresh water gushed out by the road-side, into which our mules sunk
their noses before we could get a drink. As we entered the town, some
one called out from a shaded piazza for our passports. We kept on,
answering we had none for Bolivia; but on looking back, a man was seen
stopping our baggage, which was a pretty effectual way of bringing us
to. After showing our Peruvian papers, an Indian was sent with us to
the custom-house, and the police officer directed the man to show me
the house of the gentleman to whom I had letters of introduction.
The most tiresome and troublesome part of the journey is the day of
arrival in a large town, where we generally remain long enough to rest
and pick up information. There are no hotels to which a traveller may go
and make himself independently comfortable. Walking into a man's private
house, bag and baggage, and handing him a letter of introduction, which
plainly expresses that the bearer has come to make his house his home,
is the custom of the country. We entered the most elegant house I saw
in South America.
The gentleman of the house was not at home; he was engaged
superintending the Indians at the gold mines and washings of Tipuani,
situated north of La Paz, on a tributary of the river Beni, and to the
east of the Sorata mountains. His daughter received the letter, smoking
a large cigar, and invited us to join. Her husband was prefect of the
province of Yungas, where is gathered the best cinchona bark. As it was
Saturday, and 4 o'clock, the officers had left the custom-house, and the
baggage could not be examined before Monday morning. Notwithstanding
the lady of the house sent our letters to the prefect, and asked that
we might have our clothing. We were in a house with four young ladies
and no gentleman, so there was a poor chance of borrowing.
The party was a good deal sun-burnt, dusted, and harassed over the hot
plains since leaving Cuzco, and all well tired out. Richards suffered,
though he stood the travel better than was expected. José's beard had
grown, and he had pulled an old white hat about so much to get it on the
sunny side of his head, that he at once applied for part of his wages
to purchase a new one. When we arrive, José always goes at once to pay
his respects to the lady of the house, and through him a general sketch
of our duties and characters are obtained. He is so polite, and of such
an obliging disposition, that he seems to attract attention wherever
he goes. He is fond of travelling, and, for so old a person, bears his
part well, sleeps sound, and enjoys good health.
La Paz, the commercial metropolis of Bolivia, has a population of
42,849. It is the capital of the department, which has a population of
90,662 creoles, and 295,442 Aymara Indians. The small stream of water
flowing through the city at the bottom of the ravine may be stepped
across without wetting one's feet. As it dashes down through the Andes
to the eastward, other streams join it, and after swelling out and
gaining the base of the mountains, it is called the river Beni, which
flows, in a northeast direction, through the territory of Bolivia. Some
parts of the Beni are navigated by wooden balsas; but there are many
falls, and the river-bed is rocky and rough, with a rapid current. The
Beni is not navigable for steamboats. It flows through the wild forests,
inhabited by uncivilized Indian tribes. On the tributaries of the Beni,
gold is found, and the best quality of cinchona bark. By referring to
the map, it will be observed that the tributaries of the Madre-de-Dios,
in Peru, and those of the Beni, take their rise very near each other,
in a line between the gold-washings of Tipuani and Carabaya. The waters
of the former flow into the Amazon, while those of the latter go to the
Madeira river. There is a ridge of mountains and hills between them.
A knot or hump seems to be raised in this part of the back-bone of
South America, from which the water flows in different directions. The
loftiest peaks of mountains are near, and the large lakes are found
here. We see a cluster of wonders, from the hot springs of Agua Caliente
post-house to the frozen peaks of the Sorata; extremes of heat and cold,
large mountains, and small streams, dry winds, and lakes of water, in
the richest gold region of South America.
The Beni creeps along the ridge of mountains as though seeking an outlet
to the north. A passage letting the water through into the Amazon basin
at the base of the Andes would probably make the Beni a tributary of the
Madre-de-Dios, as it is erroneously laid down on some maps. It finds
no outlet until it reaches the Madeira, to which it is obliged to pay
tribute. Though the waters of the Beni do eventually find their way to
the Amazon through the Madeira, yet the Beni, properly speaking, does
not flow through the Amazonian basin, but through what we consider is
correctly called the Madeira Plata.
The map will show that all the water flowing north, from the edge of La
Plata river-basin, passes through this range of hills at one place—the
head of the Madeira river. The countries drained by the tributaries of
the Madeira comprise an area of 475,200 square miles—nearly as large
as the basin of the Nile, and more extensive than either the Danube
or the Ganges. The Madeira Plata is a step between the Titicaca and
Amazon basins. It is separated from the Titicaca basin by the Andes, and
from the Amazon basin by the range of mountains and hills at the foot
of which the Beni flows. Its bottom is above the bottom of the Amazon
basin, and should be treated of independent of that water-shed. With the
exception of a small portion, which lies in the territory of Brazil, it
belongs exclusively to Bolivia.
La Paz is a most busy inland city. The blacksmith's hammer is heard. The
large mercantile houses are well supplied with goods. The plaza is free
from market people, for there is a regular market-house. The dwellings
are well built, of stone and adobe. The home and foreign trade appears
to be possessed with a life seldom met with in an inland town, without
shipping or railroads. The people appear to be active. There is less
lounging against the door-posts. The place has a healthy appearance.
There is a theatre, museum, library, book and cigar stores, handsome
stone fountains, well-paved streets, hospitable people, and a number of
foreigners, a beautiful alameda, where there are lovely women, stunted
apple trees, and sweet flowers. The Illimani snow-peak standing before
us, is a cooler of the tropical winds which pass over the Madeira Plata.
Strawberries, beans, onions, barley, and lucerne are produced in the
ravines, but in very small quantities, as the space is very narrow. What
attracted our attention among the people were new French bonnets the
ladies were learning to wear, and the new French uniform caps the army
had just received from Paris; both fitted like a new mountain saddle,
rather uneasily.
In mid-day, when there is little or no wind, the inhabitants wear thin
clothing; but as soon as the cold wind comes from the Illimani, bringing
with it a shower of drizzling rain, the whole population change to
thick cloth clothes. The climate is very changeable, and a consumption
of thick woollen and cotton cloths are required, as much as thin cotton
goods.
There is a police on the lookout for passports in the day, but I doubt
if they are as strict in the performance of duty at night. Wines and
spirits are the only articles Bolivia pays a transit duty to Peru upon.
Bolivia receives most foreign manufactures through the port of Arica,
in Peru, and as Peru is interested in the sale of her home-manufactured
wine, she charges a transit duty upon all foreign wine introduced
into Bolivia through her territory. Yet, while the duty and cost of
transportation on the backs of mules from Arica triples its value, there
seems to be more of this article used in La Paz than anywhere else, to
judge from the noises made in the streets at night by parties of men and
women, who roam about dancing and singing to the music of guitars; some
of them play very well. Just opposite my window there was a wine store.
In the door-way was chained a young tiger, and I noticed that nearly all
the people who stopped to play with the tiger entered and paid transit
duty to Peru.
The tailors are found seated along the pavements here in great numbers,
but there are fewer churches than generally in a city of this size. The
man who gets the contract to supply the standing army of Bolivia with
clothing, accumulates a large sum of money. This is the business of
importance in La Paz next to that of the trade in cinchona bark.
The largest portion of the department of La Paz is situated on the
table-lands, which, like the hills and lofty mountains within its
border, produce a scanty supply of vegetable growth—ocas, potatoes,
maize, barley, beans, and quinua. Horned cattle, horses, and sheep are
small and few. The llama is less used on the level roads of the Puna
than on the rough roads of the mountains; mules are more valuable. The
Indian nearly always walks to town in company with a jackass. Except a
little dove dusting itself by the road-side, there are few birds to be
found; no snakes nor ants; neither flowers nor trees. But that part of
the department situated on the eastern side of the Andes—the province
of Yungas—surpasses other spots in South America for natural wealth.
Standing up to his waist in the snows of the Illimani, amidst heavy
storms of hail, with thunder and lightning, and a wind that dyes his
nose and ears scarlet and blue with cold, the traveller descends to
the east, plunging and tumbling among the drift banks. He passes sheets
of ice formed by the melting of the snow at its lower edge, and after
slipping and sliding down these glistening slabs, he reaches a green
sod of grass, while the snow melts from his clothes as he thaws in the
tropical sun. Behind him, above rages the winter storm; below a land of
flowers in everlasting summer; and far off to the east, the whole earth
looks blue and broken like the ocean. The drops of snow-water from his
own coat join the trickling stream from the melting ice, and with him
they move on down the rugged mountain. This stream, increasing as it
advances, is finally lost in the waters of the Beni. He pulls off his
overcoat, seats himself under the shade of a bush surrounded by sweet
flowers; humming-birds attract his attention, and as he fans himself
with his hat, a swarm of bees interferes somewhat with his comfort.
He soon reaches the shade of lofty trees; an old ring-tailed monkey
walks slowly along a limb; a cunning little one jumps on her back,
twists its tail round her hind legs, lays down its head on her back,
sticks its fingernails into her skin, and rides its mother off at a full
run, jumping from limb to limb and from tree to tree; while the father
follows after, chattering in a loud voice the alarm for a stranger.
A long train of ants, disturbed in their march from one side of the
path to the other, occasionally afford the intruder a bite through the
stocking. He stops to change his clothes from winter to summer. Birds of
most brilliant plumage sing all around him; some of them scream with joy
as they fly across the mountain torrent; others are seated quietly in
pairs on the branches, among the thick green foliage, as though admiring
or making love to each other. The forest stretches down the side of the
Madeira Plata. The woods are ornamental and dye; the cacao tree, from
which the best chocolate is made, grows wild. Coffee, tobacco, cotton,
with all the tropical fruits, and the coca plant, are cultivated.
In the beds of the streams grains of gold are found. Among the hills
there are two species of the cinchona bark, the best in the world.
The forest is common to all persons who choose to employ themselves in
gathering bark, and the impression is that the value of the forest in
this article of trade is annually decreasing. The bark taken from the
trunk of the tree "tabla" is the best; that from the larger branches,
"charque," second in quality; and that from the smaller or upper
branches, "canulo," the least valuable. A man may cut two quintals per
day, which makes one quintal (one hundred pounds) when dried ready for
market. The woodman will sell it at the stump of the tree at from eight
to ten dollars the quintal.
By law of Congress, all bark gathered in Bolivia must be sold to a
company having the monopoly of this trade, who pay, according to law,
the following prices to the Yungas woodsman for his cinchona bark,
carried over the lofty Andes and delivered at the bank in La Paz:
"tabla," sixty dollars per quintal; "charque," thirty-five dollars,
and "canulo," thirty dollars. The company pay twenty-five dollars per
quintal on "tabla," and eighteen dollars upon "charque" and "canulo,"
duty to the government.
The bark is put up in cotton bales, each weighing one hundred and fifty
pounds, covered with raw hide. Two bales, or three hundred pounds, being
a mule load over the Cordilleras to the sea-port of Arica, where it
arrives in ten days from La Paz, paying a freight of twelve dollars per
mule load, so that a quintal of "tabla" has cost the company eighty-nine
dollars.
The price in Arica varies from fifty to one hundred and fifty dollars
per quintal, according to the demand for quinine in fever and ague
countries. In 1851 it was worth one hundred and ten dollars the quintal;
in May, 1852, it was as low as eighty dollars. At Arica it is shipped,
and carried around Cape Horn, to the chemists in the United States and
Europe, where it is manufactured, bottled, and some of it re-shipped and
sold in the apothecary stores of La Paz to those who enter the province
of Yungas, where the disease for which it is intended as a specific
frequently prevails. The woodsman pays for one ounce of quinine the same
price he sold one quintal of bark for at the tree.
Those who swallow quinine throughout the world are supposed to consume
ten thousand quintals of cinchona bark per annum. We consider this a
very low estimate.
The bank at La Paz has for some years past received as much as fourteen
thousand quintals per annum, and the government of Bolivia issued a
decree or proscription, forbidding the gathering of this bark from the
1st January, 1852, until the 1st January, 1854.
Gold was found in Yungas more than two centuries ago. The gold mines and
washings of Tipuani are worked with some profit in the present day, but
the wealth of the people engaged in gold hunting does not compare with
that of former times. Hundreds of Indians were employed, turning the
Tipuani stream from one side of its bed to the other in the dry season,
and large quantities of gold were collected. Seven gold mines are at
present worked in Yungas, and five hundred have been abandoned.
The roads to Tipuani are narrow, precipitous, and in an unimproved
state, like most of the roads into Yungas. They require an annual
expenditure of money, after the rainy season, to put them in order.
Merchants pay wages in advance to the Indians who consent to enter the
mines, and provide them with provisions, which are carried in on mules.
The expenses are very great in comparison to the yield of gold. The
Indian is often sick, when his wages and the expense of feeding him
are lost to the miner; many of them leave before their time, so that
the work of the season is lost, the miner giving up poorer than he
commenced.
Besides gold, there are silver mines in Yungas abandoned, filled
with water. They are situated higher up than the gold mines along the
eastern sides of the Andes. This side of the Madeira Plata is made of
silver, washed with gold, filled with oranges, pine-apples, granadillos,
bananas, beautiful flowers, and rich green leaves, refreshed and kept
in perfection by the sheets of ice and clusters of white snow resting
on its edge. Streams of clear water, habited by fish, flow through
the lofty forest trees, turning and winding among the hills, while the
fish-hawk perches himself on the overhanging branch to watch them. The
parrot, with his green leaf-like plumage, winks an eye as he digs his
curved beak into the banana. The monkey helps himself to oranges; the
humming bird feeds upon the product of the flowers. All are employed,
joyful, and happy. Their songs echo through the hills, and die away
among the dashing streams; but the ferocious tiger shows his teeth as he
turns aside, snarling at the sight of the forked tongue of a dangerous
serpent.
At the rising of the moon, swarms of bats fill the air, and insects
float about in the heavy atmosphere, seek their rest and all is still.
The white wild goose sits by the side of the snow-water pool on the top
of the Andes, and the dove sleeps on the puna by the side of the cactus
thorn.
The most inveterate chewers among the Indians say, that the coca raised
on the tributaries of Madre-de-Dios is superior to that produced in
Yungas, on the waters of the Beni—the Yungas plant being at a greater
elevation above the sea. In Peru, the planter goes well down into the
flat lands, where the coca plant seems to flourish better than on the
side of the Andes, in the ravines. Yet, seven thousand baskets of Yungas
coca have been sold to Peru in one year; the usual price is five dollars
the basket. Fruits, coffee, chocolate, tobacco, cigars, and about five
hundred thousand dollars in gold and silver, are also exported to Peru;
in exchange for which the department of La Paz imports from Peru rum,
wine, sugar, sweetmeats, peppers of different kinds, meats, potatoes,
and cheese.
The value of the imports of foreign manufactures into this department,
in silks, coarse cotton and woollen cloths, calicoes and fine cotton
goods, iron, earthen, and glass-ware, amounts to about five hundred
thousand dollars. The value of the Cinchona bark and copper exported is
three hundred thousand dollars, with two hundred thousand dollars in
gold and silver. The difference is exported to keep up the balance of
trade, which makes the foreign trade of this department worth about one
million per annum, exclusive of the internal traffic with Peru.
The city of La Paz is the largest in Bolivia, and has the most trade,
owing to its position between the provinces of Yungas and Arica. But the
foreign manufactures imported by this country, do not all pass through
La Paz. The roads from Arica and Cobija lead direct to the southern
department, and the trains of mules and jackasses cross floating totora
bridges on the Desaguedero, such as we saw the llamas pass near the
Lake of Titicaca. The distance from La Paz to Cobija is two hundred and
thirty-two leagues.
In the first part of December, when the flowers begin to bloom in the
ravine, it is the custom of the inhabitants of La Paz to repair to the
alameda before breakfast. Some go on foot, dressed in silks and satins,
broad cloth and white kid gloves. The ladies without bonnets, their hair
parted in the South American style, appear to much more advantage than
those in French fashions. The gentlemen are also more natural in their
vicuña-made hats than in those of Paris. Indian servants walk behind the
family with rugs, which are spread for the ladies to sit upon. Gentlemen
make a grand show with spirited horses, but are completely outdone by
ladies in the management of their animals, and in graceful riding. Some
of the countrywomen ride on men's saddles.
The girls ride off at full speed through the alameda, like a frigate's
complement of midshipmen on a day's leave of absence. More of the men's
stockings are exposed to view than those of the ladies.
The men of Bolivia are better developed and more spirited than they are
found near the equator. Their horses are generally small; some of them
are full of life and spirit, and prance about more like little goats
than a well-trained blooded animal.
Milk is drank at the end of the exercise, and the meeting of the
families is very agreeable. The degree of politeness and pleasantness of
manner is remarkable, while the milk of cow kindness is passed around in
large glasses. The fresh complexioned Spanish beauty rides up, tosses
off a bumper, calls to her indolent escort in her sweet language, and
off she goes again, followed by the eye of a fat John Bull, luxuriating
over his glass, with a broad brimmed hat on one side of his head, and
a walking stick under his arm.
The foreigners of La Paz purchase the dried mutton of Peru, and supply
the Indians, who work near the town of Corocoro, where copper is found
in great quantities in its native state, and is worked with great
difficulty for want of proper tools. The export duty, paid by the
merchants to the government, is six cents per quintal on ground ore,
and twelve cents on bars of pure copper.
The Indian men are not muscularly strong, though they accomplish a great
deal in their own way of working. They are slow and sure men, when well
treated. The stone-work of the fountain in the plaza, carved by the
Aymara Indians, compares well with the best we have met. It is admired
by the Italians, Germans, French, and English residents of the city,
and however much we respect the Quichua tribe, we must give the Aymaras
the preference in this mechanical art. They are more musical, and seem
to possess a more independent character than the Quichuas; yet they
cannot compare with the North American negro slaves in health, strength,
happiness, comforts of life, or liberty. African slavery existed in
Bolivia before the meeting of the National Convention in September,
1851, when the fifth Bolivian constitution was sanctioned; the first
article of which declared that "All men are born free in Bolivia." "All
men receive their liberty upon placing their feet upon her soil; slavery
does not and cannot exist in it."
In this convention, a member of intelligence and experience—a man as
popular as any, and respected by most of his countrymen; well acquainted
with the history of Bolivia, and who had been a public man from her
birth as a nation—offered an amendment to that constitution, proposing
to establish religious liberty in Bolivia. The whole convention at once
opposed him, as did the two little public journals in La Paz; and when
the bishops, priests, and church of Bolivia came out against him, it
became a question, whether a patriotic, aged, and tried senator was a
freeman!
The fifth article of that constitution declared, "The Apostolic Roman
Catholic religion was that of Bolivia. The law protects and guaranties
the exclusive worship of it, and prohibits the exercise of whatever
other," recognising notwithstanding the principle, that "there is no
human power over the conscience."
With political affairs the Indian has little or nothing to do. When the
creoles side off on the level plains of Bolivia and fight the battles
of their country, the Indians seat themselves on the brows of the hills
around, and quietly witness changes or continuance of administration.
They seem to be the philosophers of the country, and to take the world
very easy. After the struggle is over, they come down and pursue their
daily occupations under the new constitution, laws, and powers that be.
The beautiful house in which we are was, on one occasion, turned into
a barracks for the soldiers of the victorious party, and the ladies
driven out, because they agreed in their political opinions with their
father and brothers. The officers were thought kind because they had the
most expensive furniture put into their own rooms, that it might not be
entirely ruined before the family had been sufficiently punished.
At the dinner table a young family of fourteen are seated, full of life
and gayety. Our place was next the lady of the house, who presided.
She was very intelligent, and had greater advantages of education than
most of her countrywomen. She seemed particularly fond of the United
States—asking many questions—expressing her admiration of the people,
but disapproving of some of their actions. She thought the country
too warlike; and although we had conceived our answers satisfied her,
with regard to Texas and California—of which she had very incorrect
ideas—she asked me to explain to her the meaning of all the articles
she saw published in the newspapers of La Paz, upon the subject of
Cuba. Turning suddenly, she looked up and said: "What are you doing
here, Señor Gibbon; do you want Bolivia, also?" After setting forth the
advantages of trade through the rivers of Bolivia, and the difficulties
the people of her country now labored under to avail themselves of
foreign commerce, she approved of the enterprise, and expressed herself
friendly to it; but concluded by saying—"I believe the North Americans
will some day govern the whole of South America!"
Our conversation was disturbed by the entrance of an Indian servant
girl, with her mistress's youngest child, which was seated between us.
The Indians teach the children their own language. The habit of using
the most easily pronounced words in Aymara and Spanish had produced a
very curious mixture. The Aymara for baby is "wawa." A gentleman seated
opposite inquired if I was fond of them. Never having heard the word
"wawa" before, and believing he said "guavas"—a fruit upon the table—he
was answered in the affirmative, with the addition that they "were much
better when preserved than when eaten raw." This brought forth a shout
of laughter.
The daughter of the lady, with tears in her eyes from merriment,
inquired whether I had ever eaten one? Being told that I had devoured
hundreds, and would take one now if she would be so kind as to give
it to me, the Indian girl seized the wawa, amidst continued roars of
laughter, when Havana cigars and Yungas coffee were introduced.
The markets of La Paz are well supplied with fruits and vegetables from
Yungas. Near five hundred thousand baskets of coca are produced there
annually—a basket contains twenty pounds. Some twelve hundred baskets
are exported to the Argentine republic; the remainder, after the sale to
Peru, being consumed at home. The organized national guard, or militia
of this department, amounts to about fifteen hundred creoles, regulated
by special laws, independent of the standing army of the country.
The prefect of La Paz was friendly to the expedition, and assured us his
government would be so. His duties correspond with those of the prefects
in Peru. His department is divided into provinces, which are ruled by
governors; there are no sub-prefects in Bolivia. The most intelligent
men in the country are found among the prefects. The impression is, that
preference is given to this office over that of a ministership in the
supreme government.
With a fresh supply of passports and letters, we mounted our fattened
mules, and bidding farewell to our kind friends, we ascended the steep
side of the Quebada to the table lands, which slope down from the
Illimani to the westward, towards a low range of mountains. The wind
was fresh from the southeast; thunder in the north, and a cold drizzling
rain falling. The plain is covered with round stones, such as are found
on the shores or in the beds of rivers.
[Illustration: ILLIMANI SNOW PEAK, VICUÑA'S PASTURING WITH THE SHEEP
ON THE PUNA OF BOLIVIA.
Sketched by L. Gibbon
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
_December 2, 1851._—At 4 p. m., we halted at Ventilla post-house.
Thermometer, 52°; wet bulb, 42°. The fat postwoman was picking seeds
from a bag of raw cotton. She gave us a specimen, but said she did not
know whence it came. From her external appearance, we judged she had
not travelled much about the country.
The house stands on a barren plain; not a living thing to be seen
growing, except a short tuft of grass here and there. The post-dogs
are miserably poor. The baggage-mules look as if they ate round stones
and drank bad water. As the dogs and children came to us for supper, we
are at a loss to know how it is the old woman keeps so enormously fat.
Possibly upon happiness, for she seems perfectly contented.
It has been a matter of surprise how the globe is so well balanced,
while the greatest proportion of land appears on the north side of the
equator. After a view of the lofty mountains, corpulent bishops, and
portly postwomen, it seems more comprehensible.
We are now travelling on the edge of the Titicaca basin. The water on
the west side of us flows into the Desaguedero river, and that on the
east side into the Beni. The rich copper district lies to the west
of us, near the Desaguedero. There is snow on the mountains in all
directions, the Illimani appearing high up in the east. Three vicuñas
were pasturing with some sheep near our path. At the small town of
Calamarca, at 4 p. m., thermometer, 48°; wet bulb, 40°. A rain-storm
from southeast, accompanied with thunder and lightning, hauled round
by south to the west, when the small drops of rain became frozen, and
fell in hailstones, the size of very small peas; after which the whole
country in sight was covered with snow.
The scene is a cold and dreary one, made more so by the strange noise
of wind instruments and drums in the plaza, as the Indians march through
the church after the storm, dancing with war-clubs at the doors, while a
cracked bell chimes a deafening summons to prayers. The wind instruments
are made of a succession of reeds of different sizes and lengths, upon
which they blow a noise, little resembling music to our ear, keeping
time with the drummers, the slow-motioned dancers respecting them both.
The Indians are dressed in large feathered hats, white cotton shirts,
short trousers, decorated about the knees with red, blue, and white
ribbons, while one in deep black walks before the procession in the
character of drum major. Except a priest, not a creole face was to be
seen.
In the morning the procession marched into the patio of the post-house.
After they had played and danced some time, the Indian women came out,
and being joined by the postillions, formed a ring inside the musicians,
and the dance was continued. We seated ourselves, with our tin pots of
tea, in the doorway, looking on. After the dance, the women retired,
and the postman, a fine-looking old Aymara Indian, hat in hand, made
a speech, in a grave and earnest manner, to which they all listened
with silent attention. The speech was responded to by a long blast
from the wind instruments and a few heavy taps on the drums. Then the
postillions, one by one, made short speeches, and were answered in the
same way. The women again appeared, each bringing with her a jar of
chicha, which they served out in cups, giving to each individual as
much as he could drink, which was no small quantity, for the morning
was cold. The music again struck up, and the women again joined in the
dance. One of them came out with her sleeping "wawa" slung to her back,
which was soon blown up, and commenced a laughable discord; but not a
smile could be discovered in any of their faces; neither did the woman
stop till the dance was ended, when she swung the child round in front
of her, where it found cause to be quiet.
As we could not understand the language or the meaning of the speech,
nor the propriety of chicha being introduced into the religious service,
we supposed the intention was to serenade the women, but were left in
doubt; for they seemed to be so serious, formal, and earnest that it
could scarcely be a frolic. At first we were disposed to appropriate it
to ourselves, but gave in on the appearance of the chicha.
These Indians are very polite and attentive to us. We find no difficulty
in getting what we want, notwithstanding José is as perfectly ignorant
of Aymara as ourselves. When we were ready to leave, the old Indian took
out of his own pocket, and laid upon the palm of his hand, the amount
of our bill for the night. Being paid, he nodded his head, smiled, and
uttered something that seemed to us satisfactory.
The town is small and wretched, both in its external and internal
appearance. Not a foot of the country in sight around it is cultivated.
The principal production seems to be chicha; but the maize it is made
of is brought from the Quebradas to the eastward.
To the west of Calamarca, between the Desaguedero river and the
Cordilleras, near the town of Benenguala, in former days, were worked
a number of silver mines. Seven hundred mouths are open and filled
with water, having all been abandoned in the present day, though they
are reported to be rich. To the east of Calamarca, in the province of
Inquisivi, five silver mines are worked, and one hundred and sixty stand
idle. Near the town of Araca four gold mines are worked, and many more
exist.
Crossing a dry, rocky country, we came to where the plain was covered
with green cedar bushes, about two feet high; the dry, dusty road was
made more cheerful by cattle, sheep, and llamas crossing our path. They
were feeding upon the fresher grass that springs up under the shade of
the cedars. The change from the barren, unproductive places on the Puna
to that of a vegetable growth is so sudden, that the traveller is, at
first sight, struck with wonder and surprise, because evidently no human
power has been brought to work here. It is all the result of original,
natural laws.
Man seems the most unnatural creature we meet with. He builds his
house in a desert, settles himself in a country he cannot cultivate;
while other animals are seen in numbers the moment we come in sight of
vegetation, nor do they leave it for the barren places unless forced to
go by the more intelligent creature.
The southeast winds that we meet here come across the South Atlantic
ocean; passing over the lowlands, they strike against these mountains.
Rising from the vapors of the sea, they are wet; but after travelling
over dry lands, their dampness is distributed on the soil, and there
springs up a growth of forest trees and wild flowers, which otherwise
would be burnt down by the fiery rays of the sun.
By the time the winds reach these lofty mountains they are comparatively
dry. The little dampness remaining in them, meeting with the cold
atmosphere of the mountain peaks, freezes and falls in the shape of snow
or hail.
Being relieved of their load, they come down on the table lands now,
where we meet them after having performed their work, as on the west
of the Illimani; there the plain is barren; not a living bush is to
be seen. As the winds have no moisture to give to the soil, the soil
has no vegetation to give to animal life; therefore, man appears to
be struggling against this law, by living all his life to the west of
the Illimani, where the winds are on a frolic, dancing over the plain,
forming whirlwinds, and shooting up to return from whence they came.
These winds go back to the South Atlantic by an upper current. But, to
return to the cedar bushes. We can only account for them by supposing
an opening in the Andes range to the southeast of us, through which the
winds come, before meeting with mountains high enough to push them above
the perpetual snow line. We cannot see far enough to tell, but have to
feel our way. Yesterday we had the Illimani to the east of us, and by
the reflection of a barren soil, the rays of the sun scorched the skin
off our faces. To-day, although the sky is equally as clear, we do not
feel it, the atmosphere is more moist, which protects the skin from the
influences of the sun.
But there stands a more convincing proof of this natural law, and of
our supposition of an opening in the Andes to the southeast of us. The
mountain peaks to the west are covered with snow. The remaining moisture
in these winds has not yet been turned into hail and snow, but is still
doing its summer work. The moment it strikes those mountains to the
west, however, then it will all be grasped by the cold hand of winter.
We have heard the people of this country complain that there is less
law in Bolivia than in any other part of the world. We doubt if there
ever was a law more plainly written than is here seen on the face of
the soil, directing attention to the countries east of the snow.
We observe an alteration in the color of the people on the Puna, who
differ again from those of the forests. The Indian who lives on the west
side of a snowy-peaked mountain is burnt black; those among the cedar
bushes, to the east of the snow, are lighter in complexion. The women
are better looking. The sun-burnt man falls in love as soon as he gets
to the east side of the snow peaks, although the people of the forests
in the Madeira Plata are whiter still. We have seen no curling of hair
produced on the Puna by the excessive heat of the sun.
CHAPTER V.
Silver mines of Sicasica—Productions of the Puna or Table
lands—An exile returning home—Department of Oruro—Silver,
copper, and tin—Climate—A chicha factorer—The expedition
out of Titicaca basin and into Madeira Plata—Department
of Potosi—Population, climate, and productions—Rio
Pilcomayo—Mint—Quicksilver trade—Imperfect mining
operations—Smuggling of precious metals—Statistics of
silver—Trade with the Argentine Confederation—Port of
Cobija—Desert of Atacama—Eastern side of the Andes—Frosty
mountain tops and thermal streams—A Washwoman—Cinchona
bark ascending to the South Pacific—Department
of Cochabamba—Increase of creoles—Incas colony of
Quichua Indians—Hail storm—Gardens—Fig trees—City of
Cochabamba—Hospitality of the merchants—The President of
Bolivia and his cabinet—Commercial proposition—Brazilian
minister—President Belzu—Cavalry and infantry—Armor of
the Bolivian troops—Public force—Calacala gardens—Market
people—Rio Mamoré—Legislative power—Church ceremony—Climate—A
bishop's opinion of the consequences of steamboat
navigation—Cabinet ministers—Reception of a farmer by the
President—Heavy shock of an earthquake—Sudden departure of
the Government—Clisa Fair—Trade to the Pacific coast.
After changing our baggage mules at the small Indian town of Ayoayo, we
came to a winding stream, a tributary of Desaguedero, on which was a
grist-mill, and arrived at Chicta post-house, which stands alone like
a toy-house in the middle of this green-carpeted plain. At 5 p. m.,
December 4, 1851, thermometer, 52°; wet bulb, 42°. A view of sunset over
the snow-peaked mountains is most beautiful. The post-house is well kept
by a creole with a wife and large family of children.
Three hundred Indians work the silver mines in the neighborhood. In
this province, Sicasica, there exist three hundred and twenty abandoned
silver mines. The yield of the nine mines at present worked produces
some profit, but no fortunes are made by those concerned. Antimony and
stonecoal of good quality have been discovered.
During the cold nights here, dew from the damp winds freezes. We
observed no dew to the west of the Illimani.
As we move to the southeast the bushes are larger; some of them are
three feet high. A moss grows, besides the sprigs of grass, on which the
llamas feed, as they slowly move under loads of grain on the way to the
grist-mill.
Scarcity of vegetables appears to produce an intimacy among animals.
Here the sheep graze in flocks, exclusive of horned cattle or horses,
and the vicuña keeps aloof from all; but in less productive places,
vicuñas are found eating from the same scanty table with the sheep and
llamas. Animals which inhabit the highest atmospheres are obliged to
come down among those below them.
The Puna seems the natural elevation for sheep; they thrive best there.
The llama don't do so well. The place of the vicuña is between these two
mountainous distributions of animal life. Horned cattle and horses are
above their station here, and thrive badly. The hog dives down into the
very sloppy bottom; his greediness could not be satisfied on the upper
plains; he would certainly perish for want of food, and is never found
at such altitudes, unless forced up.
There is a sparse population and very little cultivation. The people
are supplied with grain and fruits from the ravines on the edge of
the Madeira Plata. We changed baggage mules at the town of Sicasica,
a flourishing place during the days of wealthy miners, but an
uninteresting and lifeless Indian town now.
At the post-house of Oroma, where we spent the night, a party of
gentlemen stopped for baggage mules. They were travelling in haste,
one being on his way to La Paz to join a wife and children after a
banishment of eighteen months. His expressed political opinions happened
to differ from those who came into power by force of musketry. His
friends had obtained permission for his return, giving security he
should not offend in the same way again. He pointed out on the map his
wanderings through the wilds of Eastern Bolivia and the province of
Matto Grosso in Brazil, and described his sufferings. He had not heard
from his family, not knowing, until lately, they were still alive. He
laughed and joked about his troubles, as though happy at getting home
again.
A priest of the party sat on the baggage listening to our conversation.
One inquired if the President of the United States sent those out of the
country who expressed political opinions in opposition to his own, and
really seemed surprised to learn that sometimes nearly half the nation
did not agree with our President in all things, and were not interfered
with.
Changing mules at Pandura post-house, we arrived at Caracollo, in
the department of Oruro, which contains a population of 8,129 Creoles
and 86,943 aborigines. This department has produced a large amount of
silver.
The city of Oruro, the capital and largest town in the department, has
a population of 5,687. One hundred and twenty years ago, it contained
a population of 38,000, without counting Indians. This decrease is
accounted for by the state of the mines.
There are twelve hundred and fifteen abandoned silver mines near the
town, and not less than two hundred gold mines, most of which contain
water. Eleven silver mines are still worked.
In the province of Poopo fifteen silver mines are worked, and three
hundred and sixteen stand idle; besides which there are four silver
mines worked in the province of Carangas, and two hundred and
eighty-five abandoned. On the discovery of a mine, it is reported and
registered to be taxed. The miners of silver ores are required by law
to sell their metal to the government at a certain price. As merchants
are willing to pay higher, the silver of Bolivia often passes out of
the country in bars. Gold may be exported by paying a duty of three per
cent.
Lead, iron, antimony, sulphur, copper, and tin abound in this
department; the tin is found on the surface of the plain.
The climate of Oruro is cold, and the soil very unproductive. Potatoes,
quinua, with a little barley, are raised in some places. Llamas,
alpacas, vicuñas, guanacos, and the skins of the chinchillos, are used
as exchanges on the coast of Peru for rum and wine.
From shallow lakes salt four inches thick is gathered, and exchanged
for grains and flower. The pasture is so scarce that few cattle are
raised. Jackasses being more economical than horses, pick up a living
on the plain as they carry salt to the cattle districts, or journey
over the mountains with silver and gold, a distance of one hundred and
eighty-three leagues, to the seaport of Cobija, where they meet ships
from the United States loaded with flour.
Cobija is a free port of entry, and merchants send this distance for
many articles of trade, in preference to paying duty from Arica through
the territory of Peru. As the jackass travels very slowly, and the
Indian driver generally accommodates his pace to the loaded animal's,
the cargo from Cobija requires thirty-five days. It is difficult to find
men willing to make the trip over that barren country.
The inhabitants of Corocoro were generally intoxicated on our arrival;
neither the postman nor the governor appeared. Two persons, incorrectly
supposing they were sober, called for our passports, saying the governor
was absent, and they were the authorities next in power. One of them
encountered some difficulty in reading the document.
He inquired of José the reason it was not presented at the governor's
house? José answered, "It was usual for the authorities to call upon
strangers." The man became very angry, and abused José. Being requested
to read our papers and take his departure, he said "he did not know
whether we were English or French gringos." We pointed out to him the
words "Los Estados Unidos;" when looking up with surprise, he bowed,
touched his hat, and bidding us good evening, they quietly and quickly
walked off. I mention this fact solely because it was the only case
throughout our route where a personal difficulty with the authorities
was encountered; having to deal with such a number, it was the only
exception to politeness and accommodating manners—possibly occasioned
by some foreign importation.
The town is on the decline; it looks so dilapidated, and like the dusty,
unproductive country round about, that had it not been for the church
steeples and the chicha, we might have passed without having seen it. A
cura, travelling with his servant, left his intended road and joined us
for company. He had been on a visit to La Paz from Sucre, the capital
of Bolivia, with a remittance from the church. As we rode along on the
table-lands, he would point out an unusually level piece of ground, and
say, "What a beautiful place for a battle between two armies." The man
who had carried the remittance to La Paz trotted on foot after us, and
travelled every day as fast and as far as the cura with his fine bay
mule. We read each other's passports.
Stopping on the plain at a small hut, the only habitation in sight,
except a large stone church, we inquired for water; there was none, but
a fat woman said she had chicha. The cura purchased a gallon for the
same price other people usually pay for a pint. The woman said "she had
chewed the maize for it herself;" so we had the manufacturing apparatus
before us, established without wheels or water. She kissed the cura's
hand, and asked for his blessing. With one hand on her head and the
other occupied with the chicha jug, he uttered a short prayer, tossed
off the beverage and mounted his mule.
Our course is now east; we leave the table lands and enter a small
narrow pass in the Andes. As the sun goes down over the Cordilleras,
the hawks go to roost among the rocks. All is still as we ride up to a
lonely hut—the post-house of Condorchinoca; while the Indian attends to
our mules, his wife cooks supper, and his little child plays with the
post dog. The night is clear, calm, and cold.
Ascending the western side of the Andes we come to a spring at the
temperature of 68°; the water flows westward. We are now about to leave
the Titicaca basin, which contains an area of thirty-nine thousand six
hundred square miles. It is a curious basin; all round its edge snow
is found, from which numerous streams of water flow and wash away the
soil, so as to show that the earth is partly made up of silver.
If, during the rainy season, an unusual quantity of water is poured
into its southern side, the large stream passing to its bottom flows
northward; but generally most water enters on its northern side, so that
the water nearly always flows south. Its climate may be a healthy one,
but not a hospitable one for man.
In some parts of it sheep and vicuña flourish, and the llama was
thought, in this basin, to prove in better condition than elsewhere.
Our observations go to show they and the sheep in the neighborhood of
the Juaja valley, in Peru, are superior.
The mineral wealth of the Titicaca basin is very great, but its
vegetable productions too small for the support of its present
population, who are employed extracting metals, and who draw from the
Madeira Plata many of the necessaries of life, and rely upon foreign
countries for their manufactures.
A clear, deep-blue sky opens the day; but as the tropical sun shines
upon the white edges of the basin, he evaporates so many feet of the
snow per annum, that the clouds formed daily seem to curtain in the
inhabitants from the rest of the world.
The Aymara language and people excite the imagination to a belief that
their history is of an anterior date to that of the Quichuas, and more
interesting to those who seek, in the depths of time long passed, for a
knowledge of the origin of the aboriginal races of men on this part of
the earth.
There is a peculiarity found in the Titicaca basin which we noticed, but
are unable to solve—the wind blows all the year from the east over the
lake, while on the plains it is variable and whirling. Water appears to
attract wind, and to keep it in active motion.
Slowly winding our way up the Andes, meeting droves of llamas loaded
with flour, we find the strata of rocks pointing to the east at an
angle of 45°. Arriving at the top of the great ridge, the strata is
perpendicular; and on the east side it inclines to the west, also at an
angle of 45°.
We now look over the Madeira Plate, but before entering it we turn to
regard, from these lofty peaks, the south of the Titicaca basin.
From the line of the twentieth degree of south latitude, water flowing
north belongs to Titicaca, and that running south tends for the great La
Plata basin. These are the waters of the river Pilcomayo, which empty
into the Paraguay between latitude 25° and 26° south, after passing
through more than six hundred miles of longitude.
The Pilcomayo is a rapid stream, with falls and a rocky bed, like
the Beni. It appears not navigable for steamboats in the territory of
Bolivia. This stream takes its rise in the department of Potosi, which
lies between Oruro and the Argentine confederation, and contains a
population of 83,296 creoles of European descent, and 164,609 Aymara
Indians.
The city, situated at the base of the far-famed Cerro de Potosi—the rich
sister of Cerro de Pasco, in Peru—has a population of 16,711.
In the Cerro de Potosi and neighborhood there are twenty-six silver
mines worked, and eighteen hundred standing idle. Besides which, the
government accounts show us that, in the provinces of Porco, Chayanta,
Chichas, and Lepiz, there exist three thousand and eighty-nine silver
mines which have been abandoned, and only sixty-five mines worked now.
In former days the department of Potosi excited the envy of the world.
The silver ore was found rising from the top of the peak; the vein
being followed below the water-line, when it was given up and a new
one sought. The work was carried on in this manner until few new veins
remained. The people are now burrowing in at the base of the peak,
striving to strike the vein below, where it was left in its richness.
This is an expensive business, and some have given up the plan, after
an unsuccessful entrance into the very core of the mountain, with heavy
losses.
There is a mint at Potosi, where the miner finds a ready market for
silver and gold. It received and coined in the year 1849 one million
six hundred and twenty-one thousand five hundred and thirty six dollars
in silver, and eleven thousand nine hundred and eighty-four dollars in
gold.
The government purchases quicksilver to trade with the miner. It is a
singular fact that, while the rich quicksilver mines of Huancavelica are
so close at hand, Bolivia annually imports two hundred thousand pounds
of this important fluid mineral, in iron jars, from England, around Cape
Horn, and over the Cordilleras, one hundred and fifty-eight leagues from
Cobija.
Owing to the imperfect apparatus used for separating quicksilver from
the silver ores, the waste of the imported metal is very great. Five
thousand pounds of ore, yielding one hundred and fifty pounds of pure
silver, required four hundred and fifty pounds of quicksilver for the
amalgamation; of which, I was told, not less than one hundred pounds
were lost. A simple cast-iron silver burner, or distilling apparatus,
would probably save half this waste, and certainly much labor—both the
labor and mercury being the most expensive items in the miner's list of
expenditures.
It is supposed that much silver is smuggled out of Bolivia every year.
The miner hands one bar to the mint, while another he pays to the
merchant for clothing, rum, coca, and so forth, for the use of the
Indian laborers, from whom he reaps a profit in the retail business.
It is difficult to get a near estimate of the real annual amount of
silver and gold taken from the mines of this country. The following
table, taken from the government account, may prove interesting. It is
the yield of these two metals given every five years:
From 1800 to 1806 $21,186,460
1811 16,288,590
1816 10,789,816
1821 9,749,350
1826 9,089,787
1831 9,784,620
1836 9,848,342
1841 9,678,420
1846 9,789,640
However much short of the annual product, this table may show at a
glance the decrease under the present system of mining.
The climate of the city of Potosi is cold and unpleasant, being elevated
over fourteen thousand feet above the ocean. The vegetable productions
in its neighborhood are less than are found on the plains of Oruro. The
llamas, alpacas, vicuñas, and guanacos, are large and valuable.
Rock salt is found among the mountains in large veins. Small springs
of water shoot up and flow down the La Plata basin, uniting in streams
which wash away the earth from silver, gold, copper, tin, and precious
stones. These streams run rapidly to the base of the Cordilleras;
there meeting expanded plains, they form lakes, which are evaporated
and leave a crust of salt. Numerous streams, passing on to join each
other, finally cut their way boldly through the Andes, where they become
large enough to accommodate schools of fish. Then the Indian is found
planting maize and potatoes; sowing wheat, barley, and lucerne; raising
horned-cattle, sheep, and horses. He buys salt from the up-countryman,
and gives him salted fish in payment, or receiving hard silver dollars
for beef, mutton, and flour.
Near these tributaries of the Pilcomayo, at its head, the Indian plants
sugar-cane and coffee. His wooden hut is shaded by the trees of the
valley, and his doorway decorated with the chirimoya and granadilla
plants.
The Pilcomayo is a muddy stream. It creeps along at the base of a ridge
of mountains, which stretch towards Brazil, as though seeking an outlet
to the south before it trends to the Paraguay, as the Beni runs to the
Madeira.
The department of Potosi imports from the Argentine Republic annually
about five thousand mules, eight hundred horses, and five thousand
jackasses, and three thousand head of cattle. A mule is worth twenty
dollars, a horse fifteen, a donkey six, and beeves ten dollars a head.
Bridle-reins, stirrups, saddle-cloths, soap, and tobacco, also enter,
for which silver is paid in exchange.
Chinchilla skins are worth seven dollars the dozen; hides, two dollars
each; coffee, from Yungas, twenty-five dollars per quintal of one
hundred pounds; sheep's wool, twelve dollars; alpaca wool, thirty
dollars; tin, twelve dollars; bar or pure copper, sixteen dollars and
fifty cents; Yungas chocolate, twenty-five dollars; and vicuña skins,
forty-three and three-quarter cents.
There are imported from the Pacific coast annually six hundred thousand
dollars worth of silks, woollen, and cotton goods.
The foreign trade with Potosi is principally carried on through the port
of Cobija. The road passes through the great desert of Atacama, which
is called "Departmento Litoral."
Among the lofty, barren Cordilleras, the donkey driver finds it
difficult to climb the steep roads, or to descend into the deep
ravines, where on small flats are found a few vicuñas or chinchillas,
and halts to feed his tired animals. Some of these pasture-grounds or
"portreros"—as they are called—are inhabited by Indians, who cultivate
the ground, and are attentive to persons with droves of mules from Chili
on their way to Peru.
A few cattle and sheep are raised, and the Indians lead streams of water
over the veins of salt, which help to refresh and fatten their cattle.
In the ravines through which the tributaries of the Rio Loa flow towards
the Pacific, some barley, maize, potatoes, and fruit-trees are produced
by irrigation; wherever in the barren countries these Indians can get
a little water, they are enabled to make a crop of something for use.
In former days, gold mines were worked in Atacama, on the Pacific side
of the Cordilleras; silver, iron, and copper, of excellent quality, are
found there also.
The guano along the coast was known and used for manuring land by the
Incas before the discovery of the country by Europeans.
Bidding farewell to the Pacific side of the Andes, we enter the small
village of Challa for the night. The only conspicuous thing in sight was
a large steeple, with a small church tacked on to the heel, built of mud
and stone. The place looks miserable, yet the Indians appear cheerful,
and of a lighter complexion. Some of them speak Quichua. José was told
there are no more Aymara Indians to the east of us.
_December 9, 1851._—At 7 a. m., we found a heavy frost on the ground.
Thermometer, 41°; wet bulb, 36°. This observation is made on the very
edge of the Madeira Plata. Water flows to the east of where we are
standing.
The country round is thrown up into confused and rough shapes,
uninhabited by man or beast. Great rocks stand clear and clean of soil.
Not a living bush or green leaf to be seen, nor a bird in the air. The
day is calm and warm.
The bright sun shines on the east side of the peaks, and in the shade,
on the west side, there is frost. When the sun passes the meridian,
the frost disappears until after night, when it is first seen on the
east side. While the sun is on his trip to the south, and the rains are
falling, the frost may be found deep down in the ravines and valleys;
the traveller passes over it in the road, and it lays all day long on
the tops of the Andes.
Descending a steep, winding road, we were surprised at the sudden
appearance of flowers, patches of grain, Quichua Indians, and the
most delightful air we ever breathed. Getting down from our mules, we
followed them on foot. A comfortable temperature makes a man want to
feel his legs again.
At midday, the thermometer stood at 66° in the shade. A small stream
trickling over rocks, coated over with a green slime, had a temperature
of 107°. One flowing into it, at a temperature of 70°, had an iron-red
coating over the stones. The mingled waters of the two showed a
temperature of 104°.
An Indian woman was washing clothes in the more than half boiling
water. After rubbing them over a smooth stone, she wrenched the
argentine soap off in the cooler stream, and had hung them up to dry
in the tropical sun on a small bush, under the shade of which she sat
composedly. Her petticoat was conspicuously a new one. As we attentively
observed some distinct letters upon the stuff, which were "Lowell,"
she seemed somewhat surprised, and laughed as though she thought us
very inquisitive to be so closely examining a woman's clothing. Her
earrings were of gold; a silver cross was suspended by a guard of vicuña
wool around her neck. The black wooden ring upon her finger was carved
from the hardest and deepest colored wood that grows to the east of
us. A doubled-up piece of coarse scarlet cloth lay on the top of her
head to keep off the rays of the sun, being used at night to cover
her shoulders, which are now bare. She envies our straw hats, and says
it is mean not to give her one. She wears shoes and stockings only on
Sundays, when she goes to church; the former of fine black leather, and
the latter, silk. Her language is Quichua. When the wise Incas mastered
the Aymara tribe they colonized the country to the east of them, sending
the Quichuas through the Aymara territory to surround those who never
would be taught a strange language, nor give up their own.
While José enjoys a short flirtation, we get out our map to find that
this woman has been washing her garments at the source of the river
Mamoré; she is dipping her fingers into the main head of the great
Madeira river.
Descending the side of the warm stream, we met a drove of sixty spirited
mules, with heavy loads upon their backs. They ran up the road, fretting
and staggering under the weight; getting out of breath, they make a full
stop, and then clamber up again.
We halted, and had a talk with the arrieros; they were from Cochabamba,
bound to Arica, in Peru, with one hundred and eighty quintals of
cinchona bark from the province of Yuracares. They make the trip to
Arica in about twelve days over both ranges of mountains.
Calling loudly to their mules, they move slowly up hill. It was hard
work for them to get to the South Pacific shore with their bark, while
the Indian woman's soapsuds went dancing by us on the dashing stream
towards the North Atlantic.
On gaining the base of the mountains, we rode into the pretty town of
Tapacari. The lofty church steeples were just visible above the tops of
the richly green willow trees. Peaches were half ripe in the gardens,
and our tired mules anxiously called out for food as a donkey passed
with a load of green lucerne just reaped by the Indian's sickle. At
3 30 p. m., thermometer, 72°; wet bulb, 60°; cumulus clouds.
The people are so much whiter than those we have lately seen, that
some of them appear very little like Indians. They are dressed in thin
clothing. The women wear ruffles about their necks, and the lower parts
of their dresses are fancifully worked by their own hands.
This is the land for chicha; the ravines seem to be flooded with it.
People are dashing about on horseback, feasting and making merry near
by. The postman, a most polite and attentive old fellow, attended to
his business while taking his part in the frolic. He evidently had his
share of chicha, which made him show loss of teeth when he laughed. His
wife, one of those who help to keep the world balanced, cooked us a very
good dinner. She had seven pretty daughters, but as our fresh mules were
loaded we pushed on.
The streets of the town are very narrow, paved and clean. The houses are
small, and well filled with large families, who are so gay and look so
happy, that we leave them with regret.
The ravine is narrow; in the middle of the dry bed of the river flows
a small stream. Rain falls in great quantities in due season, and the
sides of the hills are washed into deep gullies. The contrast between
the barren dry hills and mountains, with the green, gay little valley,
is very great. But what attracts our attention are the crowds of
children; some are sleeping on their mother's backs, others hang lazily
in front; they crawl about the doorways, and I stopped my mule for a
naked little fellow paddling turtle fashion over the street.
The Indian men are fine looking; their forms are straight and well
developed. The creoles are more numerous and frank in their manners. The
effects of climate and provisions upon people are wonderful, and quite
astonish the traveller.
We are in the department of Cochabamba, which has a population of
231,188 creoles, and 43,747 Quichua Indians. It will be observed that
the proportion between the two races, when compared with the population
of the departments above us on the Andes is reversed. The Spaniards have
crossed over the mountains, east, to find here a more agreeable climate
than in other parts of Bolivia, and delight in fruits and flowers.
In the province of Arque, a short distance to the southeast of us,
there are three silver mines worked, and one hundred abandoned, besides
several which have been left at the base of these mountains.
After a few claps of thunder among the heights to the north, heavy
clouds doubled themselves up over head, and a pelting shower of hail
stones, the size of peas, came down. The mules ran about with us as
though we were beating them over their heads. The moment a little breeze
rose, they turned their tails to it and stood with their noses close to
the ground. The rain that accompanied the hail froze to our hat-covers
and India rubber ponchos, while the hail rattled as it beat upon us.
A hail stone which struck the top of my boot left a pain I felt for an
hour after. Lightning flashed about in the very midst of us, while the
loud thunder roared through the valleys like the noise from cannon of
heavy calibre. Soon the sun shone out, the storm melted away, and all
was clear again. It seemed like the winding up of a pleasant winter.
As night overtook us, our path, though level, was difficult to find
among the sand and gravel of the river bed. Near some Indian huts,
we hear them singing and playing upon a small guitar. We seldom heard
singing on the mountains. José was ahead with the baggage, and, as the
bright moon rose above the low hills before us, we discovered we had
taken the wrong road. The Indians soon put us right; we were nearly
fagged out with the day's work descending the Andes, but enjoyed the
calm summer night. Our postillion's horn told us we had arrived at
Zizque post-house.
At 8 a. m., thermometer, 70°; wet bulb, 61°. The difference between this
temperature and that of yesterday morning at 7 a. m., on the mountains,
is for the air 29°, and wet bulb 25°. Cool springs of fresh water rise
along the edge of small green meadows; fine cattle feed under the shade
of large willows trees. The postman keeps a good horse, and his house
is surrounded by fig trees, loaded with fruit. By the side of a small
stream snipe fly up. The doves and pigeons coo among the trees and
bushes, while the turkey-buzzard soars over the tops of the small hills
about us.
The road is narrow but level. On one hand we have the maize ready
for the reaper; while, on the other, it is just peeping out of the
ground; further on, in one field, the Indians are planting corn, and
others are gathering their crop. Barley and wheat produce large heads
and rich grains; beans seem to be favorites. Old hens run through the
corn-patches with their families, while Spanish cocks square off before
us in the road for a fight.
Under a grove of fig trees, which are large, were seated a party of
merry Indian girls, sewing, spinning, and drinking chicha with their
lovers.
On the 10th December, 1851, we rode into the beautiful city of
Cochabamba, having a population of 30,396 people, situated close to the
south side of a range of mountains, jutting out from the main trunk of
the Andes, in latitude 17° S, and stretching off into the Madeira Plata,
over two hundred miles in an east by south direction, separating this
valley from that of Yungas.
As the newly appointed prefect was sick in bed with fever and ague, and
his family not yet in their own house, we were obliged to seek quarters
in the post-house. There was no hotel, and our letters of introduction
were to the prefect. We had a horror of a post-house, not usually so
habitable in a large city as it is on the road, and thought we had
better go back into the country and pitch our tent under the fig trees.
But the postillions and mules seemed tired, so we let them lead the way
through well paved streets.
The houses are neatly painted, and some of them three stories in height,
with an air of respectability about the place we little expected to
find. The streets crowded with people of all sorts and sizes, and nearly
all seemed to be busy. The large plaza was decorated with fine old
willow trees.
Gaining the post-house we found a miserable woman and child its only
inmates. Our baggage was piled up in one corner of the room. The
child raised a terrible dust in sweeping the room and driving out the
chickens, who laid eggs in the corners, and roosted on the centre table.
Our postillions bade us farewell, and our mules were put in a yard close
by. The woman cooked some chupe of mutton and potatoes. We were tired,
sunburnt, and not a little disgusted with our situation.
On a platform, built of adobe, we spread our blankets. After an
unsuccessful attempt to get to sleep upon this bed of sun-dried bricks,
I got up and struck a light that I might see some rude, uninvited
inmates of the posta, who were making themselves too familiar with us,
and found them to be chicken lice, ticks, bed bugs, and fleas. It was
difficult to tell which species predominated. There was no rest for the
weary that night. Richards rolled and tossed in his sleep as though his
bricks were baking. I generally watch José for information upon points
which he has had some experience with. Looking out upon the bright
starlight night, I found the old man sleeping soundly in the stable yard
at the feet of the mules. He had shaken his cold blankets in the cold
air and rolled himself in them, where the insects would not go.
After a long time daylight came to my relief; with an application of
cold water and a change of clothes, the horrible little man-teazers were
gotten rid of.
After breakfast I walked through the city. The streets are laid off
at right angles. On the south side of the main plaza stands a large
cathedral, and opposite to it the palace occupies the whole side of the
block. It is remarkable for its handsome appearance, being much superior
to the palace in Lima. The ladies are also beautiful. In the centre of
the plaza is a fountain fed by water from a snow peak on the ridge in
sight. From the appearance of the houses and stores, there certainly
must be wealth here for an inland town.
Strolling along looking at the people, I came to a corner where there
was an unusually neat-looking store, and in the doorway stood an
intelligent-looking gentleman, who seemed a stranger to this country.
He was a German. The house belonged to a Frenchman, of whom I had
heard. As soon as they found out I came to make an examination of the
rivers, men were called to fetch our baggage and mules, and we were at
once comfortably quartered. The French gentleman had been many years in
Bolivia, was married to a Cochabambina, and surrounded by a beautiful
young flock, who heartily laughed at our dislike to fleas.
The stream between the mountains and the town is a tributary of the
Mamoré. It flows around the town, and after creeping along the ridge
some distance to the southward and eastward, it passes round the
mountains, and enters northward into the Madeira.
The President of Bolivia, with his cabinet, were here on a visit,
and would leave shortly, under a large escort of regular troops. As
there was not much time to lose, I immediately employed myself in the
preparation of a commercial proposition to the government. A Brazilian
minister had concluded a treaty of limits and navigation between his
country and Peru. He was now awaiting the action of this government in
Sucre, the capital, for the purpose of securing the use of the navigable
rivers of Bolivia for the Brazils alone. I decided to ask the right
and privilege to navigate the rivers flowing through the territory of
Bolivia by steamboats or other vessels.
On Sunday morning, agreeably to appointment, two influential merchants
of the city accompanied me to the palace.
The soldiers drilling in the plaza were young, spirited-looking,
well-disciplined men, though small in stature. They were stout built,
and nearly all half-breeds, except the officers, who were white. There
was but one negro among them; he was the drummajor, and the largest man
in the regiment. The officers lounged about the doors of the palace in
full uniform, buttoned up to the throat, and looked as uncomfortable as
the soldiers in their thick Sunday mustering clothes.
Entering a large patio, and ascending a stone stairway, we came to a
balcony, where two officers in costly uniform rose and saluted. Entering
a large hall, well carpeted and furnished at one end with curtains of
the national color—red, yellow, and green—which hung over the sides of a
large arm chair, in front of which was a small table, a tall, graceful
officer of middle age rose from his seat in fall uniform, a velvet cap
embroidered with gold pulled down over his eyebrows. This gentleman
was his Excellency Captain General Manuel Isidoro Belzu, President of
the republic of Bolivia. After shaking hands and being offered a seat
on the sofa, I said to him: "That the President of the United States,
desiring a more active exchange of the productions between the two
Americas, I had the hope that a more direct route between the United
States and Bolivia might be found than by the way of Cape Horn." To
which the President replied: "He had heard of my arrival in La Paz,
and was pleased to see me. My country," said he, "is in its infancy. I
would be the more pleased to join hands with the United States, because
we are all Americans. You may depend upon me for aid and assistance in
your enterprise." Upon the entrance of some persons in uniform, we rose
to take our leave. Before doing so, however, I was introduced to the
Minister of War, who was an older looking soldier than the President
himself.
Upon inquiring how the President came by some wounds in his face, I
was told that in September, 1850, Belzu was invited to take a walk in
the alameda of Sucre. A friend persuaded him to continue on outside
the usual promenade, where they met some persons riding on horseback,
upon the report of whose pistols Belzu fell, three balls having entered
his head. The ruffians escaped from the country; the friend was shot
in the plaza of the capitol before Belzu was well enough to interfere
in his behalf. The plan was well laid, and so sure were the intended
murderers that his days were ended, they rode off, leaving him on the
ground, shouting "viva Ballivian," an ex-president, who at that time
was known to be lingering along the boundary line between Bolivia and
the Argentine republic.
This attempt to assassinate Belzu made him the more popular. The country
is taught that his escape was Providential, and he had been spared for
the good of the people.
As we recrossed the plaza one thousand horsemen were waiting orders. The
horses small, but spirited, were in good order. The men, too, are larger
and a more daring-looking set of fellows than those of the infantry we
saw; each man wore a small scarlet cloak, and upon close examination I
found every one of them had brass armor breast-plates; such as we read
were worn by the ancients.
We visited the several ministers of the government, of whom there are
three, according to the last constitution. Their families are with
some of them, and government clerks travel about the country with the
President. A part of the standing army marches in advance, and a part
in the rear, as the administration winds along the narrow road through
the Andes. The artillery does not travel, the roads being too narrow and
rough for the cannon to pass on wheels. It may be taken from Oruro to
Cuzco through the Titicaca basin, for there the country is level, and
a railroad might be built without much expense for bridges or cutting
through hills.
The arms used by this army are the old tower flint muskets, kept in
bad order. The cavalry have a short carbine slung to the saddle, and
carry a lance kept very bright and sharp, to which is attached a small
swallow-tailed red flag. They manœuvre by the sound of the bugle; when
in motion the noise made by enormous spurs and bridle-bits sounds not
unlike that of a tin pedler's wagon. The horses are not well gaited,
and some of the men bad riders; they all lean back, as though riding
down hill all the time. There was not much discipline among the cavalry,
unless smoking paper cigars and drinking chicha are regulations for
cavalry drill. The women fancy the horsemen; crowds of them collect
to look on. Some of them bring chicha, and with the most daring manner
slip in between the horses a jug or light for a cigar. The population
of Cochabamba is composed of about one man to five women, or more when
the government comes. There are an unusual number of weddings, for the
beauties of Cochabamba are thought to surpass those of other towns in
the country.
The public force of Bolivia is composed of a standing army, an organized
national guard, or militia, and a police. The standing army consists of
three thousand men, with one officer to every six soldiers. Indians are
not enlisted, they being considered the agriculturists of the country.
Bolivia has a population of about one million five hundred thousand;
more than one-half are Indians, so that there is one soldier in the
standing army for less than every two hundred and fifty Creoles. The
cost of maintaining this army is not less than one million of dollars
per annum, drawn from the labor of the aborigines. This is a heavy tax,
when we consider that the value of the exports, exclusive of silver and
gold, are not over five hundred thousand dollars a year.
The organized militia, about twenty thousand strong, are ready to defend
their country, and when called out, fight bravely. Those who are natives
of the Andes have an advantage over the soldiers of the lower countries,
in being able to exert themselves in a then natural atmosphere. When
men who live in the lowlands travel to the height of fifteen thousand
feet above sea level, they give out for want of breath, and lay harmless
upon the ground, while the Bolivian soldier smokes his paper cigar with
comfort, and laughs at the imprudence of his enemy.
We visited the family of a countryman, the widow and two handsome
children of a gentleman very much respected by the people of this
country. His son, a fine-looking little fellow of ten years of age, had
the manners of a Spaniard, and spoke his mother's language; but the
quick flash of his black eye, and his desire to join our expedition,
plainly bespoke his relationship to Uncle Sam. His sister, the elder of
the two, promises to be the beauty of Cochabamba.
At daylight in the morning we passed the river Mamoré; it is called
here Rio Grande. The Indians waded across knee-deep. The width of the
bed of the river was about one hundred and fifty yards, with bottom of
stones and gravel. The water is drawn off at this season of the year
for irrigating the beautiful gardens of Calacala, opposite the city,
and close under the mountains. As the sun rose we met Indians going to
market with the vegetables of Calacala. The ride on horseback through
roads shaded by willows is delightful at this hour of the morning. My
companion's horses were the finest in gait and action I saw in South
America. The Indians were reaping lucerne to load their donkeys. The
jackasses are large; attention is paid to the breeding of them with an
eye to size. They are more required by farmers than mules or horses.
Oxen are used for ploughing, and donkeys for marketing.
Flowers are in full bloom; strawberries are nearly ripe. Christmas is
not far off; peach, orange, and fig-trees are loaded with fruit. This
is the time of the morning to count the weddings, as the parties pass
us on horseback.
The Indians cultivate with a hoe; they work the ground very carefully
and neatly, manuring and keeping the plants of the strawberries clear
of weeds. The patches of onions, cabbages, and maize are very fine. In
a peach orchard we see a grape-vine overrunning a tree, and loaded with
fruit. There was a time when fifteen thousand bottles of wine per annum
were made at one hacienda, near the base of this ridge to the southeast,
but its manufactory has been abandoned in favor of chicha.
As we turn back we hear thunder to the east, and a heavy black cloud
covers up the bright morning sun. Before us in the road was a loaded
jackass, slowly walking before an Indian woman with a heavy weight on
her back, while she carried a sucking child in her arms; behind her a
poor old blind horse bore two stout, well-built, lazy-looking mestizos,
with more Indian than Spanish in their composition. Their long legs
hung down so straight that they looked like natural appurtenances of
the animal they rode. Around their shoulders they each had wrapped a
comfortable poncho.
After spending some time at a hacienda we reached the river again on
our return, and were surprised to find the stream swollen so much that
the Indians could not cross with their loads. Close by us were a number
of Creoles on horseback discussing the chances for horsemen to cross.
One man, mounted upon a tall horse, risked it; entering the stream, he
waded, turning the horse's head diagonally up stream, and passed safely.
I was delighted when I saw our two lazy companions kicking their heels
into the sides of their little blind pony, and urging it where the horse
evidently had sense enough to know he should not venture. However, the
riders had their way, but steered down stream instead of up. When they
got into the deepest, the rushing waters rose on the horse's quarter,
and the animal went down stern first, carrying ponchos and company
under. When their heads appeared above water, the shouts of laughter
from not less than one hundred Indians, made the valley ring. The men
were so frightened they clung to the horse as soon as he could get up to
breathe, and down they all went again. Finally, they aided each other,
and so found their way back, leaving the horse to take care of himself.
In two hours the water ran off, and we crossed without a ducking.
The valley of Cochabamba supplies many parts of Bolivia with flour;
wheat, maize, and barley are transported to the miners of Potosi and
Oruro, and to the coffee or chocolate planters of Yungas. This has been
called the granary of Bolivia; although it is at the base of the Andes,
yet it is higher than the garden of Yungas. Following the course of the
Mamoré, from Tapacari into the bottom of the Madeira Plate, the descent
is long and gradual.
The apple, the pear, and the quince, are produced in the valley of
Cochabamba; coffee and chocolate in Yungas. These are not plants that
flourish by the side of each other. Yungas is thickly wooded. Here
the hills and some of the plains are too dry to produce any vegetation
without the help of man.
The winds seem to draw up into the Yungas valley more than here, while
the crops suffer for the want of rain, and the heavens over Cochabamba
are perfectly clear. We have seen heavy clouds driven along the northern
side of the range, and heavy rains pouring down just on the edge of
the ridge, far enough on the south side to flood the tributaries of
the river which flow past the city. The clouds come in contact with the
Andes' sides, and seem to be turned and twisted up, so that sheets of
water fall to the earth, and produce a growth of forest trees. The winds
drive well up into Yungas, loaded with moisture, and meeting the great
Illimani and Sorata, form an immense quantity of snow and ice.
The moisture of this valley is carried up through the ravines of
Tapacari, and strike the table-lands on the Andes, where we met the
cedar bushes.
The rainy period fluctuates in some seasons a month. At Cochabamba it
usually commences about the first week in December, but sometimes there
are few showers until the first part of January; yet it seems, from our
observations, that the heavy rains have set in in sight of the city;
while here, the 15th of December, it has not commenced to rain.
In the garden of the minister of haciendas, we were shown the morus
multicaulis, which had been lately imported. In comparison with those we
have seen growing in North America, they appeared to be in a congenial
climate and soil. The minister was fond of gardening, and was at
work early in the morning, giving the Indians instructions before he
went to a cabinet meeting. While the husband travelled about with the
government, his wife remained at home raising silk. She appeared with
a basket of cocoons. Most of the cabinet families were from Sucre.
The ladies of that city are celebrated through the country for elegant
manners. It is impossible to resist the temptation to notice the beauty
of the fair sex in this part of the country.
Lemons, limes, and oranges are raised in Calacala, but not in
perfection; pumpkins and peppers seem to flourish better. Seven cuttings
of lucerne are made here in the year. The cattle and horses are kept
in fine order upon it. Donkeys are fastened by a fore-foot to a stake
driven in the ground; cattle are tied by the horns and fed. They are
seldom turned out in the field to pasture. The Indians plant a row of
quinua round maize, sweet potatoes, or other patches. The animals will
not eat it, and are even afraid to touch it. This is the only fence
we have seen in the country, except those built of adobe, which are
generally so high that the view of the garden is entirely obstructed
from the road. The quinua plant grows from four to six feet high, and
looks like a coarse weed. The grain is small, like turnip seed, and very
nutritious. It is an important crop in this country, particularly on
the table-lands. When boiled like rice, and eaten with milk, it is very
savory.
The flowers raised in the gardens are generally those imported from
other countries; the tube rose and others are cultivated in perfection.
There are no pretty flowers indigenous to this part of the country,
except the Indian girls.
The alameda is frequented in the evening; there are plenty of seats,
but for the want of water the plants and walks are in disorder. The
level walk is about eight hundred yards long from a large brick arched
entrance to the bank of the river. The arches were decorated with
representations of battles and great men. We noticed a white figure
very much besmeared with mud thrown at it. Over the head of the figure,
letters carved in stone expressed the name of BALIVIAN. He had been thus
pelted by the soldiers of his successor, each man as he passed showing
his love of country by flinging a handful of mud at the image of the
late President.
The legislative power is vested in a Congress composed of two houses—one
of representatives; the other of senators—all elected by the people
for the term of four years. There is one senator for the department of
Litoral; three for each of the larger departments; one for the Beni, and
two for Tarija—twenty-two senators at present. No man can be elected a
senator who has less than a thousand dollars a year income, or who has
suffered imprisonment by law. The value placed upon a representative is
fifteen hundred dollars income.
By the last constitution, Congress is directed to meet at the capital
every two years, on the 6th of August, and to remain in session seventy
days.
The President has the power to change the place of meeting at regular
or extra sessions to any part of the country, when in his opinion there
is danger from internal or external wars.
One representative is elected by thirty thousand creoles, and one for
the fraction of twenty thousand, counted by departments, whose governors
or prefects are appointed by the President.
A President is elected for the term of five years, and cannot be
re-elected until another term of five years has expired. We believe
there never has been an election of President by the people. The last
President came into office by overthrowing the government.
The power of the government of Bolivia rests upon its armed force. The
voting population is thinly scattered over an extensive country, and
the army is large. Intelligent people of this country much dislike the
mother country—Spain. They blame her rulers for the manner in which the
creole portion of South America were treated while she held the country.
To keep them ignorant and get their silver was the sole policy of that
government.
I was surprised to be invited to the house of a family in great
distress. The husband and father was thought to be dying. Without
understanding why I was asked, I went. The house was situated on the
corner of a street opposite to a church. It was crowded with ladies
and gentlemen. The patio was filled with frame-work, made of reed, some
ten feet high, to which fire-works were fastened. The street in front
was crowded, and the centre of it carpeted the length of the house. The
ladies on the balconies, as far as we could see along the street, were
dressed in white, and had gathered quantities of flowers in baskets.
The gentlemen were dressed in deep black, as if going to church. We
were introduced to the lady of the house, who seemed to be greatly
distressed, but was engaged paying attention to the people like at a
ball. Her daughters were dressed with flowers, and with so much care as
to lead us astray. The father was evidently dying in the next room, the
doctors being said to have given him up.
The sound of music drew us all to the balconies to see a grand
procession. A large wooden image of a female was carried on a platform;
a company of regular soldiers followed with music; then came priests
and attendants, with lighted candles, and a long train of young padres,
all under a shower of flowers from the balcony. When the wooden image
appeared opposite the house, the men under the front part of the
platform let her down on the carpet; the priests knelt by her side. The
bells of the city churches struck, and the population took off their
hats and knelt in prayer for the dying man. After singing a hymn they
marched away to the music. The carpets were removed from the street,
and, as night came on, the fire-works commenced. Wires leading from the
sick man's bed-room to the altar of the church, carried messengers of
fire backwards and forwards, while brilliant fire works attached to the
great frames were set off along the street. The noise made about the
poor man was deafening. The crowd of people returned home, stopping on
their way for ice-cream sold in little shops alongside of the plaza. In
a few days after the doctors reported the sick man out of danger. The
cost of these proceedings was two hundred dollars.
The climate of Cochabamba is very apt to deceive persons from the Andes.
The people here are very careful about their dress, and never expose
themselves by drinking water or sitting in a draft of wind when heated;
severe colds taken in this way, with sore throats, frequently cause
death.
We observe the same phenomenon as in the Titicaca basin. A vertical sun
shines upon the valley, and at mid-day its effects are very powerful;
while all around, on the tops of the highlands, hang curtains of clouds
reaching half way down the mountains. The air underneath and on the
snow, near the city, becomes very cold, and suddenly a puff of wind
comes down, bringing along the clouds, and the population are shivering.
In an instant they clap on their woollen ponchos and close their doors.
We have had processions through the streets for some days. Padres, with
bands of music and wooden images, praying for rain, as the crops are
suffering in some parts of the valley. Numbers of Indians join as they
pass along. The praying continued till rain fell, and then the Indians
believed the priests had the power of persuading the Almighty to send
them relief.
We met the bishop of Cochabamba in society. He inquired anxiously
whether "the people of the United States wanted to navigate the
rivers of Bolivia?" He was told that "they desired to trade with the
Bolivians." After he left, a lady said he was opposed to the opening
of the navigable streams of the country to the commerce of the United
States, and had informed the people that it would be the cause of
declaring religious liberty.
The cabinet ministers returned visits, and expressed themselves highly
in favor of the enterprise. The minister of state said my proposition
should be attended to as soon as they arrived at the capital, and he
should be pleased to hear from me, should I wish to address him on the
subject.
The President enclosed a short note to the principal families in the
city, saying he regretted his public duties kept him so much confined
that he had not time to call upon them, but if they had any orders for
Potosi or Sucre, he would be happy to attend to them.
The government troops were drawn up in the plaza on Sunday, December
21, 1851, and after being inspected, the cavalry was ordered off in
advance of the president, who has appointed Monday morning for his own
departure.
A fine-looking man, who had been colonel under Balivian, and left
the country when Belzu came into power, had recently returned to
Cochabamba. As he took no particular or active part in politics, and
was successfully farming in the valley, his friends persuaded him to go
and pay his respects to the President before he left. So he walked in
with some other persons. As he dined with us after his visit, we offer
the account he gave of it to a number of gentlemen, with the spirit
and merriment of a good actor on the stage. "I have come, sir," said
the colonel, bowing, "to pay my respects to the President of Bolivia."
Belzu in a rage. "You are the scoundrel who raised volunteers and fought
against me!" Colonel bowing again respectfully: "Yes, sir; and in doing
so I did what every officer is expected to do—obeyed the authorities of
my country." Belzu in greater rage. "Get out of my sight, sir; if ever
I hear of your taking part against me again, you will be shot in the
centre of the plaza." The Bolivians all laughed, and like himself seemed
to think it a very amusing visit. I noticed closely the effect produced
upon the faces of the party as they listened; not one of them looked
grave. They seemed to listen as though they expected some joke of the
sort, or with admiration of a noble looking fellow for daring to speak
out so freely of what had taken place. He left us after dinner, and in
the evening we saw him standing in the plaza telling a number of his
friends the same story. Many leading men who belonged to the Balivian
party kept very close while the President remained here. The election
of president is a fighting affair usually.
At fifteen minutes past twelve, at midnight, we had one heavy shock of
an earthquake. I heard the door shake and my bed move as though some
person had taken hold of one of the posts and given it a violent jerk.
The people in the next room hurried out, and the whole population was
up in a moment. The scraping of matches and grasping of candles was
terrible. The dogs howled in the most mournful way all over the city;
horses rushed round the corral as though frightened half to death. The
atmosphere was filled with a strong odor of sulphur. The night was clear
and starlight, the thermometer standing at 72°. The population trembled
in silence expecting the great Andes would again shake; but the night
continued calm.
Throughout our route we have observed a great work of displacement going
on. The earth seems to be fashioning itself into shape. The mountains
are being carried off to the lowlands by the floods, and the dry lands
seem to be growing at the expense of the sea.
In the morning we mounted our horses, and a number of persons prepared
to accompany the President entered the street. We were told he had long
since gone with the whole army at 4 o'clock.
Many of the Indian girls and boys have followed the army. Families find
great difficulty in keeping servants from going off. It is amusing to
see troops of women following after the cavalry, sometimes three on one
horse, or two on a donkey, with kitchen utensils and bed-room furniture,
serving in the place of riding gear, but without any idea that they are
going to the frozen peaks of Potosi.
There are a few foreigners in Cochabamba—English, French, German, and
Scotch; some of them engaged in mining. All expect to make fortunes very
soon; but say they have been thirty and forty years in the country, and
are poorer now than when they came. A hard-working, cheerful, honest
Scotchman, who had been a number of years in a woollen factory in New
York, told me the most unfortunate thing he ever did was to leave the
United States.
The wages paid the Indians for mining silver varies according to the
value and hardness of the veins—from twelve to sixty dollars the yard.
The mines containing water are cleared by the means of llama skin
buckets, passed from hand to hand. This required a number of Indians,
working day and night. If a man could not make his fortune with a
corn-shelling machine in this country, he would very much astonish the
natives by the use of such a convenient implement.
The merchants of Cochabamba send off every week a supply of goods to the
valley of Clisa, a short distance to the southeast of this city. The
Indians from the surrounding country come in on Sunday to buy at what
is called the weekly fair. Six hundred dollars worth of chicha have been
sold in a day at these fairs. A foreigner once had this liquor prepared
by pounding the corn between stones, and offered it to some of the
country ladies to drink. An old chicha toper, after tasting it, said,
"for her part, she much preferred chicha made of chewed corn, which gave
it a different flavor from that made by the stones, and she was fond of
good chicha."
The merchants make their remittances to the sea-coast by putting
twenty-two hundred dollars in silver in bags well covered with leather,
forty-four hundred dollars being a mule load. The arriero signs the bill
of lading and arms himself for the robbers. Sixteen dollars per mule
load is paid for delivering it at Tacna, in Peru, near Arica. The trip
is made in fourteen days. It is strange that these trains are seldom
robbed among the uninhabited regions of the Andes and Cordilleras,
where the arriero sleeps upon the mountain-top or in the deep gorge by
himself.
The trip from Cochabamba to Cobija is made in forty days. The distance
is two hundred and nineteen leagues.
Since 1830, the government have thought it policy to debase their
coins about twenty-six per cent, worse than ordinary dollar standard;
sometimes they have exceeded this standard. Their doubloons of 1827
to 1836 contain eight hundred and seventy parts of fine gold in one
thousand. The dollars and portions from 1827 to 1840 are from six
hundred and seventy to nine hundred and three fine in the one thousand,
showing very great irregularities.
The consumption of their cotton cloths and silks increases as we move
east, and where the climate is warmer. The Indian girls are seamstresses
here, and are very handy workers with the needle. Wine, rum, and dried
fish are imported from Peru, for which wheat, maize, and soap are given
in exchange, making up the balance of trade with Peru in silver.
The inland situation of these people places them so far from the markets
of other countries, that they are obliged to supply their own wants very
much, and we find various descriptions of industry. Weavers produce
beautiful cotton and woollen cloths; hatters form hats of the vicuña
wool equal to well-taught workmen. We found them much more comfortable
than our own. The women cut out and make dresses, and tailors abound.
Blacksmiths are in greater numbers, and carpenters' shops, a rare
establishment on the mountains, indicate our close proximity to the
forests. Cabinet-makers supply the city with much furniture, although
the deficiency is still apparent. We have seen a train of jackasses
entering the city loaded with cane-bottomed chairs manufactured in the
United States, and another train loaded with iron bedsteads from France,
while the shops are well supplied with ornamental woods. The difficulty
in producing is from a want of a proper teaching of the trades. A boy
handles a North American chisel very awkwardly, while the head of the
shop stands in the doorway smoking a paper cigar, with a broadcloth coat
on his back, and a poncho over that.
While the President was in Cochabamba, a young man was presented to
him, who it was said "invented" a piano. He was highly praised, and his
piano valued as a home production. The tin men are good workers after
their own fashion, but they seem indisposed to be employed out of their
usual routine. We wanted a funnel, one inch perpendicular at the mouth,
for the purpose of catching rain, and measuring the quantity of water
during the rainy season. The most experienced tinner in town looked at
the drawing and measurements, but handing it back, said, "I never work
my tin up in that shape;" though he willingly made us a common funnel;
there appeared no disposition to be uncivil or disobliging, but a very
strong indisposition to exert the brain. We see few men saving their
hands' labor by practising head-work.
The tin is found in the Titicaca basin, carried over the Cordilleras,
and shipped around Cape Horn to the United States; manufactured, then
re-shipped, and after doubling Cape Horn a second time, returns by the
mouth of the mine, crosses the Andes, and is sold here to make tin pans,
funnels, and coffee pots for the original miners.
There are few jewellers in the city; now and then a travelling German
sets up shop, and does a good business for a while. The bishops and
priests carry their timepieces, and visit him before breakfast. Many
persons having business with the church, go to the jewellers to settle;
then they have an opportunity of seeing clocks and watches that excite
a penchant for antiquities.
The gunsmiths are tolerably good. There are more old pieces in their
shops than new ones. It is doubtful if a Cochabambino ever "invented"
a gun, but they repair stocks and barrels to satisfaction, and charge
double prices.
Indian women purchase of the merchants cotton goods, needles, thread,
beads, scissors, brass or silver thimbles, and small looking glasses,
which they retail in the plaza under the willow trees and along the
shady sides of the streets, working at their needles, or spinning wool
and cotton by hand, during any leisure; others sell shoes. The fruit
huxters are invariably the fattest, and the dry goods sellers the best
looking, and always dressed surprisingly neat. The girls from Calacala,
who bring potatoes and quinua, have a more country air.
CHAPTER VI.
Market place—Cinchona bark—Funeral
ceremonies—Longevity—Kindness of British and Brazilian
ministers—French schoolmistresses—Ancient habitation—Sucre,
the capital—Departments of Chuquisaca and Tarija—River
Bermejo—Distribution of vegetable life—Visit to
Lake Uarauara—Snow line—Balls—Theatre—Department of
Santa Cruz—Creole population—Daily life—Province of
Chiquitos—Indians—Labors of the Jesuits—Paraguay river.
On the regular days the market place is crowded with Indians selling,
while creoles are the principal buyers. The market is conveniently
arranged; on one side are the dry-goods huxters; on another, those
with shoes and beads. Beef, mutton, and pork are kept by themselves,
while fruits occupy a separate part. In the centre a number of women
cook chupe for those who are from home. In the street stand droves of
jackasses patiently waiting with forefeet hobbled. Children sleep while
slung to their mothers' backs. The gay laugh of the Indian girls often
makes the country boys sputter their chupe. Small bundles of wood and
charcoal are brought from the further side of the ridge. Indians leave
town with the setting sun and return during the night, driving donkeys
loaded with snow to be sold to the ice-cream facturers. These various
businesses are on a small scale, but all contribute their mite, and the
market of Cochabamba is well supplied with everything the inhabitants
need. The candle-makers do a good business. Oil costs so much after the
transit across the mountains that it is seldom used. We were present
when a merchant unpacked some boxes of French wines and sweet oil. Every
fourth bottle was broken, and some bottles empty. This loss was deducted
from the pay of the arriero. The poor man looked sad at the smallness
of his receipts after fourteen days labor over the mountains from the
coast. French articles excite the fancy of the people very much, such as
work-boxes, cigar cases, fancy lace. The women sometimes buy, for the
sake of getting the pretty paper boxes the French put their goods in.
Very common glassware sells well, but costly articles are more or less
injured by the journey, and find few purchasers here. The people are
more fond of trade than any other employment; they seem to take pleasure
in buying and selling again, and to possess an active industry seldom
met with.
[Illustration: COCHABAMBA MARKET WOMAN.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The great business house in Cochabamba is the bank for the deposit
and purchase of cinchona bark, gathered along the northeast side of
a ridge in the province of Yuracares. This bark was first gathered in
quantities in 1849, though known for many years. The best quality is
not quite equal to that of Yungas, but only second to it. There are four
other classes of inferior bark, for some of which the bank pays fifteen
dollars per quintal. The best, by law, is worth fifty-four dollars. The
freight to Arica is seventeen dollars the mule load of three quintals.
Six thousand quintals of bark have already been gathered from Yuracares.
The bank was established in the year 1851. Mr. Haenke mentioned the
existence of cinchona bark on his visit to Yuracares in 1796, but it
was never closely examined until 1850, when it was found to be of such
good quality that the people of Cochabamba endeavored to get a bank
established upon an improved plan. This was not agreeable to those at
La Paz, and when the Yuracares bark was sent to that bank to have its
value determined, it was pronounced bad. The judges of Tacna, Lima, and
Valparaiso gave a different opinion. A shrewd business man of Cochabamba
requested his agent in La Paz to forward a quintal of Yungas bark that
had already passed inspection as good bark through their bank. It was
then made up in the Cochabamba fashion, and bearing a Yuracares mark,
was sent back to the La Paz bank. In regular course it was pronounced
bad. The case was then laid before the government; a new company was
formed, and a bank was established here, but without the proposed
improvements.
The eighth article of the last constitution declares, "All men may enter
the territory of Bolivia, live in it, and are at liberty to take away
with them their property, paying duties to the treasury, according to
laws of police and the custom-house."
The forests are open to all who choose to enter them; the business is
more valuable than mining. Men sometimes remain after the rainy season
has commenced. We have dreadful accounts of the loss of life among the
woodsmen this month (December) by the sickness brought on by exposure to
the climate. Many poor families are without husbands and fathers. They
have died in the woods, while seeking fortunes.
The Indians comparatively pay little attention to the business. They
make use of cinchona, as well as of other barks, but seldom trade with
it. There is a bark from the province of Matto Grosso, in Brazil, which
the Indians prefer in cases of fever and ague. It is from a large tree
with very small leaves, violet blossoms, and the bark very hard. They
boil it in water till the decoction becomes deep red, and then drink
it. It is said by them to be a certain cure, although this bark is not
yet known in the trade. The bank is obliged to keep watchmen along the
roads to the entrances of the forests during the time the government
prohibits the gathering of bark, to see there is no smuggling. This plan
is both difficult and expensive. From Yungas the woodsmen sometimes find
their way into Peru by secret paths through the tangled forests, and
exchange bark under the shade of trees in the Amazon basin for the gold
of Carabaya. It is astonishing to see the toil and labor these poor men
go through under tropical sun and rains for this article of trade; yet
neither they nor those having the monopoly appear to be accumulating
money. The expenses of labor, the distance from market, and the want of
system in the business appear to be obstructions. The law requires the
woodsman to sell his bark to the bank; the company again are required
by the same law to pay fixed prices per quintal. The market prices in
the northern countries are so low that the bank is occasionally obliged
to stop. The woodsmen crowd in and require money for their bark; the
business becomes choked, and the people engaged are dissatisfied. Then
the government is called upon for temporary relief for money to pay the
woodsmen, or a decree to prohibit the gathering of bark until the market
prices rise.
While in Cochabamba we witnessed ceremonials for the funeral of a little
child. A number of ladies came to prepare the infant for the grave.
They dressed it in a white silk frock, fastened on by diamond rings,
and trimmed with gold and silver threads; the little feet and head
bare. In its right hand was placed a golden cross, and in the left a
small silver lamb. The coffin was lined with deep-blue silk, inside of
which was placed a little bed; the whole hung by three bands of blue
and white ribbon. While the ladies were engaged upon this preparation,
they laughed and talked as though making very different preparations.
The mother and family were brought in to see the arrangements. Six
little boys, dressed in black, held the ribbons, and carried the child
towards the church. The ladies, headed by the commadre (godmother) of
the dead infant, followed, and after them friends on foot. The eldest
sister was the only one of the family who followed to the church. As
the boys moved along through the streets, Indian women crowded round to
look at and admire the finery. The boys were cautioned to see that none
of the jewellery were stolen. These are taken off after the body leaves
the church for the graveyard, where the coffin is placed on a shelf in
a brick wall above ground. Great care is taken that the coffin is not
stolen, particularly when it is an expensive one. The same coffin is
sold several times for eight dollars. Among the mestizos we are told are
found many bad people. Twenty priests, with lighted candles, knelt in
prayer by the music of "misa de las Angelas"—angels' mass. The ladies
returned to the house of the mother, and spent the evening sociably, as
though nothing had happened. The regular custom of the country is to
have music and dancing in the house before the corpse is taken to the
church, and even to bring in chicha; but as the father of this child
was a foreigner, no such practice was permitted. The doctrine taught by
the church seems to be, that as the child is in Heaven, it is cause for
rejoicing and merry-making. This appears to be a bounty for negligence
and inattention to life.
I saw a funeral passing through the streets of Cochabamba, preceded
by a man with a five-gallon jar of chicha on his head. At the corners
of the streets, when those who carried the corpse were tired, they all
drank and sang, until the whole party became intoxicated, so that they
did not reach the graveyard at all, and the funeral was postponed until
the next day, when the same forms were practised we saw the day before.
This is the case only among the mestizos; the Indians are more orderly;
show a more quiet respect, natural, and proper feeling. They often sit
silently in rows by a corpse all night mourning for the loss of a fellow
Indian. There is among them a deep, heartfelt expression, that carries
with it outwardly an unmistakeable and truthful inward grief.
The funeral of a wealthy creole is attended by gentlemen dressed in
black, invited by printed cards, who carry long tallow candles through
the streets, accompanied by music. A train of Franciscan friars and
portable altars put up at the corners between the houses and some
church. Masses are said agreeably to order, and a charge is made in the
funeral bills for chicha, cigars, coca, wine, cooking apparatus, with
other church expenses, amounting to nearly three hundred dollars. We
witnessed such a bill paid for a friend, and could not avoid making a
comparison between the articles and the list of mess stores drawn up by
an old sailor on the eve of his departure for a cruise round Cape Horn.
Men do not live to a very old age in Cochabamba, eighty years being
the oldest known at present. Girls sometimes bear children at the age
of thirteen; twelve years is the marriageable age, both for creoles
and Indians. The proportion of marriages in this country is small
for the amount of population. I regret to be obliged to say the most
moral portion is found among the aboriginal race. The Indian, with
his wife and children around him, cultivates the soil, while the
creoles and mestizos are idle and generally unmarried people. Since
the establishment of the government, in the year 1826 to the year 1851,
during twenty-five years, the population has increased from about one
million to one million and a half. Few people leave the country, and
few emigrate to it.
In the streets of Cochabamba there are many beggars, blind and crazy.
It was the practice of one friend to open his door and let into the
patio on Saturday about fifty miserable-looking creatures—men, women,
and children—not one of them Indians; each was served with two loaves
of bread by the hands of his little daughters.
Through the polite interposition of her Britannic Majesty's minister in
Sucre, the Brazilian envoy kindly sent me passports to the authorities
on my route, and also wrote to the governor of the province of Matto
Grosso in my behalf.
The Extraordinary Minister Plenipotentiary from Brazil had made a
short speech to the President and his cabinet, at a dinner in Sucre,
on the navigation of the Amazon river and its tributaries, by which
it was understood he had been sent to desire the exclusive right to
navigate the branches of the Madeira flowing through the territory
of Bolivia. An enterprising and intelligent gentleman, engaged in the
trade of cinchona bark in Cochabamba, and a friend of President Belzu,
answered the Brazilian minister. He said it would be more advantageous
to Bolivia to grant that privilege to a company belonging to a nation
who would introduce the mechanic arts, machinery, and agricultural
implements, into the lowlands and proper tools for mining operations. He
was in favor of the navigation being opened to the commercial people of
North America. To this the Brazilian minister replied, that the North
Americans had already annexed a large territory from Mexico, and he
considered such a proposition an invitation for them to come to South
America. As he had not been received in an official character by the
government of Bolivia, he demanded his passport, and retired from the
contest.
In the opinion of some, it was thought a wise plan to induce the
President of Bolivia to declare towns on the branches of the Madeira
free ports of entry to the commerce of the world. By others it was
considered an impolitic movement, as there might be proved a necessity
to land cargoes in the territory of Brazil at certain points of
obstruction between the Atlantic and Bolivia, and no affront should be
offered the Brazilian government, with whom it was necessary to be upon
good terms for the accomplishment of a great commercial enterprise. The
merchants of Cochabamba used their influence with the cabinet ministers
to discourage any act which might stand in the way of a right to pass
down to the ocean through the territory of Brazil, or, in case of
natural obstructions—such as falls and rapids—to prevent an amicable
arrangement for portages on land between these two nations.
The President has appointed two French ladies schoolmistresses for the
public schools supported by the government for the education of the
poor children in Cochabamba. These ladies come from the other side of
the world to teach, and by our particular request one of them promised
to lead the ideas of the children along the current of the small stream
flowing by the school-house through all its turnings, until she got them
to understand how easy it would be to go that way to the land of her
forefathers.
A large congregation of the intelligent people of Cochabamba were
present at the opening of this institution. The prefect of the
department and bishop appeared in their official robes. The gentlemen
present were of many colors.
The ladies of Cochabamba very seldom smoke or use tobacco, except as
snuff, and then it seems to be for the pleasure of sneezing; a practice
frequently resorted to by the bishop, who wore a handsome diamond ring.
The prefect addressed the audience, and gave his authority for opening
the institution. One of the French ladies rose and read, in a clear
and intelligible voice, thanks to the government for her appointment,
promising to exert herself to the best of her ability, setting forth
the wide difference between the well-educated lady and the savage woman.
There are three schools in the city for boys, and two other small
ones for girls. The great difficulty seems to be in the selection of
teachers. While the government was here the boys had holiday, the troops
being quartered in the school-houses.
There was no public journal published in Cochabamba on our arrival;
but a Ramage press was soon set in motion upon the subject of the
navigable rivers and commerce of Bolivia. A pamphlet was published,
called "Revista"; we received the first number, and found that the young
merchants of the city had contributed _poetry_.
The "Revista" is the fourth public journal in the country. Besides two
small papers in La Paz, there is one published in Sucre—"El Eco de la
Opinion," which with the rest are all careful to be of the same opinion
as the government upon public as well as private matters. Indeed, we
perceive no freedom of expression, as we would consider it in the United
States.
The Indians' houses are small and generally have but one room. In the
centre is a high adobe stand, built up to obstruct a view from the
street. In one corner is an adobe bedstead, which is used for a seat.
Around the earthy wall is hung a strip of cotton cloth to protect
visitors' clothes from being soiled. In a small wooden box all the
valuables are kept, such as clothes, money, and ornaments. On the wall
are hung a few pictures of saints and angels, purchased from the clergy,
with here and there a wooden cross, decorated with flowers. In one
corner are earthen and copper pots or kettles, with a few large stones,
between which the fire is made. In another corner is usually found a
squadron of white, black, or yellow Guinea pigs, grunting and burrowing
in the ground floor to the great amusement of the aboriginal children,
who are very partial to them when converted into chupe.
The ancient habitations of the Indians of this valley are rotund, built
entirely of moistened clay and stone, with but one entrance. These
houses are going out of fashion, though many of them are used at the
present day. There are a number of ruins about the valley, supposed to
be of the style of ancient times. The art of building archways was an
accomplishment of the Aymara tribe, of which we found no signs near the
Inca capital.
The Indian ploughs a strait furrow with a team of oxen, although he
knew nothing of such animals until the Spaniard came. He rides a young,
unbroken horse bare-backed, sticking so close to the hide that his legs
chafe the hair off; yet his forefathers had not a donkey to practise
upon. The Indian is desirous that his children shall be taught. A
fine-looking old man wanted to know if I would have his son to bring up,
informing me of his good qualities, and saying that José had told him I
was the sort of man to whom he should give his child. He evidently was
not pleased at my declining his offer, notwithstanding José explained
to him that my home was far off to the north; to which he replied, "No
importa;" that was no objection.
A number of lakes are in the valley and on the mountains in the
neighborhood of this city. During a dry time, no frogs are heard; but
the moment the thunder roars, or the lightning flashes, they sing songs
of thankfulness; the valley is made gay with their voices after rains.
The wild ducks bathe in the calm waters, near the willow trees which
shade the Indian's hut, and is also adorned with sweet orange blossoms,
while the dry barren hills are baked into crust, and the sheared sheep
look half starved for want of pasture.
The clover or lucerne that fattens horses, mules, horned cattle, and
jackasses, is not relished by the sheep and llama. The latter animal is
seldom found here, and unless forced down, never seeks the climate or
grasses of this valley. The horse as well as black cattle thrive, and
the hog is at his ease. There are few bees; we observe ants on clear
days providing against wet weather; they are very exclusive. Humming
birds are numerous; blackbirds, and three or four kinds resembling the
cedar bird and sparrow, are seen. An ugly and very ill-natured hawk
resides on the sides of the hills among the cactus and the doves.
[Illustration: ANCIENT QUICHUA INDIAN HUT, COCHABAMBA, Bolivia.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
We mounted our mules, which were saddled and fastened under a lemon
tree, early in the morning. After passing through the rich gardens
of Calacala, we wound our way through small bushes and cactus to the
hacienda "Miraflores," where the people go in the month of January every
year to eat strawberries and cream. As we rode up to the house an old
Indian's head appeared on the one side of a pea-patch in full flower,
as the sun peeped through a gorge in the mountains on the other. We
were admiring the rich growth of vegetation at the base of the great
mountain range, where green fields of barley appear at the mouth of
a deep ravine, when we suddenly heard a crash, and looking round, saw
Richards with mule, saddle, and gear falling over the rocky ground, for
there was no road, and we had to take it rough and tumble; fortunately
there was nothing broken except the saddle-girth and the stock of a gun,
which the old Indian kindly enough assisted us in repairing, and sent
his little boy to show us a path leading up the mountain side, dry and
unproductive for some distance. Our mules were in fine condition, but
suffered in the steep ascent, being rather fat for such work. We met
jackasses descending with loads of potatoes, beans, peas, barley, and
oca, a species of potato, of a purple color, which is boiled and eaten
as a vegetable, or put in chupe. The Indians pay great attention to the
cultivation of the oca; its vine resembles the bean plant. Proceeding
still further, we met with good pasture for cattle. The oxen were in
fine condition, equal to those in the valley below. Here the Indians and
their families live the year round, cultivating their little gardens
for the markets of Cochabamba. Our mules are wet with perspiration,
and we gain an uncultivated and uninhabited region, clothed in a thick
sod of mountain grasses. The whistle of the vicuña is heard, and we
dismounted to get a shot at three large partridges, the size of hens,
the "Perdiz Grande," which are found on the pampas of Buenos Ayres.
Our mules suddenly turn gray by frost formed on the ends of their hair.
The clouds are forming, and we seat ourselves under their cool shade to
breakfast, with a snow-capped mountain above, and far below the valley
and city in full view. The farther side of the valley appears tilted up
out of its level; beyond are the everlasting mountains.
The road through those hills leads south to the capital Sucre, with a
population of 19,235. Sucre was founded by the title of "La Plata,"
silver, in a district known in the early days of the Spaniards as
"Charcas." It was afterwards changed to "Chuqui Chaca," the Indian
name for "gold place." It seems to have been a doubtful question among
the Spaniards which was most appropriate, a golden or a silver title,
both metals being found there. The republicans called the country after
"_their_ Washington," as Bolivar is often spoken of.
The department of Chuquisaca, of which Sucre is the capital, has a
population of 117,503 Creoles, and 34,287 Quichua Indians. Half of that
department is situated in the Madeira Plate, and the other in La Plata
basin. Sucre stands on the edge of each; the water flowing from the
south side of the city runs into the South Atlantic ocean; that towards
us pays tribute to the North Atlantic. The Mamoré waters this side of
the department, and the Pilcomayo the other side. We left the latter
stream, when first noticed, where it broke through the Andes in the
department of Potosi.
The climates of Potosi and Oruro are cold; those of Cochabamba and
Chuquisaca temperate. The sky in the night on this steppe is generally
clear. The productions of Chuquisaca are the same as in Cochabamba,
with the addition of pasture for cattle, and timber in the ravines.
In La Plata basin the traveller finds the Indian cultivating the sugar
cane on the banks of the Pilcomayo, and distilling brandy and rum. From
grapes he makes wine of good quality. The sugar mills are constructed of
timber at hand. The tropical fruits, as the orange, lemon, chirimoyas,
granadillas, and limes, grow in the valleys, while the productions of
the table lands of the cold regions are found among the hills. Near the
Andes, in the Pilcomayo, gold has been washed, and among the mountains
there are abandoned silver mines. Five silver mines are reported to
be worked at present. Stone coal, tin, copper, lead, and iron are
natives. Rice is raised there, and the chick pea or brown bean, so much
esteemed by the Spaniards. Particles of gold, rolled down from the foot
of the Andes, have been washed from the alluvial soil near the river.
It appears strange that gold should be found on the west side of the
Cordilleras, and at the eastern base of the Andes, while on top silver
predominates. We trace a connected outpouring of gold on the tributaries
of the Pilcomayo, Mamoré, Beni, and Madre-de-Dios. Our map will show
the links of this golden chain as wonderful as the golden legends told
of the wealth of the Incas.
There are some very curious and ancient remains of magnificent edifices
in the department of Chuquisaca which excite admiration, but to whom
they originally belonged still remains a mystery.
Looking far south we see on our map the department of Tarija, with
a population of 53,666 Creoles, and 9,108 friendly Indians; but the
eastern portion of this department is inhabited by tribes of very savage
Indians, of whom there is little known. They roam among the forests and
grassy plains, or among those great mountains which separate Bolivia
from the Argentines.
The town of Tarija, capital of the department, contains a population of
5,129, and is situated on one of the tributaries of the river Bermejo,
which flows through the Argentine confederation into the Paraguay. My
impressions, from information, are that the Bermejo is a deeper and a
slower-motioned stream than the Pilcomayo, and that small sail-vessels
may reach the town of Oran, a short distance south of the southern
boundary of Bolivia. We are not, however, as certain of this as we
are that the Pilcomayo has been reported not navigable in Bolivia.
There is a wide field for exploration on La Plata. Grape-vines produce
luxuriously in Tarija, and there the Paraguay tea—"yerba del Paraguay,"
is found. Cochabamba, Chuquisaca, and Tarija, are the corn-growing
departments of this country; Potosi and La Paz are the potato districts.
The distribution of vegetable life, as presented to us in their elevated
regions, places the potato the highest; the other plants run down in
order—quinua, barley, wheat, coffee, and sugar-cane. Therefore the
inhabitants on this side of the mountains have a self-sustaining supply
without looking to other countries for sugar, wine, flower, potatoes, or
tea; and the varieties of animal life offer them mutton and wool from
the highlands, with beef and tallow candles from the steppe, on which
exists the most dense population.
Our mules rested, and our breakfast over, we mount and slowly struggle
upwards again; the bright sun shines clear upon the city below, while
we have a cloudy day. It is interesting to see from under this cloudy
curtain the beautiful natural-colored scene on this stage of wonderful
creation. The panorama brilliantly lighted by the sun, which sparkles on
the waters of the river as they dash along among the deep green foliage.
The lakes are like mirrors, only rippled by the green breast of the wild
duck. A long train of mules winds along the road from the Pacific; we
just hear the great bell of the cathedral toll, when the clouds unroll
and fall, shutting out light and view, as a mountain eagle shrieks. The
scene soon changes as we climb higher up among the bare-headed rocky
peaks; on our left is one gray with the snows of perpetual winter; on
the right a great avalanche of earth has fallen from the crown of a
mountain into the ravine, as though blown off by the prevailing winds
from the opposite side. The jackasses we meet are loaded with fire-wood
and charcoal, from an extensive growth on the eastern face. The Indians
wear long hair on the back of the head, and never cultivate a growth on
their faces.
The water draining from the snow forms the Lake Uarauara, which is
dammed up at its outlet during the rainy season, and let out gradually
in the dry, for the supply of Cochabamba. The chart will show its
height above the city. We were disappointed in not finding game;
neither water-fowl nor fish were seen. The waters are transparent and
silent; nothing was moving except the clouds and the small veins of cold
snow-water. Thin sheets of ice lie near the lake, and patches of snow on
the brow of the mountains resemble white cloths spread out on the ground
to dry. Some of the rocks were broken in such perfect forms that we were
almost induced to take them for houses, and hunt up a washwoman. The
temperature of the water was 59°; air, 54°. In the valley of Cochabamba
the temperature of a spring was 62° Fahrenheit.
A small quantity of the snow on a peak near this lake remains through
the dry season; in the wet season the snow-line is constantly sliding
up and down the sides of the mountains. When very damp the snow appears
lowest, and sometimes reaches half-way down to Cochabamba; in the
morning, as the sun rises, and his effects are felt, the lower edge
of the snow-line is melted off, and to the eye it seems travelling up
hill. The clouds are regulated by the precipitation. When there is much
rain cloudy days follow, and the curtain round the valley arises from
the moisture on the mountains. The lower edge of the curtain is lowered
down in the morning exactly to the lower edge of the snow, and as it is
evaporated the curtain rises in the evening, in time for those in the
valley to behold the sun set behind clearly defined snow-peaks.
The climate, therefore, is very variable in the valley between the
months of December and May. I have noted the thermometer in Cochabamba,
12th January, at 69°; in five minutes after, it was as low as 52° in
the same place, in the shade. A man planting tube roses in his garden,
without a coat, and in sheeting trousers, would run suddenly into the
house for thick cloth clothing; in the mean time the hard hail-stones
destroy his flowers and drive cattle from their pastures.
Heavy storms frequently arise in the wet season, and blow violently
through the valley, from southeast. The hail beats so hard upon the pear
trees that the delicate leaves are broken from the upper branches, and
the blossoms are destroyed. The hot sun withers the ends of the limbs,
and they die, so that all the pear trees are stunted; and instead of
large, clear limbs, the under branches are sapped by numbers of suckers
that shoot out and rob the fruit of its life. Hence it is that not only
pears but apples are very indifferent, but might be improved by trimming
the trees, which the Indian does not seem to understand, and the creole
cares less for the tree than for the fruit.
[Illustration: LA LAGUNA DE UARA-UARA.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The willow grows up like a poplar; its narrow leaves present such a
small surface to the hail or sun that they may be said to grow between
the drops. It is the tallest tree in the valley. The willow naturally
grows by the side of streams, where the roots creep out into water or
swampy ground. The apple produces best on higher and drier earth. Almost
every plant in this valley has to be raised by irrigation.
We returned, after a harassing ride to Miraflores, "see the flowers,"
where we found the old Indian's wife had provided chupe for us, and
lucerne for our animals. She had stirred in so much "ajé"—the red dwarf
pepper—that we preferred her boiled corn. This seemed so strange she
dropped several stitches in the woollen stockings she was knitting,
and looked as much as to say, "Where do you come from, that you don't
like ajé?" When she was paid for her kindness, she laughed, gave us
apples, and sent her son to show the way through the peach trees and
strawberry patches. The attention of the Indians is much attracted to
hear us talking in English. They listen, look at each other, listen
again, and say "don't understand _that_." Then they close up and stand
in deep thought as they reflect. When they see we want anything they
offer assistance or kindness, which shows a frank, honest hospitality to
strangers. They seldom ask for anything; when they receive a gift it is
with a quiet modesty, which speaks their thanks more plainly than words.
On our return to Buena Vista, in town, near the alameda, we found José
with a fine young dog, which had been sent by a friend, and which we
named Mamoré. The dogs in this country are often a miserable breed of
curs. Mamoré appears to be a cross between a Spanish terrier and the
mastiff; while very brave he is very affectionate, and being young
enough to be spoiled by too much company, we train him as sentinel at
night, and keep him very exclusive; his services may be very much needed
on the journey; his color is yellowish brown, and he is of large size.
The Indians are so partial to dogs that they raise more than they can
conveniently support. The young aborigines seem to have greater fondness
for animals than for each other. We have seen two of them pelting one
another with mud balls, while a third seated on a sow, looking with
delight at nine squealers helping themselves to milk. When she rose
on her fore-feet, the child rolled off among the pigs, laughingly
grasping the first tail in his way, to the great annoyance of his hungry
companions.
We have news of the mail being stopped between Sucre and Oruro by a
heavy fall of snow on the Andes, which was deep enough to break in the
roofs of houses in Oruro, while here peaches are sold in the market.
The peach tree flourishes better than the apple, but both fruit and tree
are small. The quince grows to an unusual size in the valley, and the
trees are loaded with fruit of golden yellow.
The merchants are keeping back their remittances to the Pacific on
account of numerous robberies reported in the snowy regions.
The young gentlemen give a ball every month in the palace, and
performances at the theatre, which was once a church. On both occasions
the families of the city are brought sociably together. The balls are
believed to produce political concord, and are very gay. A Sucre lady
inquired if "Cochabamba girls dressed in good taste?" The creoles seem
anxious to know the opinion strangers have of them. The North American
midshipmen used to say, the height of their enjoyment was to dance with
the South American girls. The beauty, manners, and grace of the ladies
here cannot be disputed; they are naturally gifted with a pleasing
flow of conversation, keen-sighted, and witty. Their bright black eyes
flash beneath an irresistible and modest smile; their long, black hair
is neatly arranged abroad, but at home it usually hangs plaited over
the shoulders and breast. They appear more proud of small feet than
of lovely eyes and snow-white necks. In walking they carry themselves
straight, and show their graceful figures to advantage; their motions
are slow and steady. A bloom on the cheek gives them a fresh, healthy
appearance as they ride spirited horses by the side of their lovers,
through the gardens of Calacala, before sunrise in the morning.
At midday, on the 12th of May, 1852, we mounted and followed a train
of nineteen loaded mules towards the east. Our baggage was reduced one
half upon each animal. By law, the arriero may charge full price in
descending the eastern side of the Andes for half the load carried on
the roads of the table lands. The train followed a white mare with a
bell hung to her neck. Four arrieros were accompanied by a number of
women, carrying jars of chicha. The party seemed to have been drinking
over night, and bent upon a frolic. They succeeded in seducing José, who
rode along with our tent pole on his shoulder, and hat pulled over his
eyes, ordering about men and women, until I was called upon to settle
a difficulty between him and the chief arriero's wife. Richards was
carefully guarding Mamoré for fear we would lose him. After some trouble
in keeping the baggage mules from escaping up the cross streets, we bid
farewell to Cochabamba. On the river bank the women seated themselves in
a row to take the last dram with the men who were going with us. They
shouted, sang, and danced; then shaking hands all round, the arrieros
called to their mules, and we all moved along single file on our way
home through the river bed, which was now dry again, the wet season
being just over.
The minister of state sent circular instructions to all the authorities
on my route, _rubriconded_ by President Belzu, by which they ordered
the prefects and governors to facilitate the expedition.
The President usually signs public documents with his peculiar mark
or flourish alone, without writing his name. No man's signature in the
country is valued without getting him to "_rubricar_" the document also.
The custom is a Spanish one. They have been known to use their own blood
or red ink, but the black ink does as well and is lawful. Our receipt
book is a most _flourishing_ volume. After José signs his name for his
monthly wages, he straddles his legs, turns his head sideways, and gives
a most gallant dash, occupying the remainder of the page, often through
the paper on to the next leaf, with the point of the pen. We observe
all along the route that the people generally _dash_ better than they
write. The rule may have originated for the advantage of those who could
not write.
Passing over a level road and through the small town of Sacaba, we slung
our hammock on the piazza of a hacienda at the foot of the ridge of
mountains. Mamoré whipped the big house-dog and played with the small
ones, while the fleas retaliated upon us. The mule drivers laughed among
themselves when they saw us washing our faces in the morning, while
they were snugly wrapped up in their ponchos. The country girls are
quite pretty. The drovers we met on the road with horned cattle for the
Cochabamba market, said they came from Villa Grande, in the department
of Santa Cruz, to the southeast of us. The cattle come up with the
winds. They are of good size and condition.
We turned to the northeast, rising up on the mountain. Leaving the
valley of Cochabamba, the road lies through a gorge in a range where
the Indians were digging potatoes and reaping barley. Descending again,
we encamped for the night by an Indian stone hut, amidst the harvest
fields. Don Cornello, our head arriero, purchased a sheep in partnership
with us, and his men dressed it for the journey. One of them, who
suffered with chills, Cornello dosed with a solution of cinchona bark
from a bottle he carried with his bread in his saddle wallets.
In this small mountain basin, the thermometer stands at 52°, at 6
p. m., and wet bulb, 53°, with heavy frost in the morning. From the
last ridge of mountains we see that the waters flowing towards the
northeast go directly to the river Mamoré, and those which run to the
southeast are tributary to the same stream, winding around the ridge,
at the end of which is situated the city of Santa Cruz, which has a
population of six thousand souls. The department contains a population
of forty-two thousand two hundred and eighty-four whites, and twenty-six
thousand three hundred and seventy-three aborigines. Santa Cruz is
the rice-growing state of this country; it being mostly situated in
the bottom of the Madeira Plate. Its climate is truly tropical—both
hot and moist. It is well wooded and watered. Among the level lands
there are lakes, and on the road to the town of Matto Grosso, there
are alternately forests and plains covered with a growth of herd grass
on which cattle flourish. Tropical fruits are raised in the gardens of
Santa Cruz. The weavers of Cochabamba receive their cotton thence, as
well as sugar and molasses. Both coffee and chocolate are of excellent
quality, and some of the tobacco is equal to that of Cuba. The Nankin
cotton of China is produced of a bright color, and contrasts beautifully
with the white. The vanilla bean grows by the side of the Indigo plant.
The Indian cultivates the pea-nut along the sandy banks of the rivers.
The white man reports signs of cinnabar among the mountains at the end
of this ridge, where wheat, maize, potatoes, and grapes are found.
The skins of spotted and black tigers are exported to the cold
departments, with hides of horned cattle, horses, and the sloth. The
feathers and skins of rare birds, snakes, and lizards are gathered among
forest trees of the most brilliant colors. The cochineal insect has its
place, while different species of bees supply the inhabitants with honey
and wax.
The distance from the town of Santa Cruz to Cochabamba is one hundred
and seven leagues. The arrieros generally lag along the road thirty
days with a cargo of chocolate, coffee, and sugar, or with cotton
manufactures, glassware, and salt in return. The trip from Santa Cruz
to Cobija is made generally within three months by the way of Cochabamba
and Potosi; the distance by the road being three hundred and forty-five
leagues. The return cargo may arrive in three months more, but it is not
certain that two trips to the Pacific coast and back can be made in one
year. It must not be supposed a very extensive foreign trade is carried
on with the department of Santa Cruz, though a most dense population is
found on its western border. When we look at the list of productions
in that region of country, we are struck with the independence of its
inhabitants upon all external trade. A breakfast table in Santa Cruz,
constructed of beautiful cedar wood, is described, covered with white
cotton cloth, silver plates and dishes, with silver cups, forks, and
spoons; coffee, sugar, cream, butter, corn and wheat bread, mutton,
eggs, and oranges, are all produced in the province. Beef is found on
the pampa, game in the woods, and fish in the rivers. Potatoes and all
the garden vegetables are raised upon the plantations. The arm chair of
the creole is made of the ornamental "Caoba," or mahogany tree. Eight
guests may be seated, each one in a different species of mahogany.
His Indian servants gather grapes, make wine, collect the tropical
fruits, and tobacco; while his wife or daughter take pride in well-made
cigars. The climate is such that horses roam about all the year; there
is no expense for stabling the animals. No barns are necessary for
the protection of his harvests during a hard winter. His house may be
as open as a shed. What little thin clothing and bedding his family
require are supplied by the soil, and worked into fine cloth by the
hands of Indians, who spin, weave, and sew. Silver he cares little for
except in table use. Gold ounces are melted into crosses and earrings
for the Indian girls. The inhabitants of Santa Cruz are therefore the
most indolent in the world; under its hospitable climate, few men exert
themselves beyond what is absolutely necessary.
It may be well to give, from report, an outline of the daily life of a
family in this town. Very early in the morning the creole, getting out
of bed, throws himself into a hamac; his wife stretches herself upon a
bench near by, while the children seat themselves with their legs under
them on the chairs, _all_ in their night dresses. The Indian servant
girl enters with a cup of chocolate for each member of the family. After
which, she brings some coals of fire in a silver dish. The wife lights
her husband a cigar, then one for herself. Some time is spent reclining,
chatting, and regaling. The man slowly pulls on his cotton trousers,
woollen coat, leather shoes, and vicuña hat, with his neck exposed to
the fresh air,—silk handkerchiefs are scarce,—he walks to some near
neighbors, with whom he again drinks chocolate and smokes another cigar.
At midday a small low table is set in the middle of the room, and the
family go to breakfast. The wife sits next to her husband; the women
are very pretty and affectionate to their husbands. He chooses her from
among _five_, there being about that number of women to one man in the
town. The children seat themselves, and the dogs form a ring behind. The
first dish is a chupe of potatoes with large pieces of meat. The man
helps himself first, and throws his bones straight across the table;
a child dodges his head to give it a free passage, and the dogs rush
after it as it falls upon the ground floor. A child then throws his
bone, the mother dodges, and the dogs rush behind her. The second dish
holds small pieces of beef without bones. Dogs are now fighting. Next
comes a dish with finely-chopped beef; then beef soup, vegetables, and
fruits; finally, coffee or chocolate. After breakfast the man pulls
off his trousers and coat and lies down with his drawers in the hamac.
His wife lights him a cigar. She finds her way back to bed with her
cigar. The dogs jump up and lie down on the chairs—the fleas bite them
on the ground. The Indian girl closes both doors and windows, takes the
children out to play, while the rest of the family sleep.
At 2 p. m. the church bells ring to let the people know the priests are
saying a prayer for them, which rouses them up. The man rises, stretches
his hand above his head, and gapes; the dogs get down, and whiningly
stretch themselves; while the wife sets up in bed and loudly calls out
for "fire;" the Indian girl re-appears with a "chunk" for her mistress
to light her master another cigar, and she smokes again herself. The
dinner, which takes place between 3 and 5, and is nearly the same as
breakfast, except when a beef is recently killed by the Indians, then
they have a broil. The ribs and other long bones of the animal are
trimmed of flesh, leaving the bones thinly coated with meat; these
are laid across a fire and roasted; the members of the family, while
employed with them, look as if all were practising music.
A horse is brought into the house by an Indian man, who holds while
the "patron" saddles and bridles him; he then puts on a large pair of
silver spurs, which cost forty dollars, and mounting, he rides out of
the front door to the opposite house; halting, he takes off his hat and
calls out "Buenas tardes, señoritas"—good evening, ladies. The ladies
make their appearance at the door; one lights him a cigar; another mixes
him a glass of lemonade to refresh himself after his ride. He remains in
the saddle talking, while they lean gracefully against the door-posts,
smiling with their bewitching eyes. He touches his hat and rides off
to another neighbor. After spending the afternoon in this way, he rides
into his house again. The Indian holds the horse by the bridle while the
master dismounts. Taking off the saddle, he throws it into one chair,
the bridle into another, his spurs on a third, and himself into the
hamac; the Indian leads out the horse, the dogs pull down the riding
gear to the floor, and lay themselves on their usual bedsteads.
Chocolate and cigars are repeated. Should the creole be handed a
letter of introduction by a stranger travelling through the country, he
immediately offers his hamac and a cup of chocolate. The baggage will
be attended to, and as long as the traveller remains, he is treated by
the family with a degree of kindness and politeness seldom met with in
fashionable parts of the world. No alteration will be made in their mode
of living on account of his being among them, except that the dogs and
horses are kept out of the house, and there is less dodging of bones.
Pride and a natural feeling of good manners prevent the stranger from
seeing such performances. The creole speaks of the wealth of his country
in the most exaggerated manner; he has so many of the good things of
the world at his door, that he naturally boasts; he thinks little of
other parts of the world; he has no idea of leaving his own fruits
and flowers. The roads are bad; he cares little for their use. When
he leaves his native city, it is more for pleasure than for commerce.
He is not obliged to build railroads that he may receive at low rates
of freight the tea of China; the sugar of the West Indies; the flour,
iron, or cotton goods of North America. His own climate is so agreeable
that he seldom wishes to travel; there is no place like _his_ home!
When the traveller inquires how he would like to see a steamboat come
to the mouth of the Piray river, the water of which he drinks, his
eyes brighten, and he smilingly says "he would be delighted;" at once
telling what he would put on board of her as a cargo for the people
who sent her. He is contented with the roads constructed by the hand
of the Creator of all things; but the creole is honest in his desire
to see what he has never yet seen—a steam-engine move a vessel. He is
ready to sell his produce to those who come to him; yet when you inquire
what he desires from other parts of the world, it is very certain, from
the length of time it takes him to answer, that he seldom thinks he is
in want of anything; and if asked how much he is willing to subscribe
towards purchasing a steamboat, his usual answer is, that "he has no
money, and is very poor!"
The Spanish language is more generally spoken in Santa Cruz than in
other parts of this country. The Indians are taught and practise that
language to the exclusion of their own. The people of Santa Cruz pride
themselves upon their pure Spanish, and ridicule the speech of those
of other towns. The teachers of most of the schools in Cochabamba are
natives of Santa Cruz, as well as the most intelligent of the clergy,
who are generally foremost to speak of the advantages of establishing
trade with the Atlantic ocean by the natural river road, instead of
looking constantly towards the Pacific. Santa Cruz may be called the
frontier town of the Spanish race, who have swept over the country from
the Pacific. The bay of Arica bears due west from Santa Cruz. As the
coast of South America bends at Arica, so the Spanish have pressed far
in towards the centre of the continent, placing those on the eastern
border of Bolivia nearer to the Atlantic than the people of Peru;
although they seem to be farthest from the markets of the world, they
are the nearest, and are best prepared for entering into commercial
relations with the United States of the North.
The industrial, agricultural, and manufacturing people of this country
are principally among the aborigines. They plant the sugar-cane,
gather the coffee, work the mines, and transport silver, copper, and
tin to the coast of the Pacific. Looking on the map, and running the
eye along the road from the town of Santa Cruz towards the southeast,
the traveller finds a country nearly level. Among hills near the river
Paraguay, in the province of Chiquitos, the inhabitants are composed
of many tribes of Indians; some savages are warlike, while others are
inoffensive and friendly to the whites. Those of the small villages
of Santiago and Jesus are described as nearer the color of chalk
than of copper, and to be a robust, intelligent people, willing to be
taught the Spanish language, to cultivate the soil, tend cattle, and
give up the life of wandering for that of the civilized man, under
the instruction and labors of the Jesuits; while the tribes south of
them, near the mouths of the rivers Pilcomayo and Bermejo, obstinately
refused any such interference, and remain savage to this day. They are
the Gran Chaco Indians, and are called Tobas. As they are unfriendly,
we have no account of their number, and will confine ourselves to the
Chiquiteños, who understand the art of planting and gathering a harvest,
the management of cattle on the grassy plains, and the collecting of
wax from the forest trees, with which, and the cotton they cultivate,
they pay tribute to the State, as well as with salt from lakes found
in the wild regions. In their little huts are carpenters, blacksmiths,
silversmiths, shoemakers, tailors, and tanners. Their houses are usually
built of adobe, and thatched with coarse grass; yet they were taught
to burn tiles for the roof of their little church. For the purpose of
manufacturing sugar and melting wax, they erected founderies to smelt,
and fabricated their own copper boilers. The cotton of their small
farms is woven by hand into ponchos, hamacs, saddle cloths, and the fine
cloths of which their white frocks are made, after a fashion of their
own invention, in bark. The women in Chiquitos are good farmers; most
of the spinning is performed by them, as well as the manufacturing of
chicha from corn and yuca.
They find gold and silver in the tributaries of the Otuguis river,
with which they decorate the altars of their churches and hammer into
crosses, ear and finger-rings.
The men make straw hats, more for sale than for their own use—for both
sexes go bare-headed—a good sign of a delightful climate, as it is said
to be. The baskets made of the leaf of the palm-tree, which grows in the
plains, are carried on their backs as they travel through the country.
On such occasions they are armed with bows and arrows. In the Spanish
settlements, near the unfriendly tribes, they are permitted to attend
church with war-clubs and other weapons, for the protection of their
wives and children from an attack while at prayers. The church bell is
a signal to the savage, but he takes occasion at times to commit murder
under its calling.
Their houses are very small, with but one entrance, so narrow and
low that it is supposed the country was called Chiquitos, because of
the little door-ways. When first the traveller peeps into the house
all is darkness; on entering, the light from the hole he came through
shines against a few earthen pots made by the women, an axe, macheta or
cutlass, bows and arrows, pretty Indian girls, and dogs without number.
The boys are rambling about; the old Indian and his wife are cultivating
the chacra. Their great ambition seems to be celebrating the feast days
of the church, playing ball, drinking chicha, and making love to the
women.
These Indians are great musicians, playing upon the violin and
tamborine, while the women sing and dance with grace. Few of them
quarrel; should a difficulty take place, seldom more than three or four
blows are struck. They all carry knives, but these are not often drawn.
If one man kills another, his shame, compunction, and fear in after life
is much worse than death, I am told.
The Chiquiteños are very apt in learning to read, write, and calculate.
They have intelligence enough to know that knowledge is valuable to
them, and the children speak Spanish with great ease.
Lime and plaster of Paris are found among the hilly portions of the
province. Salt from the lakes is of great value where cattle are raised.
There is a market for it in the Argentine republic, Paraguay, and in
the Brazilian district of Matto Grosso. In all parts of this province
saltpetre is found of which the aborigines manufacture powder, to make
fire-works for the churches. The rockets, they send up towards the
heavens, under the dark shade of night, light the wilderness around,
and was one means used by the Jesuits to attract the attention of the
wild man to seek religion. The Chiquiteños are a peaceful race; their
gunpowder is only used for the purpose of lighting the way towards
Heaven—a lesson to civilized men who sometimes employ it too freely
for the destruction of their fellows on the earth, of which they form
a hell!
The Indians cast church bells. Brass, copper, and zinc are sent by the
Aymara Indians from the Titicaca basin in exchange for sugar and wax.
They are unacquainted with the process of casting cannon, or the art of
making the brass armor of olden times.
The Indian of Chiquitos, like the Creole of Santa Cruz, has his full
share of the delights of this earth, which he enjoys in his own way.
When he takes a fancy to wear striped trousers, he plants a row of white
cotton and a row of yellow. These colors contrast without the trouble
of dye-stuff; should he wish a blue, he plants a row of indigo; when he
requires red, he gathers cochineal from among the woods where he also
finds a bark which produces a deep black, which the women often employ
to dye their white dresses.
The heart-leaved bixa grows wild; the vanilla bean scents the doorway,
while the coffee and chocolate trees shade it. The sugar cane may be
planted in any part of the province, to be manufactured into sugar,
rum, and molasses during the year of planting. The Indian understands
the art of distilling. He cannot be considered intemperate, generally;
considering his partiality for chicha, we are inclined to give him
credit for self-denial, except when the saints' days of the Catholic
church are celebrated, then it seems to be understood that much drinking
is one of the conditions. Whatever good ideas may be instilled into
their minds by the worship in the morning, are generally lost under the
effects of strong drinks at night. This custom shocks the stranger.
An excuse has been offered by some who resided among the more savage
race of men, that in the exertions of the Jesuits to change the worship
of these people from their own barbarous imitations of the actions
of tigers and poisonous serpents, the priests were obliged to allow
them to continue many of the most innocent popular customs, such as
dancing, singing, and drinking, as well as fighting sham battles on
a Sunday evening, until they were enabled to lead them gradually to
perceive these were not the forms of worship which would most please
the Almighty. Among these Indians, as among the people of Japan, "every
custom is a part of their religion." Music has a powerful effect upon
the savage, and therefore the Jesuits encouraged them to cultivate it,
and as its influence over the limbs of the women was so great, that
they could not stand still during that part of the church service, it
was thought best to permit them to dance at the door, after which they
quietly entered to say their prayers. But when the music commenced again
they returned to dance in their savage fashion. They are naturally a
good and tractable people, finally willing to do their dancing at home,
or only on particular occasions at church after the Jesuits were long
enough among them. At the present day there are times when the war dance
is allowed in front of the church, performed by the able-bodied men of
the nation with war clubs and hatchets in their hands.
The drinking of chicha was a portion of the primitive worship of the
aborigines. They no doubt honestly believed that, the more happy they
made themselves while paying respect to the Creator of all things, the
better He was satisfied! They were sincere in their thankfulness to God
for the blessings they received at His hands. The Jesuits found that
the Indian had adopted this means of praise, and the effects produced
were so agreeable, that it was not an easy matter to persuade the old
Indian to give up his liquor. If force were applied he undoubtedly
would fight for it, so that a mild manner had to be pursued until _time_
worked its wonders. The Jesuits were obliged to keep back an expression
of disapprobation of this custom for the purpose of converting the
savage in any way, and persuaded him to attend church in the morning,
and to postpone drinking until after the service. The Indian entered
willingly into this compromise, and after being fastened up in church
under new forms, which he did not understand, he found it rather dry,
compared to what he had been accustomed to. So the moment he got out he
returned to his mode of worship, and in the afternoon became generally
intoxicated. The women dance to music all the way home on the road; the
frolic is kept up the greater part of the night. On Monday morning the
congregation were generally complaining from the effects of dissipation.
This was the time at which the influence of the priest was brought to
bear upon them. They were taught the art of cultivation; their minds
were diverted by novel undertakings. The women were encouraged to spin,
attend to the cotton plant, and to make use of chocolate. There was
little or no difficulty in keeping them from chicha during the week,
as they seldom made improper use of it except at the time devoted to
religious worship, and that had now become a fixed one by the Jesuits,
namely—after six days of labor.
Among the forests are found gums, which are used at the altar; the
Indians gather and sell them to the church for incense. They also
collect the sponge plant from which they extract oil. They seek
transparent copal with the copaiba balsam, the gum of the storax-tree,
and roots of the jalapa, ipecacuanha, and sarsaparilla.
"Mate," the tea of Paraguay, is grown in Chiquitos, with a number of
species of the palm tree. There are ornamental and dye woods, many of
which are only known to the Indian; few of them have been brought fairly
to the notice of the mechanic.
Chiquitos is within the tropic of Capricorn. The natives enjoy the
fruits of the banana, the plantain, and oranges, both sweet and
sour. The grape yields wine, and from the wild apricot a pure vinegar
is made. The much esteemed chirimoya is found there by the side of
the pomegranate and granadilla, the pine-apple and water-melon, the
mandioca, the sweet and other potatoes, guavas, pea-nuts, maize, and
wheat. This is the agricultural district of Bolivia. Chiquitos will rob
Cochabamba of its name "Granary," and prove a finer garden than Yungas.
The hide and tallow trade of Buenos Ayres will be enlarged by the yield
of the pampas of Chiquitos. The trade of La Plata must be increased when
the productions of this beautiful land are sent out upon its waters,
and floated down to the sea.
In the small town of Oliden, the Indian carries to market lettuce,
onions, capsicum, tomatoes, the cummin plant, wild marjorem, parsley,
mustard, radishes, and the sweet-scented seed of the anise, with a
species of moscatel grape.
From what I can learn from persons who have navigated the upper waters
of the Paraguay, there is every reason to believe that the navigation
is open from Cuyaba, the capital of the province of Matto Grosso, in
Brazil, down to the ocean. It is said there are no falls, and that if
there should be too little water on the upper streams in the dry season
of the year, the produce of these countries may be sent down with ease
in the wet seasons, when the rivers rise several feet, and are not very
rapid.
CHAPTER VII.
Diamonds—Animals of Chiquitos—Decree of 1837, and act of
Congress—Señor Oliden's voyage on the Paraguay river—Salt—Fall
of trees—Descending the mountains—Monkey meat—Coca
plant—Espiritu Santo—Creole workmen—A night in the wild
woods—Yuracares hunting—River San Mateo—Province of Yuracares.
It is a singular fact that no diamonds have been found on the Bolivian
side of the Madeira Plate or La Plata basin, while among those streams,
in Brazil, which flow into these rivers diamonds abound. The general
opinion is that these precious stones do not exist in Bolivia. The
streams which pay tribute to the Madeira and Paraguay, from the east in
Brazil, are clear water rivers. In these transparent waters the diamond
is easily discovered. The washing away of the earth on that side is not
very great, even in the rainy season of the year.
All the streams on the western or Bolivian side bear muddy water; the
wearing away on that side is very great. The filling up of the Madeira
Plate is done from that side, just as the Titicaca lake is filling up
the fastest on its western shore, so that the diamonds of Bolivia, if
they exist, are lost in the mud. We were told by diamond hunters that
in rivers where the divers descend some distance, they find the water
coldest on the bottom where they pick up the precious stone, and the men
are so chilled when they returned to the surface, that they require to
be warmed by the side of a large fire, even under the heat of a tropical
sun.
In the woods, and on the pampas of Chiquitos, roams the Tapir or Brazil
elk, the meat of which resembles that of the ox, and is considered
a delicacy by the Indians. In the forests, the fields, and about the
rivers, birds abound. The wild boar pushes his way through the grass,
and the American lion or jaguar leaps to fight the spotted tiger for the
fatted calf. The bear and wild-cat prowl through the tangled creepers,
while monkeys and parrots chatter their own peculiar idioms. The fox
and armadillo inhabit the hill sides; near the river banks the turtle
deposits its eggs. Large and small snakes require no search.
From the Pacific coast to the Paraguay river, on the parallel of 18°
south latitude, there are three different climates; that of Oruro,
cold, with an unproductive soil, thinly populated, and the inhabitants
generally poor; the towns becoming every year more and more depopulated,
and the resources of the country less valuable than in former years. The
ruins of the ancient Peruvians there stand as truthful memorials of "the
Past." Descending the steppe of Cochabamba, the climate is temperate,
the soil more productive, the inhabitants increasing in numbers, and the
Spanish race in their strength. Here are found the most intelligence
and the greatest improvements. In the heart of the nation are living
examples of "the Present."
Proceeding to the bottom of the Madeira Plate into Chiquitos, we find
the means of agriculture, commerce, and manufactures on the very top of
steamboat navigation, presenting to us elements of the blessings of a
peaceful "future."
The nation of Bolivia now stands facing the Pacific coast. The
appearance of one little steamboat on the Paraguay river, anchored on
the coast of Chiquitos, would turn the whole "right about."
On the 27th of December, 1837, Andres Santa Cruz, President of the
republic of Bolivia, issued a decree by which foreign merchandise should
enter the province of Chiquitos and Mojos free from all duty or tax
whatever, and that all the productions of these provinces should be
exported upon the principle of free trade.
On the 5th November, 1832, the Bolivian congress, as compensation for
revolutionary services, had granted to an enterprising citizen, Don
Manuel Luis de Oliden, a tract of land, twenty-five leagues "in all
directions from a point on the river Otuguis."
Señor Oliden sent me a short account of an exploration made by his
relative, Señor Don José Leon de Oliden, in the year 1836. Mr. Oliden
launched a canoe in the river Cuyaba, from the town of the same name,
in the province of Matto Grosso, in Brazil. It was during the dry
season, in the month of October, when the river was shallow. Descending
he found the banks low, and the country as level as a floor in some
places, while here and there the land swelled up like a smooth heave
of the ocean in a calm. During the wet season of the year, a portion
of the journey from Cuyaba to the frontier of Paraguay can be made in
canoes over the same road, travelled in dry weather on horseback—the
whole country being overflowed, except on the higher grounds. On the
seventh day after leaving the town, the canoe touched the waters of
the Paraguay river, the banks of which are inhabited by a nation of
Indians called "Guatos," who came off in a friendly way to offer fish
for sale, and were delighted to receive payment in a glass of rum. On
the Bolivian shore, opposite the mouth of the Cuyaba, the land is hilly,
the elevations range with the stream, and also stretch back into the
Bolivian territory. Among these hills is a large lake, called Gaiba.
Descending the stream of the Paraguay river for two days, brought the
canoe opposite the ancient town of "Alburquerque," which was abandoned,
the people having moved off to another part of the country. Two days
farther down was the mission of the "Guanas," inhabited by about fifty
families, who formed the new settlement of Alburquerque. Near the
frontiers of Brazil and Paraguay, he passed the fortress of Coimbra,
erected in 1775.
Mr. Oliden then entered the territory of Paraguay, searching on the
western shore of the river for the mouth of the Otuguis, which he
desired to ascend to the town of Oliden. He suddenly came in sight of
the Forte de Borbon, with twelve pieces of iron cannon, from which
several shots were fired at his canoe. He pushed on and landed at
the port, where a soldier met and conducted him up the bank. He sent
his compliments to the commanding officer, and requested permission
to enter; the soldier returned with permission. His passport was
demanded; in handing it to the commander, he told him he had a letter of
recommendation to his Excellency the Supreme Dictator of the State from
the Governor of the Brazilian province of Matto Grosso. The commander
replied, that he could not allow him to descend the Paraguay without
_special_ permission to do so from the one man who ruled the country.
Mr. Oliden requested that he might continue down to Assumption, the
capital of Paraguay, and present his letter in person to the "Dictator."
The commander replied, that he could do "ni uno ni otro"—neither one
nor the other.
Mr. Oliden, finding his requests fruitless; that the gates of Paraguay
were shut in his face, and that the great highway cut through the earth
was closed up by this one man's power; that the trade of Chiquitos and
all of Bolivia was blocked by this passage, and that the people of his
country were cut off from the path of peace and commerce, took leave,
and returned to his canoe to await a passport giving him permission to
_retrace_ his steps. The logs of wood that floated by on the stream of
the river excited envy in the heart of the enterprising Oliden; they
were free and he was chained; for he was forced to go where they would
not go—up the stream again. Had he dared to push his canoe off and
let her float quietly down by the sides of the logs with the current,
there were one hundred soldiers ready to take arms against him, and
insultingly turn him back. He remarked that the soldiers had very
expressive faces, were tall, well-made, handsome-looking fellows, stout
and white. They spoke the "Guarani" and Spanish languages. They brought
him "mate" and tobacco, for which he exchanged a little gunpowder and
a cotton handkerchief.
The soldiers were nearly in a state of starvation. The government had
neglected to send them provisions from Villa Real, a town some distance
down the river. There was not a solitary article of food to be gathered
about the fort. No man dare go more than one hundred paces from the
walls, for fear of being murdered by the savage tribe of "Guaicurus,"
who inhabit the country around.
The "Capitan Commandante" was rather ancient, having arrived near his
hundredth year, and very seldom left his bed. Oliden said he had great
confidence in his soldiers, as there was only one musket outside of
the storeroom, in the hands of the sentinel at the entrance of the
fortification. The soldiers were almost naked, and not a woman among
them. Several of the sergeants came to the canoe to converse with
Oliden. He observed two old men sent by the commander to hear what was
said, news being rather scarce in those regions. Mr. Oliden invited them
to speak of the state of their country, which they declined; and when
Oliden spoke of the Supreme Dictator, they immediately took off their
hats, but refused to talk politics or express their opinions with regard
to the Paraguay government. The term for which the soldiers enlisted on
this station was twenty years.
A soldier returned with the passport granting Mr. Oliden permission to
retire—to return to his own country. His Cuyaba crew pulled the little
canoe up stream towards the north, and slowly paddled against the
current. Oliden's patriotic spirit saddened when he found the expedition
a failure. He was the son of a man who had fought for the liberty of
Bolivia.
Mr. Oliden reports the Paraguay navigable for all classes of vessels
from Borbon to Alburquerque, and mentions no falls either in the Cuyaba
or in the Paraguay up to the Villa Maria, which place he reached in
twenty-four days from Alburquerque.
The road from Villa Maria to Cuyaba is travelled by mules and horses.
For heavy articles, the route is down the Paraguay river to the mouth of
the Cuyaba, and up that stream to the town of the same name, in large
canoes made of a single log, and manned by the Indians of the country.
I am induced to believe that this trip can be made in canoes in the dry
season; that these rivers may be navigable for small steamboats at least
six months in the year, and below the junction of these rivers for the
whole year.
Cuyaba is between 15° and 16° south latitude. The river from that town
flows south, winding through a rich country, more than one thousand
miles, to the south Atlantic ocean. Any road, constructed of wood,
iron, or water, which passes through that latitude, must exhibit great
varieties of vegetable growth. At Cuyaba, the coffee and chocolate tree
flourish. There is nothing to do but plant and gather. At the mouth of
the river La Plata neither of these plants will grow. The planter must
study his heights above the sea-level, or reckon his distances from the
equator, as the sailors do, and plant those crops which are congenial to
the climate he lives in; watching also carefully on which side of the
hills he sows barley or plants sugar-cane; for if he gets them both on
the same side, one will fail.
The country at the mouth of these great rivers—Paraguay and La Plata—is
a grazing country; their trade is in hides, tallow, and glue. The
drover has no time to plant, sow, or gather grain; he would rather
exchange hides for flour manufactured where wheat is produced. He
will give beef for coffee and sugar, which he cannot grow. He wants
copper boilers to prepare tallow, and the bark of the up-country to
tan hides. The climate at the mouth of the river for half the year is
cold; the "pampero" winds blow across the pampas of Buenos Ayres from
the frosty regions of Patagonia, where the hills are covered with snow,
and icebergs float along the coast. The drover, therefore, requires
the wool of the table-lands, vicuña hats, and cotton; he can make his
own shoes and boots, but his wife has no time to spin wool and knit his
stockings, even if she knew how. The merchants at the mouth of the river
do business with ships that come from all parts of the world.
The cattle on the pampas of Buenos Ayres and Brazil suffer for want
of salt. They who prepare the beef of the southern provinces for the
markets of the northern parts of South America, require both salt and
saltpetre.
The train of mules behind which we travel are partly loaded with cakes
of salt from the plains of Potosi, which the Indian arriero says was
produced from a lake of water formed by a mountain stream. When he
is questioned closely, as though it was doubtful about the salt being
produced from a _fresh_-water stream, he very knowingly looks up and
says: "If I take my hoe and lead the upper waters between the rows of
my potatoes the lake will produce no salt."
The people inhabiting the rainy regions are much troubled with a
swelling in the neck and throat, called goitre, which they attribute to
the absence of salt in the water.
The Indians of the desert of Atacama, where the rains are not hard
enough to wash away the earth from off the rock salt, lead small streams
directly over a vein of salt with their hoes, so that their cattle may
fatten the quicker on a poor pasture-ground.
The mule, Rose, has carried me nearly two thousand miles, and is in
better order now than after she had travelled in a drove from Tucuman in
the Argentine republic, in latitude 27° south, through the mountainous
regions to Lima. She is the admiration of all good judges, from the
arriero down. The reason she has kept in good order, while the mules
throughout our route, from Lima to Oruro, look so miserable, is because
José constantly gives her salt, and I observe it is not the general
custom of the country to do so. The good old padre we met in the montaña
of Cuzco was an exception. He called his cattle from the woods to offer
salt. The moment they heard his voice the bulls came rushing out as
though they were angry with him. It was a beautiful sight to see the
fierce-looking animals halt in front of the old gentleman, robed in his
clerical garments, and gratefully lick salt from his hands; afterwards
rubbing their horns against his legs by way of thanking him. He did not
seem to like this much. It may be mentioned in confidence, padres in
these countries sometimes go about without trousers.
I met an intelligent gentleman, Mr. Mauricio Bach, who had spent some
years in the province of Chiquitos, and to him I am indebted for much
information.
Mr. Bach travelled by land from Rio Janeiro to Bolivia; he was fresh
from his own country, and was so much impressed with the value of the
lands, productions, and climate of Chiquitos, that he remained there
some years, during which time he had a fair chance of judging it.
He told me that the route through Brazil is inhabited by some savage
Indians; on the plains herds of cattle are raised, and there was much
wood. He passed over with a large party, who were prepared to protect
themselves from the unfriendly Indians; but at the present day the mail
from Rio Janeiro reaches Cuyaba every month.
The town of Santiago, in the southern part of Chiquitos, is situated on
a hill of the same name, and has a population of 1,380. The climate is
delightfully fresh, healthy, and compares well with Chiquisaca, with the
difference that the air is not so dry in Santiago; it is free from all
troublesome insects also. The country is well watered. The streams which
flow into the river Oluquis contain gold, silver, signs of cinnibar, and
a suspicion of precious stones. In the forests are ornamental woods and
medicinal plants. To the south of Santiago the country is thickly wooded
with a great variety of palm-trees. In the plains the pasture affords
a plentiful supply of cattle and horses already there. The soil is so
fertile that the products of both the torrid and temperate zones may be
produced, from chocolate to the wheat and sugar crops. On the river Agua
Caliente Mr. Oliden, in the year 1836, established a town, and called
it Florida, over the ruins of the old settlement of Santiago, where the
Jesuits first established themselves in this wilderness. The Indians
built large wooden houses, cleared the land, and raised an abundant crop
of rice, superior to that of Bengal.
From the size of the streams which empty into the river Otuguis, their
slow, steady current and deep water, Mr. Bach considers that a steamboat
could come up from the ocean to these rice lands, but neither he nor
Mr. Oliden could descend to examine, partly from the fear their Indians
had of the savages, and want of knowledge in the management of canoes,
which they did not use like the Brazilian Indians. Mr. Oliden gave up
his residence, returned to Sucre, and finally to Buenos Ayres, through
the Argentine confederation, leaving his valuable lands and their
productions to the Indians, who live an easy life, in plenty and in an
hospitable climate.
There is dispute at the present day between the Brazilians and Bolivians
with regard to the boundary lines between their two countries. Bolivia
claims to the middle of the Paraguay river; but one of the Brazilian
commanders observed to a Bolivian that the Brazilian government claimed
as far west as the cattle of Brazil roamed, so that it is rather a
difficult question to determine exactly where the initial point shall
be, and then whereabouts a line could be drawn.
By treaty between the Spaniards and Portuguese, made more than a century
ago, the southern initial point was marked at the mouth of the Jaurũ
river where it empties into the Paraguay; thence in a straight line
to the nearest point on the Guapore or Itenez, should be the eastern
boundary of the territory of Bolivia, which certainly makes the middle
both of the Paraguay and Guapore, or Itenez, the division line between
the two countries. The question was not, however, of much importance
formerly either to Brazil or Spain, but now, as the South Americans
are beginning to awaken to the importance of commerce and steamboat
navigation, the Bolivians raise the question how far they are entitled
to these natural communications and necessary outlets. This is a matter
of interest to Bolivia; for if she gives up a right to the Paraguay
river, she has nothing on her southern border to fall back upon, except
the river Otuguis, which may not be navigable. After the Paraguay leaves
Bolivia and Brazil, it then flows over the soil of Paraguay and the
Argentine confederation. Each claims the ownership of the _navigable_
waters at the head of the La Plata, which God made for all.
We began to descend the great ridge of mountains to the northeast, with
a hope that we may not be obliged to retrace our steps. The moment we
touched the brow of the mountain, a thick fog-bank stood before us,
thrown up like a great fortification. The wall was distinctly marked
along the ridge, while on the southwest side the sun shone brightly.
The mules, one by one, entered the thick mass of steam vapor with great
hesitation. It was with difficulty the arrieros could push them in, so
much did they dislike to descend. As they had travelled the road before,
they turned and ran back into the light, but the men finally succeeded
in getting them all in.
In the sunlight behind us, there was a short growth of short grass,
with a portion of the soil burnt into a hard and scaly crust, like the
outside of a steam-boiler. As soon as we had passed under the fog, the
earth was found covered with a green sod; flowers bloomed by our path,
and the foliage of the bushes covered the sides of the ravines, while
the forest trees lined the bottom. The green surface looked like the
waters of the sea as they flow up on the land, pushing towards the top
of the mountain ravine in some places, while in others, where a bluff
stood out, the foliage was forced back, as if the elevation was too high
for the green wave to cover it.
Under this thick cloud the Indian finds fire-wood; here he burns
charcoal, which is used by the silversmiths, the blacksmiths, and
the city cooks. In the valley he gathers ornamental woods for the
cabinet-maker. After he has cut down trees and sold them, he finds that
his corn crop will yield him a plentiful supply without the trouble of
leading water through the fields with his hoe, for the rains come down
on the land so plentifully that he has nothing to do but to admire what
they do for him; while his neighbor, on the other side of the mountain,
eats only by the sweat of his brow.
For his comfort, the Indian must build himself a house for protection
against the rains. He cuts four forked poles, and stands them up as
supports to a thatched roof, slings his cotton hamac from post to post,
and there enjoys his rest, swinging in a cool, pleasant climate, while
he looks out upon the growing maize, and listens to the dashing waters
of the mountain streams.
We halted and asked permission to encamp on the third night from
Cochabamba, and to pitch our tent among an orchard of peach trees. We
cooked supper by the Indian's fire, roasted a wild goose, shot during
the day in a small lake, while José made tea and traded with the Indian
for fodder.
_May 14, 1852._—At 5 p. m., thermometer, 58°; wet bulb, 57°; cloudy and
calm. This observation is made in the peach orchard, not far below the
gorge through which we passed. After spending an uncomfortable night in
our tent, which we find rather close in this dense atmosphere, we loaded
up and pushed down through the forest trees over a most dangerous road.
In some places the mules jump down frightful steps, where trees stand so
close together that the baggage catches on both sides. I have constant
fear that the instruments will be ruined, or that some of the animals
will break their necks or our own. The water in the mountain streams
being very low, we cross some of them by wading. The rapid ones we pass
on miserable bridges made of long poles thrown over, and then covered
with the branches of trees. Their wide dry beds indicate great floods
in the rainy season. The arriero mentioned having lost half his train,
with all the baggage, in an attempt to cross during the wet season.
Our route from Tarma to Oruro was south. We travelled ahead of the sun.
In December, when we arrived in Cochabamba, the sun had just passed us.
As soon as he did so, the rains descended heavily on this side of the
ridge; it was impossible to proceed. The roads were flooded, the ravines
impassable, and the arrieros put off their journey until the dry season
had commenced. After the sun passed the zenith of Cochabamba, and had
fairly moved the rain-belt after him towards the north, then we came
out from under shelter, and are now walking behind the rain-belt in dry
weather, while the inhabitants are actively employed in tending their
crops.
After travelling all day through the woods, we encamped near a house
owned by a white man, with a wife and large family of children. The
place was called Llactahuasi. On the road we shot a wild turkey, which
was fortunate, for the woman declined selling us the only old hen she
had, as her brood of little chickens were too young to do without
parental attention. The only other living things about the house,
besides the children, were two dogs. The question first asked by our
people on arriving at a house is for provisions, so as to forestall the
same question from the poor settlers, who are found along the road at
uncertain distances. The country may be said otherwise to be uninhabited
even by wild Indians.
_May 15._—At 4 p. m., thermometer, 73°; wet bulb, 71°; clear and calm.
An increase of 15° of heat since this time yesterday. Temperature of a
stream, 56° Fahrenheit. As the mountains dwindle into hills, the trees
increase in size and the undergrowth thickens. Thousands of creepers
are tangled in the most confused manner. The branches of the woods are
loaded with a thick growth of moss, and immense masses are heaped up on
the tops of the trees. The creepers run up the trunk, coated with moss
on the south side, crawl out on the branches, and thence grow down to
the ground from the end, on which another creeper ascends, until the
branch becomes so loaded that it breaks down with the weight. The tops
of the trees grow up, and then are pulled down by these huge vines,
which hang like hempen cables. While the climate and soil encourage
the forest trees, the creeping parasites seem determined to drag them
downward. There is a constant cracking noise of snapping branches,
accompanied by a thundering roar, when large trunks are brought down.
Great logs cross our track, and we dare not look aloft, for fear of
seeing increased danger. A creeper runs up the trunk of a large tree,
and out on a limb, descends to another large tree, and turns itself
round the butt as if done by hand; then it wound its way up to perform
the same effort again, while the branches or roots were all pulling like
so many braces, until the limb was broken from the tree. As it drops
to the ground, there is a thick moss ready to grasp it, and the log is
soon covered out of sight and rots.
Some of the larger trees have been torn up by the roots, and have fallen
to the eastward, as if done by a sudden gust of wind rebounding from
the side of the mountain. All the easterly winds that strike the broad
side of the Andes do not glide upwards, but the current is sometimes
divided. The lower half turns under, sweeping down over the forests with
such force back towards the east as to break down the trees and place
them in the position referred to. The winds cannot rebound horizontally,
for they would meet each other and produce a calm. Their only means
of escape is either close down on the surface of the warm earth, or up
into the more rarified regions. When the heavy gales, which sometimes
blow in the rainy season from the eastward, strike these lofty Andes
with a force that uproots the forest trees, destroys the crops, and
sets the ocean in a rage, they accumulate here, and must burst their
way out. They would split the mariner's heavy canvass sails and blow
through; but here the gigantic strength of the mountains resists them
with a composure that makes the forest the sufferer. These heights of
the eastern side of the Andes are among the most terrific portions of
the earth. They seem to correspond to the rocky shores of the ocean,
where the waves beat heavily against their banks. The trees, bushes,
vines, creepers, and mosses are heaped up just here, like we find
sea-weed hanging on the rocks of the sea-coast. The fisherman paddles
his canoe into the calm ocean beyond the troubled breakers that strike
against the land. Here we find no inhabitants. There never were any. We
discover no ruins or marks of bygone ages. These primitive forests are
not inhabited by the savage of the present day. Here are no birds among
the trees, except the wild turkey; he walks through the bushes and feeds
on berries. There are very few of this family, much to our regret. Few
wild animals roam about.
While descending the mountains to the east of Cuzco, we found what we
see here, numbers of land shells. This, then, may be called the snail
district. They are certainly in the majority, and the only thing with
animal life, which seems to flourish in these inhospitable places. If
our poor mules were not so very sure-footed, we would never be able to
descend by this road, which is so precipitous in some places that horses
could not travel and carry a man. The short-legged donkey would be lost
in the deep mud holes, which the mules jump into and then leap out. At
night they are turned on the path to devour leaves from the bushes,
or seek some palatable herb among the trees; there is no shelter nor
pasture for them. Our party encamped in the wilderness as much exhausted
as the animals. The climate is damp and sultry, and when we lie down
to rest the season is so gloomy, it seems like a long and tedious
trance. Our old arriero proves to be a polite and amusing character.
He is a creole; makes a living by travelling down this road with salt
and returns with chocolate. Every now and then, after we have passed a
difficult part, he turns with most downcast expression and says, "Ah!
Patron! your boxes are very heavy for my mules." We tell him the roads
are bad in his country. "They are much better than they used to be."
He said when he travelled on the table lands, we became very tired of
riding all day, but here we went so slow that he did not feel fatigued,
particularly on his way up, when his mules were poor and could scarcely
climb back. He told us that it required at least six weeks rest for the
mules in Cochabamba, keeping them well fed on lucerne all the time,
before they were fleshy enough to load again for another trip down.
His full name is Cornelio Cespedes; he had been engaged travelling up
and down the Andes for a number of years, and appears to be an honest,
worthy man. Cornelio begs me to sell him Rose. I object, because she
would have to travel this dreadful road.
Descending some distance, the first sign of active animal life was a
perfect swarm of ring-tail monkeys. They travel along among the tops
of the trees at a rapid rate, first swinging to a limb by the feet,
and then by their long tails. A little one, who looks in the face like
a young negro, sometimes gets frightened and calls for his mother, who
promptly runs to his assistance, when the cunning rascal jumps on her
back, holds on to her hind leg with his tail, and gallops her off to
the next tree. The noise they make deafens us, particularly after a shot
is fired. They are not easy to kill. The men are very fond of the meat,
probably because there is not much other to be had on the road.
Our beds became wet by the rains during the night; this encourages the
fleas in our blankets to annoy us, and although we were tired enough to
sleep, we were not able to do so. We mount very much exhausted, while
our animals stagger with the weight.
The arrieros pile the baggage up in a heap at night, and cover it with
the pack-saddles. Our boxes were well covered with tarpaulins before
we left Cochabamba, and I had them lined and soldered inside with tin,
to be water-tight. We find this a good plan. No doubt we should have
been wanting in provisions had our boxes leaked, for the rain ran off
the sides of the hill, flowing round the baggage. Travellers supply
themselves with biscuits baked hard, without salt, as it melts in this
moist climate and the bread spoils. We carried cheese, tea, sugar,
rice, cakes of chocolate, and sardines, with two biscuits a day, and
what we could gather with our gun in geese, turkeys, and monkeys. We
worked along much better than our poor animals. The article we found
most valuable was rice. A wild turkey, cut up and well boiled with rice,
seasoned with a small quantity of ajé, a lump of Potosi salt scraped
with it, was most refreshing after a hard day's travel. The greatest
favor to a traveller met on the road in the forest, is to present
him with a biscuit. The patron who shares his bread with the men will
always get through. The arrieros generally carry a bag of roasted or
parched corn. It is amusing to see them luxuriating on the hind leg of
a ring-tailed monkey, taken alternately with a grain of parched corn.
They say the tail of the monkey is the most delicate part when the hair
is properly singed. If our game gave out, and it became cold monkey or
nothing, we opened our box of cheese. Monkey meat keeps longer than any
other in this climate; carried on the side of the baggage, it becomes
tender during the day by beating against the trees as the train passes
along. Of the skins the arrieros make pouches, in which they carry
coca beans and parched corn, suspended by the tail to a strap round
the waist, with the legs tied one to another, hair side out. This is
thought ornamental, and a greater protection from wet weather than the
best tanned leather. The arrieros are generally cheerful fellows, and
are always anxious to point out game, generally looking for turkeys,
knowing that the four-leg kind will fall to them alone.
There is great trouble in getting a fire; the dead wood is so much
soaked by rains that José has to inflate his cheeks till the tears run
out of his eyes. Every man carries a flint and steel with him. Arrieros
sleep soundly with their heads in the rain and feet in the ashes.
On the evening of the 7th May, we reached the Espiritu Santo; following
it for some distance we came to a lonely house, situated in a beautiful
and romantic spot. Standing at the door, looking up the ravine, through
which a stream dashes, the great Andes appear in might, wrapped in
their misty robes. The freshness of the foliage and thickness of the
leaves present different shaped clusters, so heavy and massive that
there seemed to be a difficulty on the soil for the crowds of trees and
little saplings to find room to grow. At the foot of the steep hill on
which the Indian's hut stood, a small piece of flat land, by the side
of the stream, was thickly planted with sugar canes. We gathered some
tobacco seed which was ripening on stalks nine feet high. The Indian was
a Quichua; his only comfort appeared to be in chewing coca, and his only
companions three tamed turkey hens. His house was well built, the sides
being open work, and roof well thatched with wild palm leaf. A stick of
wood with notches leaned in one corner towards the loft. This was his
stairway. As we sling our hamacs in the lower story, the old man went
up to bed. I told José to inquire why he slept up there, and we found
he was in the habit of doing so not to be at home to the tigers, who
troubled him by repeated and unwelcome visits during the night. He had
no objection to their calling in the day time, as then he was ready to
trade saltpetre and lead for a tiger's skin, which became valuable at
the Pacific coast.
Looking down the ravine we saw the Espiritu Santo descending with the
land, thickly coated in green. The forest trees are not so large as we
expected them; none of them are equal to the oaks of North America. The
old Indian pointed out the cinchona leaf on the opposite side of the
ravine, but said there were few trees in his neighborhood, that the bark
gatherers entered the woods farther towards the northwest of us.
The descent here is not near so precipitous as to the east of Cuzco,
though the difference in height between it and the last ridges we
crossed was very small. The road near the Espiritu Santo is over ridges
of hills which run parallel with the range of mountains, decreasing as
we descend. We rise up a short distance, and then descend on the long
side, like a boat forcing its way seaward through the rollers of the
coast, which, as they approach the land, become mere breakers. We passed
a comfortable night in the hut, which protected us from heavy rains
accompanied with lightning.
Farther down, at a settlement called Espiritu Santo, about one hundred
creoles were cultivating land on both sides of a ravine, which widens as
we descend. They were clearing coca patches of weeds; looked ghastly,
thin, sallow, and distressed. The climate did not agree with them.
I never saw so miserably weak, broken down a caste of men. The women
looked more healthy, but there were few of them.
The coca plants were small and unthrifty; the moss gathered about their
trunks gave them the appearance of trees placed in uncongenial climate
and soil. The patches looked beautiful on the distant sides of the
hills; rows were planted on steps formed by little stone walls one foot
high, one above the other, with a platform to plant the trees upon of a
foot and a half in width. The place was too wet and cool, and the soil
not sandy enough. The Indians say the Yungas coca is better than this
of Yuracares, and that of Cuzco a superior quality to either. The coca
tree of Cuzco is larger; these grow on an average four feet in height
and produce fewer leaves. Near Cuzco the trees are planted in a flat
country, where the climate is warmer, more regular and not so damp.
There the mats on which the leaves are dried are spread on dry ground
flats. Here a pavement built of stone is walled in with an opening on
two sides, so that when it rains the water may pass through, and wash
off the pavements placed below the surface of the ground for the purpose
of protecting them from sudden gusts of wind that come down and sweep
away the whole crop, the more easily after the leaves are dried. In the
lowlands of Cuzco the winds are not so violent, and the coca grower may
tell when a storm is approaching and carry his leaves under shelter.
The air is dry enough there even when it rains not to injure the leaf,
while here the atmosphere is so damp that the coca curer must carefully
secure his leaves against it, or they lose their flavor, diminishing
their market value. The Yuracares coca planter is too high up on the
side of the Andes. If he would condescend a little, he probably could
find as congenial a climate and soil as those in the lowlands of Cuzco.
In Espiritu Santo there are several patches which have run out; they are
constantly planting new crops, which show that the tree is short lived.
The coca is a great favorite of the Quichua Indian; he prizes it as
the Chinaman does his opium. While the one puts to sleep, the other
keeps awake. The Indian brain being excited by coca, he travels a long
distance without feeling fatigue, while he has plenty of coca, he cares
little for food. Therefore, after a journey he is worn out. In the city
of Cuzco, where the Indians masticate the best quality of coca, they use
it to excess. Their physical condition, compared with those who live far
off from the coca market, in a climate equally inhospitable, is thin,
weak, and sickly; less cheerful, and not so good looking. The chewers
also use more brandy and less tambourine and fiddle; seldom dance or
sing. Their expression of face is doleful, made hideous by green streaks
of juice streaming from each corner of the mouth.
The coca leaf has a very bitter taste to those unaccustomed to it. The
Indians chew it with a little slacked lime, which they think eases its
way down, and makes it sweeter.
The Incas employed the coca leaf, and it is said introduced it into
their church worship. Great attention was paid to its cultivation. They
were careful in the choice of land, descending to the eastward of Cuzco,
until they found the proper soil and climate.
The Indians have a curious custom with regard to the coca. After the
ball in the mouth has lost all its flavor, they throw it against a rock.
Along the narrow roads on the Andes, where the rocks stand out in the
way, we have noticed their faces besmeared with the coca leaf after it
had undergone a thorough mastication.
The men tell me they gather a crop of coca leaves every three months;
sometimes the season fluctuates. As soon as the trees are stripped of
their leaves, fresh ones sprout out again during the lifetime of the
bush, which in the montaña of Cuzco outlives a man.
Among the workmen was a negro, and I never beheld a more cheerful face
in any of his race. When he saw us, he grinned till it attracted our
attention particularly to him. He was fat and hearty; his black skin had
a clear, ebony color, while his teeth were so white and lips so red,
it was plain to see he had no partiality for coca. He was excessively
polite in getting us seeds from the plant, fetching us water and
oranges. We are among fruits and flowers now—a congenial climate for
the black man. His wool was curled in most glossy locks and his heels
projecting. He was dressed in a white jacket and trousers, straw hat,
but without a shirt.
The Creoles chewed coca and smoked tobacco. The negro luxuriated upon
oranges and bananas, which he guards from the ring-tailed monkeys, who
fancy the same food. This was his only annoyance, for he naturally sides
with the white man.
Of the three colors of men, the cold country suits the red, the hot the
black, and the temperate the white. On the steppes of Cochabamba the
white man flourishes best. In the snowy regions the Indians seem to be
less sensitive to cold; while in the heat of the tropical sun the black
shows his teeth to most advantage.
Crossing the Espiritu Santo, we encamped on the chocolate plantation,
Minas Mayo, near the bank of a stream of the same name. We had to wade;
the current was not very rapid, but with some danger of losing our
baggage, for the bottom was filled with round slippery stones, which
made it difficult for the mules to keep their feet.
The family on this plantation were gathering coffee in bags slung by a
strap round the neck, like the Brazilians gather it. The coffee-trees
here are about the same size as those of Rio Janeiro, and loaded
down with grains. There were only a few trees; the amount raised is
sufficient for the consumption of the people in the neighborhood. The
chocolate-trees are larger than those of Northern Brazil, and seem to be
well supplied with a plentiful crop of green nuts. Plantain and papaya
trees stand thick about a wooden house thatched with palm leaves. While
I was sketching, Don Cornelio looked on, with a sugar-cane stalk in one
hand and a long knife in the other. He cut off large mouthfuls which
swelled out his cheek. A Yuracares Indian stood by who had overtaken
us on his return from Cochabamba. The frock he wore was the uniform
established among the Indians by the Jesuits. It is of white cotton
cloth, after the fashion of a dress made by the savages from the bark
of certain trees. When this Indian and his companion first arrived on
the top of the mountains, they suffered much from cold. They doubled
their "camisas," but the winds whistled about their legs so freshly
they say they were taken sick. When they had delivered their despatches
to the Bishop of Cochabamba, from a padre in their country, they hid
away in the warmest ravine they could find, and remained there several
days waiting clerical orders. As soon as they received permission to
return, they scampered back to warm weather as fast as they could. They
left Cochabamba after us. We have not delayed a day, so that they have
travelled faster than our mules. On these terrible roads the Indian
moves up or down at a steady pace, while the mule stops to blow and to
rest.
The poor Indians had brought nothing to eat on the road, and the first
thing they seized here was the sugar-cane. We gave them some provisions.
They cannot bear the coca, and laugh when they see the Quichuas poking
green leaves into their mouths. They were examining their bows and
arrows to be ready for game and for fish, which they said were plenty
farther down the country. We gave them fish-hooks they were delighted to
get, and promised if we overtook them in the morning, they would shoot
us a turkey or some fish. After they slept for a few hours, Cornelio
says they rose up and travelled at midnight, single file, by the path
we afterwards followed by the light of day.
Their forms are straight and well made, but they were not strong men.
The expression of face was feminine. They looked bleached by the side of
a Quichua Indian, who was much stouter built. Their hair is worn long,
like the Quichua and Aymaras, wearing it in a long trail behind. The
Yuracares had rather a pleasant face, but not a very bright eye. Besides
his knife, he carried a cane fife, showing a taste for music; and from
the variety in a bark camisa, he certainly is fond of fancy colors,
which he procures from the dye-woods of the province. His bows and
arrows were the same as the Indians use in California; both long. Those
designed to shoot fish were beautifully made and fitted; the points or
heads of hard black wood; the arrow a reed, with colored feathers.
[Illustration: YURACARES PLANTATION.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
José is again at a loss to understand the Indian language, so we make
use of Cornelio, who is an old friend among these people, and seems to
be popular. They see him often on the road which passes through their
hunting grounds. The cap the Indian wears upon his head, Cornelio says,
was purchased in Cochabamba, Indian like, instead of buying corn for
the road.
Maize and yuca serve the men here as bread. Coffee, chocolate, and
sugar are their groceries; beans and pepper their vegetables; oranges,
papayas, plantains, and bananas, their fruits. The creole is constantly
pulling at the tobacco-leaf to roll up in acorn-husk as a cigar. He
imports rice, and flour when he can get it; gunpowder, shot, fish-hooks
and lines.
This coca business is superintended by a person who employs men from the
valley of Cochabamba, willing to seek their fortunes in the wilderness
at the rate of twenty-five cents a day. One of the workmen was kind
enough to swing my hamac under a shed; he and a companion slept in a
bed close by. The contents of a pot were puffing up; the man ran through
the dark to its relief; taking the pot from off two stones, he politely
invited me to join them at supper. Our light was from the burning chunks
of wood, and a hungry dog kept watch around us, and barked when he
heard a noise in the woods. The employer of this hospitable man paid
him fifteen dollars per annum; clothed him in coarse cotton, lodged
him under a shed, and we found his supper of rice very good. Our host
was a mestizo, from the town of Sacaba, in the valley of Cochabamba. He
expressed great desire to return home. "The climate is more agreeable,"
he said; "there is less sickness, and there we have nothing to do. The
life is a gay one; we play upon the guitar, dance, and sing with the
girls, and live an easy life. The girls won't come down here for fear of
los animales (wild beasts). We get no mutton for our chupe. Ah, Señor!
above all, we never see a cup of chicha; but with hoe in hand, we go to
the coca patch at sunrise in the morning, and there remain during the
day, only leaving it in case of a heavy rain."
We tried to convince this honest laborer he was doing a better work
for his children and his country by cultivating coffee, chocolate, and
sugar, than by dancing, music, and drinking chicha. He laughingly shook
his head, and said, "the children must take care of themselves as I have
done; and as to the country, we are yet without law in Espiritu Santo,
except the law of our Catholic church, which exacts of us an annual
contribution, which has to be deducted from fifteen dollars a year."
The Espiritu Santo is joined by a smaller stream, Minas Mayo. The
two form the river Paracti, which being the main branch of several
tributaries on the opposite side, presents quite a formidable stream
of seventy yards wide. Its greenish waters flow more sedately, less
rapidly, and through a country with less declination than some others.
At the head of Paracti the thermometer stood at 73° fahrenheit, and the
temperature of the river water, 70°. The small lakes on the ridge have a
temperature of 59°, and as we are now at the base of the ridge, we note
the difference, 11° fahrenheit. The waters which flow down the sides
of the Andes in the dry seasons are partly from the melted snow, having
undergone the process of freezing into glaciers, which melt again, and
the waters form small lakes near by. As these lakes fill up, the water
overflows either on the one side or the other, sometimes on both; if
the latter, and the lake be upon the highest ridge of the great range
of Cordilleras, that which flows over the west side of the lake is a
tributary to the Pacific ocean, and that which comes to the eastward
goes to the Atlantic. The main branch to the Mamoré river does not
become navigable for canoes until it turns towards the north, and has
come fairly under the rain belt, which pours down heavily to latitude
17° south. The navigation of that stream is marked by this edge of the
rainy region so plainly, that the river Piray, which is a tributary of
the Mamoré and close by it, may be descended in a canoe from Puerto de
Jeres, while the main stream throughout its length, south of latitude
17°, is passed on bridges or forded.
On the side of the Paracti the hills are small, and our road during the
day's travel is often over flats or slopes, for we are still descending
over what may be termed the great breast of the Andes, which swells out
magnificently towards the morning sun to the delightful tropical breezes
that blow over its productive soil.
Our train of mules are much harassed climbing over the hills, on the
east side, one of them, exhausted, lost his footing and rolled over,
baggage and all.
We encamped by the side of the Paracti in the wilderness; not a house
near us. We passed our acquaintances, the Yuracares Indians, on the
road. They marched slowly along, with bows and arrows in hand, dressed
in their bark shirts, bare-headed and footed; true wild men of the
woods. They had no fish or game. Cornelio said they were treated so well
by us they would not exert themselves to hunt, but as soon as they felt
hungry, would get fish from the river or turkeys from the woods.
We slung our hamacs between two trees, a fire was made, our mules were
turned out in the woods to roam, picking up whatever they might find,
under charge of the old white mare, "the mother," as she is called,
of the train. Rice is boiling without turkey. The moist climate has
affected the gun-caps. Cornelio begins to look thin and haggard. The
mules have fallen away so much, it is very doubtful if they will be in
fit condition to return.
After supper we lay down to sleep in the rain. The noise of the
neighboring stream was musical. We felt we should make headway when once
launched upon the river. Though roughly used, our health keeps good, and
every day we gain a little. The farther we go the slower the animals
move; they are too weak to bear pushing. The men help them up steep
places by the after-part of the baggage, changing cargoes every day. The
mule that carried a heavy load to-day takes a lighter one to-morrow. Our
saddle-mules do better, as they carry a living man with more ease than
dead boxes. One of the baggage-mules ran under a tree fallen across the
road, struck the end of the box of instruments and knocked it off, and
away it rolled down the bank.
The musquitoes bothered us during the night, and the vampire bats
bit the mules. One struck Mamoré on the tail, and another Pinto—an
arriero—on the big toe.
At the head of the Paracti, we find birds of beautiful plumage. As soon
as we come where fish are found in the streams, there the woods are
filled with birds; the air with musquitoes and flies. Ants and bees
are more numerous, as well as wild animals. The wild Indians do not
permanently reside here; they only come on hunting occasions for fish
and game in the woods. The wild duck is seldom found above where the
fish reach. The different species of animals seem to be joyously feeding
on each other. One bird robs another of its eggs, while a third carries
off the young of the second. One bird feeds upon the berries of the
trees, and prepares himself as food for another of greater strength.
Some fowls feed upon the fish of the river, while the snake is busy
entrapping their mates. Bees make honey, and the bears eat it. While
the arriero preys upon the ring-tailed monkey, the vampire bat sucks
the blood from his toe or his dog's tail. The ants are disturbed by our
fire; the whole race seems to be in a rage; and while the Indian can
travel all day without shoes, these insects crawl into our boots and
sting us most unmercifully.
_May 20, 1852._—At 5 p. m., thermometer, 78°; wet bulb, 74°; cloudy
and calm. As we reached the foot of a hill, we met a train of mules
ascending with a cargo of cacao. The animals were miserably poor.
They had carried down salt and foreign dry-goods. One of the arrieros
unloaded a mule to get at a bundle of straw-hats, one of which he wanted
to sell to Richards. When they called to the train to go on, it was with
difficulty the animals were assisted to rise, who had laid down under
their loads.
As we quietly wind our way through a flat country, the lofty tree-tops
are thickly habited by the monkey tribe. One of our baggage-mules became
entangled in a creeper. The animal was wound up in it. It struggled with
all its might, became frightened, stripped itself of the baggage, and
applying all its strength, down came the whole tree over our heads. The
branches switched the poor mule severely. It looked almost distracted,
and so much wound up that no one could understand the ropes. The only
way by which the arriero could extricate it was by cutting the creepers
on both sides of the mule, who looked as if within the turns of a
serpent hanging from a limb, and winding himself round the body of the
animal. The tree by which we were standing protected us. The falling
one was caught in its descent, so that we escaped a severe whipping, if
nothing worse.
Cornelio was ahead, and halted while the baggage-mules passed by.
When we came up, we found him shaking hands with five most wild and
savage-looking men. Their faces were painted in stripes of red, green,
and blue, which gave them the appearance of being tattooed. Their hair
was short; dirty bark cloths were suspended round their waists. The
feet, legs, breasts, arms, and heads were bare. In their left hands they
carried bows and arrows; in a belt a long knife of English manufacture.
Their teeth were much worn and dirty. They had holes in their ears and
noses, but no ornaments in them. They were middle-sized men, stoutly
built, but lazy looking. Their natural color was concealed by dirt
and paint. We were unable to tell, upon so short acquaintance, what it
was. Their eyes were blood-shot, and their general appearance showed to
most advantage when viewed from amongst friends. Each one came up and
shook hands in an awkward manner that plainly showed the habit was not
natural. They smiled, however, and quickly asked for bread, fish-hooks,
and knives. Cornelio told them to bring us game and fish to the next
stopping-place, and when we unloaded our mules he would have something
for them. They at present received bread and ate it up greedily. Rose
started at a noise in the woods, and on looking round, we beheld three
more younger Indians and one woman. She carried an earthen pot slung
to her back, and was dressed like the men. Her head was large, nose
flat, and altogether such a hideous being, I shall not pretend fully
to describe her. She was small, and appeared like a child by the young
men, who were better looking, and with more pleasing expression of face
than either of the others; they were less painted, and carried smaller
sized weapons. This party of Indians were of the Yuracares tribe on a
hunting excursion. They roam through the woods and along the streams
seeking food. The woman accompanies them as cook and help; she carries
their game, and acts as the servant of these savage men, following them
in the hunt with the old smoked earthen pot hanging to her back. When
a turkey falls, or a fish is drawn from the river, or the tiger skin
is taken, they are tossed to the woman, who lugs them along with her
pot until they encamp for the night, when she builds a fire, cooks the
game, and all seat themselves in a ring and feast, after starving a day
and a half. Should it rain, a few, large green leaves are spread upon
some branches of bushes, sloped on the weather side of a ridge-pole,
supported by two forked stakes. The ground underneath is bedded with
more green leaves from the forest; the seven men and one woman retire
for the night, with their feet towards the fire, which is a protection
against musquitoes and bats. When rain falls at night the air is cold,
and these wild men are kept warm sleeping close to one another. In the
morning, before the break of day, they are all on their feet; not a word
is spoken; a death-like silence pervades before the waking up of other
animals. The moment the ring-tailed monkey opens his eyes and gapes
after his night's rest, the watchful Indian draws his bow; the screaming
monkey falls to the ground pierced by an arrow; he twists, turns, and
calls for help from his fellows; the Indians stand perfectly still,
knowing that the curious family will rush to the rescue, and, as they
one by one crawl down to see what the matter is, the arrows fly silently
through the trees, when the screaming is terrible. The wild turkey,
however, is not disturbed, for the racket made by the monkey family is
only a little louder than usual at that hour of the morning, and as he
shakes the dew from his wings before he flies from his roosting-place,
the well-aimed arrow brings him to the ground. Tigers that roam about
for their breakfast, scent the Indian's resting-place by the gentle
breezes that blow from it; they growlingly approach the rude habitation,
but the arrow meets him, strikes inside his fore-shoulder, penetrates
his heart; his claws tear the earth, and his teeth clench the slender
arrow in his dying agony.
As the sun shines brightly upon the happy waters of the river, the fish
begin to jump and play. The Indian takes his stand on the rocks in the
stream, and with an eye that seems to penetrate the depths, shoots; his
arrow is drawn up with a breakfast for one, sometimes a foot in length.
As the Indians do not inhabit this region, the game is undisturbed,
except on rare occasions. The animals increase and multiply without
being frightened by the sound of a rifle or the noise of a shot-gun,
except when the white man appears.
The Yuracares Indians are half-civilized, or, more properly speaking,
are half friendly to the white man. We may pass among them without
danger. The creoles are careful to treat them kindly, well knowing they
would silently draw their bow-strings if they did otherwise. Cornelio
was exceedingly polite; gave them part of what they asked for, and
promised more when they brought us game, which appeared reasonable to
them, so they came anxiously after us. We were equally as polite. I was
obliged to be unusually particular, as one of them inquired after the
health of the "Patron." After they had looked at us, it was plain they
distinguished a difference between us and the Spanish race. One turned
to the other and quickly disclosed his discovery. They then drew near
to examine the North Americans. When Richards remarked "We were among
the savages at last," they all laughed and talked among themselves
in quick succession. They examined our boots and gloves; pointed to
my stirrups, which were English, and differed from those used in the
country, which are formed of painted blocks of wood, with a hole cut
in one side to slip the foot into and protect the toes against rocks.
The creoles prefer this stirrup because it provides against rain and
mud; but they are clumsy, particularly in the woods, where they are
constantly catching in the trees and bushes, that I do not think them
an improvement. The mountain saddles with high backs and pommels are
indispensably necessary on the eastern slope of the Andes; but on the
table-lands and along the roads, among the Cordillera, the plain saddle
is more comfortable, though probably it is not so safe. Cornelio uses
nothing but his bedding, over which he slings his saddle-bags attached
to a strap, with two great wooden blocks slung to each end, and a
crupper to which he often turns and holds on as the mule jumps down a
steep place in the road to the risk of the animal's tail.
On the evening of the 21st of May, we sat straight in the saddle,
the mules walked leisurely along over a level road to the bank of the
beautiful river San Mateo, flowing swiftly to the northward to join
its sister, the Paracti, which runs east. The stream was from sixty to
seventy yards wide, with an extended rocky bed, which shows that during
the rainy season it is a large one, though less rapid than the Paracti.
The Indian lives by the side of the San Mateo. Brighter days and clearer
nights are found here. The soil is rich, the country undulating. The
Indian has an uninterrupted view of the valley of the San Mateo, until
his eye strikes the Andes.
We halted at a place called San Antonio, composed of a single shed,
very neatly built and thatched. Our hamacs were slung up and baggage put
under cover. We bathed in the waters of the stream, and were refreshed
by our suppers. We felt grateful we had crossed all the mountains in
safety, as we look up at their heads among the clouds.
The evening is like that of spring. As we found everlasting winter on
top, so perpetual summer is here. The flats are covered with a growth
of forest trees, besides which there are cane-brakes, bamboo, and
coarse grasses, sappy bushes, and plants that prove the soil to be of
the richest kind. This is the place for the axe, the plough, and the
hoe. The axe has never touched one of the trees, except when the Indian
wanted its coat. The face of the country is a true picture of nature.
The hand of civilization has not yet touched it, though probably it
contains a soil and a climate that would produce as well as the richest
spot known, and would astonish the planter, not only by an enormous
yield, but encourage him in planting a variety yet unexampled.
A log canoe lay fastened to a stone near the bank of the San Mateo. This
is the first _wooden_ vessel we have seen since we left the steamship
"Bolivia" at Callao, begging pardon of the wooden spoons, plates,
stirrups, and other ware along the route.
Cornelio has unpacked a small bale of cotton goods, and is measuring off
several yards of white cotton cloth for four Yuracares Indians' pay in
advance for their services in the morning in helping us cross the river.
The trade is interesting; the Indians have thrown down their bows and
arrows in confusion, and stand watching with eager eyes the unrolling
of colored cotton handkerchiefs, knives, needles, &c. When they see
the fish-hooks there is a shout of joy. They crowd so close round old
Cornelio that he has great difficulty to keep the savages from trying
on all the colored cotton caps he has brought. These Indians have no
gold ornaments to trade for what strikes their fancy; they are nearly
distracted with desire to get what they see. They own nothing but bows
and arrows, a little yuca, and a few ears of corn to offer in exchange.
Animal food is so plentiful here that they are not obliged to cultivate
the soil, however productive it may be.
The province of Yuracares belongs to the department of Beni. It
comprises the sides of the ridge from head to foot, and therefore within
its borders the climates are cold, temperate, warm, and hot. Gold is
reported to have been found in its streams, though we were unsuccessful,
after washing all the way down from the top. We did not see the people
gathering cinchona bark, prohibited by a decree of the government. Few
of these trees are on our way down, yet we saw trains of mules loaded
with bark crossing the Andes on their way to the Pacific, and workmen
packing it up in bales in the bank at Cochabamba. Unless a different
system is followed in the gathering, this valuable article of trade will
be lost. The lands wooded with cinchona trees belong to the government.
Private individuals have no control over the preservation of these parts
of the forest. All who desire to gather may do so; this is a destructive
plan. Every man in the country has an interest in the trade; yet, those
who reap the greatest benefit by it, destroy every tree they meet,
chopping it down, and stripping every inch of bark from its trunk and
limbs.
CHAPTER VIII.
Cinchona forest—Indians shooting fish—Department of the
Beni—Vinchuta—Small pox—Canichanas boat's crew—Cotton cloth
and silver coins—Our faithful servant José Casas and the
mules—Trade at Vinchuta—A night on Coni creek—Embarkation at
the base of the Andes—Chaparé river—Canoe life—Floods—Bark
cloth—Pick up the sick—Indians at prayers in the
wilderness—Lassoing an alligator.
The cinchona trees of Bolivia are found in that boisterous uninhabited
region on the east side of the Andes which we have just passed through,
in a sort of belt all along the side of the mountains, stretching
from about half-way down to the feet of the Andes; a beautiful green
skirt, which clothes these lofty mountains and protects their nakedness
from the heavy east winds and beating rains. The general impression
on the other side of this valuable forest is, that the cinchona tree
may be found many miles to the eastward of where the bark gatherer
has penetrated. This is not so; probably most of them have touched
the lowest edge of this rich dress. On the road to the head of the
Madre-de-Dios, in Cuzco, I passed beyond where the bark gatherers went,
and Leechler, who made his living by collecting bark, was constantly
saying to me, after we got fairly down into the bottom of the Amazon
basin, "I see no cinchona trees, sir, and I am looking out for my
fortune down here." When we returned to the boisterous region, there
he was calling my attention to the shining leaf, clearly distinguished
from the other foliage.
The impression in Bolivia is that the Yungas forest is giving out, and
the bark gatherers are turning their attention to the Yuracares forests.
There is no doubt that the forests of Yungas have been nearly stripped
of this valuable tree. The only way to save the cinchona tree is to take
the bark off in strips, so that the tree will cover itself again, and
then the supply will be constant. The decree issued by the government,
prohibiting the cutting of bark for the next three years, is no remedy.
The forest does not become enriched by a new growth of trees in that
time. It requires a man's life, and probably more, for the cinchona
tree to become of full size, and after the first growth is cut down that
species of tree may be forever lost to the land where it was originally
found in such abundance. The cinchona tree requires care and protection.
At daylight in the morning twelve or fourteen Indians came to San
Antonio's shed to see us. Three of them were on their way to a lake
for fish. While the mules were loading for the ferry I accompanied the
three savages. As we walked along they asked me all sorts of questions,
none of which I could understand. When they saw a bird they called my
attention to it, and made signs for my gun to shoot. They seemed to
admire my gun as much as I did their bows and arrows. I drew from my
belt one of Colt's revolvers and showed the number of balls it carried.
By way of trying one of them, I offered it to him; he shook his head,
no; patting his hand on his arrows, as much as to say he admired his
own invention the best. As we neared the fishing place they quickened
their pace and walked single file, like soldiers marching up to a
fortification. The lake was small and deep, with water so clear that the
bottom was plainly to be seen. The stream that fed it ran off the side
of a hill, thickly wooded. Long stakes had been driven into the muddy
bottom, and to the heads, which stick out of water, poles were fastened
by means of creepers, so that the Indians could walk out upon a platform
just above the surface of the water. As they did so they arranged their
black spears, which were about twelve feet long, and silently watched
on the bottom, one at each end of the lake and one in the middle. Their
arrows were pointed down into the water; when one fired and missed there
was a general shout of laughter, and he good naturedly talked to them
and to the fish as he caught the arrow when it rebounded to the surface,
between the bow and its string, a stout cord, neatly twisted, made of
white cotton. The next one that shot caught his arrow in the same way,
which was shaking with a heavy fish, a foot in length. He killed it
by sticking his knife into the back of its head, took out the arrow,
and threw the fish on the shore. Turning up the point of his weapon he
sharpened it with his knife, and made ready the second time. The knife
was fastened to a string suspended round the neck; after using it, he
threw it over his shoulder, where it hung on his back out of his way
till the next fish was caught. The knife looked like a table knife
broken square off, and sharpened at the end like a chisel, and was used
as such, not like a common knife.
As the fish were thrown out one after the other, in quick succession,
the excitement became very great; they chatted and laughed all the
while, and appeared to be joking one another. Their faces brightened
pleasantly as they drew out the fish, and whenever one of them missed,
they all shouted in loud laughter. Each man shot five fine fish, and one
of them one more. They then repaired their fishing scaffold and left
the lake. After we had returned some distance they stopped, cut fresh
green leaves from a sort of cabbage plant, and rolled them one by one
therein, after their entrails had been taken out. One of them made a
little willow hand basket in a moment, and the game was secured from the
heat of the sun, which by this time was shining down brightly. A part of
their morning's labor was presented to me. I returned fish-hooks, which
pleased them more than anything that could be given to them. A little
aboriginal came for the fish, and while he took them home to the women,
the Indians went with us to the ferry.
[Illustration: YURACARES INDIANS SHOOTING FISH.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
These Indians are much more cheerful than those on the mountains. They
have a great fancy for bright colors, and live after their own fashion.
Their manners and customs are their own, and have never been changed by
the influence of the white man. Like the country they live in, they are
as the God of nature made them. Their natural disposition is a peaceful
one, with a decided character, which shows that the Spaniards may come
among them and live with them if they please. But the happy life of the
hunter is not to be given up for the more laborious work of cultivating
coca patches.
These Indians occupy about the same district of country here that the
savage and unfriendly Chunchos do in Peru, on the tributaries of the
Madre-de-Dios; but have a different expression of face, now that we know
them better. They are more manly in deportment than the Chunchos, who
are described to crawl through the woods with wilful determination of
assassins.
They loaded the canoe with our baggage, and in a smooth place in the
San Mateo, below a very rapid fall, paddled across. By several trips,
they safely carried all our boxes over, and then swam the mules. One
of them led the old white mare into the stream; the mules followed; the
Indians dashed in after them, and the train swam to the opposite shore.
The canoe came back for us, and we embarked at the foot of the Andes
on a voyage across a stream, which was not navigable, even for a canoe,
except where we passed. The color of the water was milky.
We met another train of mules, loaded with cacao, on their way to
Cochabamba. The Indians transported them over the same way they did us.
Our mules were so much exhausted that they stood upon the rocky beach
hanging their heads. As the water dripped from their sides the hot sun
dried them, and the swarms of sand-flies troubled them as much as us.
Cornelio told me his animals could not proceed—they were nearly worn
out; so that we had to spend the day on the bank of the river, while the
mules roamed into the woods and along the wide flat, which overflows in
the rainy season.
The department of the Beni is the ninth and last in Bolivia. It
comprises the northeastern portion. This and the department of Santa
Cruz are the two largest and most easterly parts of the country. They
stretch from the Andes to the Brazilian territory.
The great Beni river, which rises among the mountains of La Paz;
the Mamoré, from the department of Cochabamba; and the Itenez, whose
headwaters commence in the mountains of Matto Grosso, in Brazil, all
flow through the department of the Beni; yet it is the wild country
of Bolivia, and probably the most wealthy of the States of this
confederacy.
That part of the Beni which lies on the eastern border of Yungas is
called the province of Apolobamba. The chocolate, coca, and cinchona
bark from Apolobamba are superior.
The southeast trade-winds from the South Atlantic ocean meet, and are
checked by the great Sorata mountains. The town of Apolobamba, on the
river Tuiché, is situated half-way between the gold mines of Tipuani and
Carabaya. There is no such cinchona as that known as the "calisaya" of
Apolobamba. At the feet of these trees are found the richest gold mines
of Bolivia; and on the other side of the mountain range are said to be
the richest gold mines in South America.
The southeast trade-winds are uninterrupted, after they rise from the
ocean and pass over the beautiful "Organ" mountains in sight of Rio
Janeiro, until they strike the slope on which the town of Apolobamba is
situated.
The same wind that propels the sailor from the equator towards Cape
Horn, on the South Atlantic ocean, on his way for the Peruvian bark,
carries the moisture from the same ocean to give life to the trees from
which the sailor receives his cargo. No man is supposed by seamen to
have a right to the privileges of grumbling at the world or the winds
until he has doubled Cape Horn.
Having rested our mules, we pushed on for eight leagues over a level
road to the port of Vinchuta, which is composed of six sheds, or
Yuracares houses, one of them two stories. As this was the governor's,
we dismounted and walked up stairs. On gaining the upper floor, a young
creole stepped forward and politely invited us to a seat, from which
we could overlook the town. We were told that the governor and the
inhabitants had deserted the place—they took fright at the small pox;
and, the young man, pointing to a little Indian boy with a most ghastly
stare, who was wrapped up in a poncho laying near me, said, "my servant,
sir, is suffering very much with that disease, and down the country
the Indians are being swept off at a terrible rate." This was not the
most agreeable news, particularly as we were obliged to remain here
until the governor came to his post to discharge a large canoe which
was ready to leave for Trinidad, the capital of the department, and in
which consisted our only way of proceeding.
[Illustration: SAN MATEO FERRY, Bolivia.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
A message was sent to the governor, who was at the small town of
Chimoré, where the Indians had collected as a retreat from the
small-pox, and where there was a padre.
Vinchuta is the point at which the traders in the cacao of the province
of Mojos reach those of Cochabamba with salt. A cake of salt, cut out
of the Lakes of Oruro or Potosi, brought down to Cochabamba, is worth
thirty-seven and a half cents. When that cake reaches Trinidad, it
is worth two dollars. A mule carries eight cakes, or six arrobas—one
hundred and fifty pounds. Salt sells, therefore, in this department at a
little over ten cents a pound. The freight to Vinchuta from Cochabamba
is eight dollars the mule load. We have made the journey in ten days,
which is about the average passage; the return train is a couple of days
longer, but it has been made in ten days back.
Cacao is bought in Trinidad at from one dollar and fifty cents to two
dollars and fifty cents the arroba, or twenty-five pounds. The market
price in Cochabamba is usually six dollars. Chocolate may be had,
then, in Trinidad at six cents a pound, while in Cochabamba it costs
twenty-four.
The houses were surrounded by the primitive forest, the only land
cleared being the space of ground in the centre, where there was a
growth of grass showing what beautiful pasture lands these flats would
make were the forests cleared away. We observed a single papaya and a
few pepper plants by one of the houses. The mules were turned into the
woods, and we towards our baggage for supper. As the young creole and
his sick "servant" were without provisions, they appeared glad to see
us.
We found the creole was a schoolmaster, going down to one of the small
towns in the country, to teach young Indians Spanish. The government
supports, upon a very small pay, teachers in all the towns to instruct
the Indian.
The next morning the governor made his appearance, read our passports,
and said there was a large canoe ready for us; that she might go off
to-morrow. He seemed to be an active little man and very obliging;
wanted to know all the news from Cochabamba, and was constantly
complaining he had nothing nice to give us, besides which he was very
particular to let us know he had the roads put in fine order, as he had
been ordered to do by the prefect of his department, as they knew we
were coming. We found the roads at best shockingly bad.
While he was talking, a man came in who had been to Potosi and back for
the purpose of getting the governor's place, but the government refused
to make a change, so the disappointed expectant governor had to present
his passports to the one in office, which he seemed to dislike.
The crew of the canoe was sent for; they were fine, stout,
open-countenanced, respectable looking Indians of the "Canichanas"
tribe, from a town in the province of Mojos, near the Mamoré river.
These polite mannered men stood before us with straw hats in hand,
dressed in a bark-cloth "camisa," listening to what the governor said
to our interpreter—that the President of Bolivia wished them to take
particular care of us; that we wanted to go down and look at the great
rivers, and stated how many yards of white cotton cloth he would give
them apiece, namely, three yards, about enough to make each a shirt.
They promised to do their duty and obey my orders.
Had I known at the time what I discovered afterwards, I should have made
the bargain with the men myself. It appeared that the governor paid them
in cotton cloth, while I paid him in silver money. The honest laboring
Indian, who was supposed to be ignorant of the act, felt the injustice
and saw its wrong more clearly than he was supposed to do. One day,
long after our first meeting, I happened to ask the interpreter which
the Indians cared the most for, silver coin or cotton cloth, thinking
of course they preferred the latter, but I found they knew how to make
cotton cloth with their own hands. So little do they care for it, that
the governor had every one of their canoe paddles standing up in a
corner of his bed room for fear they would leave without a cargo and
go home with an empty boat, after landing the chocolate which a creole
sent from Trinidad.
José was to leave us here. The good old man had performed his duty in
the service of the United States very faithfully. He had not heard from
his wife and family for the nine months he has been with us. We engaged
him as a guide, but had passed beyond his knowledge of the country
before we got to Cuzco; his fluency in the Quichua language made him
indispensably necessary to the expedition; he made himself so useful to
our small party we shall long remember his kindness. As he was nearly
60 years of age, with a large family in the Juaja valley, in Peru, we
could not persuade him to go farther with us; we shall miss him very
much. I gave the old man "Bill," as Richards called his mule, to return
home, in addition to his pay, and an honorable discharge, in writing,
from the _naval_ service of the United States.
José had two faults, more or less natural ones—he had a standing rule to
get intoxicated periodically, every six months; and, when he had time,
he would also slip into a gambling house and lose his month's wages in a
few moments. I have often persuaded him to let me keep back his pay, and
told him he should not throw it away; when he would gently answer, "Ah,
señor, there are very few perfect people in this world." We became much
attached to him; Richards would often say, "if we could only persuade
José to go down the rivers with us, we would be certain to get through."
I also regretted to part with my faithful mule, Rose. She had carried me
nearly two thousand miles over the worst roads known to the white man,
without having fallen once during the whole route. This was the _third_
time she had descended the eastern side of the Andes into the montaña,
without injury to herself or others. When she saw danger she came to a
stand-still, and never would proceed until I dismounted, and then she
would often refuse to go on until some other mule went before her.
The horse may be driven into danger by the rider; with the spur a horse
may be made to break his neck over a rickety mountain bridge; he is
man's favorite; is stabled, fed, combed, and watered, in health; when
sick he has a doctor. But the jackass will not cross a dangerous place;
whip him, he hangs down his head, lays back his long ears, and lets
fly both heels at whoever attempts to force him. He will turn round and
bite; in this he shows a higher order of intelligence than the horse.
Man beats the jack; uses him all day, and at night turns him out on the
road-side to feed upon thistles, and to find drink where he can.
Rose has the characteristics of both animals. In gentleness of
disposition and intelligence, she takes after her sure-footed father,
the jack; in activity, beauty of form, and liveliness of spirit, after
her mother, the mare, of the Argentine pampas. This cross is the only
animal valuable as a beast of burden in these mountainous countries.
The horse would fall or be worried to death where the mule passes with
ease. Their backs are short, and therefore can carry a load better than
a horse. The jackass is too slow for a long journey, but like the llama
will serve the purposes of the Indian, who suits himself to the gait of
those animals.
The best mules are thought to be the females; they are better tempered,
work easier, carry heavier loads, and keep in good order upon less food
than the male mule. The females are invariably the best saddle mules.
Vinchuta is the eastern commercial emporium of Bolivia, but foreign
manufactures come down from the mountains of the country instead of up
the rivers from the sea. After the cotton goods, glass ware, and cutlery
of Europe and North America are disembarked at Cobija, they traverse the
Cordilleras over rocky roads, through the desert of Atacama, the barren
plains of Oruro, over the Andes, and down those terrible roads we have
just travelled. After worrying and tugging for more than eight hundred
miles, all of that part of the cargo not ruined by such a journey on
the backs of mules, arrives at the most important commercial port this
country possesses.
There is very little trading going on here, because the outlet on the
one hand is such as we describe, and the people seem to be ignorant of
the advantages offered to them from the Atlantic direct, instead of the
round-about way of the Pacific.
But the business under these sheds in the wilderness attracts attention.
We find the Aymara, Quichua, and Spanish languages mingling with the
Yuracares and Canichanas; we are pleased to add the Anglo-Norman. The
arriero and the canoe men meet in friendship with each and with us.
On Tuesday, 25th May, we descended the steep bank of Coni creek,
stepping into a canoe made of a log forty feet long and four feet wide.
The model of this canoe appeared to us a beautiful one as she sat upon
the water. She was one of the largest used by the Bolivian Indians, and
the contour of the vessel resembled a model frigate more than any other.
Her cargo was piled up on the bank under a rustic house built by the
crew of the leaves and branches of trees. The boat-keeper was washing
out the canoe; she was open fore and aft.
The creek was fifty yards wide, with a swift current. As we stood in the
canoe and looked up the stream, we could see the great Andes far back
among the clouds. This was to be our last view; they were nearly out of
sight, and we were to enter upon a new life. José and the mules had left
us. Our party was composed of Mamoré, Richards, and myself. As the crew
came one by one from Vinchuta, with parts of the cargo carried on their
backs, Mamoré barked; his loud voice made the wild forest ring. The crew
became attached to him at once, and laughed at the fear expressed by
those who came up last. We found him to be valuable, and rated him as
sentinel both by night and by day.
The boat's crew was deficient. There were ten men here, four had been
left along the banks of the river on their way up with the smallpox,
and one of the ten was taken sick here; therefore our crew was reduced
to nine working men. The sick boy lay on the bank with this horrible
disease, shaded by a few green leaves from the hot sun in the day,
and partly protected from the rain during the night, without medical
attention or any relief whatever. The poor creature seemed to bear the
pain with patience, but his stare was sickening as he looked up from
under the bushes.
[Illustration: VINCHUTA, Bolivia.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
Two of the crew were engaged with small iron axes cutting sticks of
wood long enough to rest the ends on the inside of the canoe across the
bottom, so as to leave an inch or two space under this flooring for any
water to pass clear of the baggage. Five of these floorings were laid
at equal distances apart, wide enough to place two trunks lengthwise,
and two more on top of them, with space between for two canoemen to
sit and paddle. Raw-hides were placed on the platforms, and on them the
baggage was neatly laid. Our trunks and boxes stowed very well, and were
covered with raw-hide. As the bottom of our boxes were water-tight,
we were satisfied that unless we upset or filled, the baggage would
go perfectly dry—an important matter in a wet climate under the most
favorable circumstances—and more so when there is no stopping-places on
the road from town to town, where the traveller can pick up a dinner.
Vines and creepers were bowed and fastened by the ends to the sides
of the after-part of the canoe, and over them were spread raw-hides,
hair side under, for the length of twelve feet. This was the cabin.
Our gun was slung overhead, powder-flask and shot-bag to the bows. The
instrument box was safely stowed inside, so that we might get at the
ruled paper, and chart the river. We set our compass inside also. The
floor of the cabin was a rustic grating made by one of the crew, with
small straight sticks fastened to a heavy cross piece by means of a
slender creeper. Our beds were kept in India-rubber bags. After getting
nearly ready, we found there still remained another load of salt in the
governor's house, and as night had come on and the rain began to fall,
we would be detained until the next day. Then, too, the schoolmaster and
the disappointed ex-governor were to take passage in the same canoe;
it was their only chance like ours, and as there was no telling when
another canoe would be here, all claim a right to go. Of course I could
not object, under such circumstances, although they would be very much
in our way, as we were about to explore a critical part of navigation
on the upper waters of the Madeira.
So our tent was pitched on the bank; it had been our house on the
barren mountain-tops, and now it was put up in the wild woods. There
the climate was cold, and the tent protected and kept us warm. Here the
climate is hot, and when the tent is closed and the canvass became wet,
we found the heat oppressive. We could not sleep, so we threw open the
door-way and in swarmed musquitoes. It was evident that the tent could
not accommodate so many comfortably; we were therefore driven out. The
rain-storm increased. I found my way down the clayed bank to the canoe.
Richards joined the schoolmaster under the rustic hut. The musquitoes
soon drove me out, and we all gathered round a large fire built by the
Indians, and watched their mode of passing such a night.
A large pot of water was put on the fire. It was midnight; the wind
roared through the forest trees, and the rain beat heavily at the feet
of the Andes. The Indians drew knives and gathered round the light of
the fire to skin the yuca. Some divided them into small pieces, and
pitched them into the pot with a piece of salted meat. After the pot
was properly hung over the fire by a strong raw-hide rope, they lay down
under their green leaf roof, and with their feet to the hot ashes, and
heads covered with an extra shirt, stretched out for a nap. One kept
awake as cook to attend the boiling pot.
All slept soundly for a while. We were then disturbed by musquitoes and
the rain. The Indians were snoring; the cook was talking to his pot
as it boiled over, and the water caused a hissing noise in the fire.
Suddenly all jumped up, leaving their bark-cloth camisas under cover,
and joined the cook in the rain.
We carry a tin wash-basin, which happened to be close by in the light
of the fire. I did not understand why it had not been put into the
canoe with other things. One of the naked red men picked it up and
placed it near the cook, who turned the hot yuca soup into the basin. A
satisfactory expression shone in every face as they squatted around our
tin wash-basin. Each man formed his fingers into spoon-shape, and dipped
in; thus they laughingly passed the remainder of the night. One hand
was actively playing between the basin and their mouths, while the other
was constantly in motion flapping the musquitoes, who came up from the
darkness behind. Our dog rose up from his sleeping position to look on.
The men were constantly calling him by his familiar name, and dividing
their share of the supper with him. We were obliged to be resigned to
our fate, not knowing where to go for comfort, or how to get to sleep.
These wild men accommodated themselves perfectly to circumstances.
We looked on as long as we could keep our eyes open, and at last fell
asleep. At day-break I found myself refreshed; but on opening my eyes,
saw my pillow had been the body of the poor sick boy, who was so weak
with the small-pox that we had him sent up to the governor.
These kind-hearted men pay all the attention to the sick they possibly
can; but they are at a loss to know what to do for the small-pox.
They wait patiently until it passes away. I believe they think it is a
punishment sent to them, and they must bear it the best way they can.
The Yuracares Indians are not navigators, but hunters, and are less
under the control of the church than either the cultivators of the
soil or our canoemen. I was unable to find out the number composing
the Yuracares tribe, but there are not many of them. Chimoré is the
capital of the province, and in the list of "villas," which are given
for all places containing over three hundred inhabitants, Chimoré is not
found. The Yuracares tribe are scattered along the base of the Andes
in this province in little bands of from seven to twenty; and there
may be in the whole province six hundred Yuracares Indians. The present
productions of Yuracares are confined principally to the cinchona bark
and coca.
As the streams and soils have not been carefully examined, we are
ignorant of its mineral wealth. Yuracares is an extensive province,
well wooded and watered, with a very sparse population throughout. At
the base of this ridge of mountains appears the most inviting place we
have met in Bolivia for the cultivator of the soil. It is within the
rain-belt. The coffee tree of Yuracares is much more heavily loaded with
grains than those seen at Rio Janeiro, in Brazil.
The small-pox was brought by the Indians of the low country, who in turn
had it from Brazil, and finally bore it up the mountain-side into the
city of Cochabamba.
A warehouse should be constructed in Vinchuta in the most careful way,
to avoid the dampness of the climate. Flour spoils quickly, particularly
that made from grain produced in a cold climate. Southern grain lasts
the longest there. White cotton goods must be covered to avoid the
wet, as well as all other articles which are in the least injured by
damp weather. All valuable goods should be well packed in bales of
seventy-five pounds weight. A mule carries half a cargo up the eastern
side of the Andes. Two bales, weighing one hundred and fifty pounds, are
taken at the same price three hundred are carried for on better roads.
The Indians bring up quantities of chocolate from Mojos enclosed in
raw-hides. They stow four of these bails on one platform in a canoe; but
when they arrive here, the arriero must rip the bales open and divide
them, to form suitable loads for each of his mules. By this means, some
is wasted, and all exposed to the climate.
Pieces of machinery, boxes of wine, or valuable articles, are often left
behind by not being of proper weight. Even if the animals were strong
enough to carry them, the roads are not wide enough to admit a passage.
We saw an elephant travelling on the table-lands of Bolivia, who walked
through the Cordillera range of mountains at the pass of Antarangua,
sixteen thousand feet above the Pacific ocean. When he came to the
Apurimac suspension bridge, the tollman shut his door, and refused
positively to allow the elephant to attempt to cross over, even if he
could have done so. The keeper, a Yankee, swam him over the stream.
There were many places on the mountains where the rocks were cut to
admit a mule-load to pass, where the elephant scraped his back and
sides.
Goods covered with raw-hide are preserved best from rain. It is
frequently thus used to protect bark, chocolate, sugar, and coffee.
At the national convention of 1851, a grant of twelve square leagues,
in the province of Yuracares, excepting the cinchona trees upon the
soil, was made to Don Carlos Bridoux, upon condition that he would exert
himself to raise the indigo plant, cotton, tobacco, sugar, cacao, and
coffee; provided he would take possession of the land within a certain
time.
By the same law, the executive was authorized to make grants to citizens
or foreigners of from one to twelve square leagues, in consideration of
advantages to be offered for the public benefit in working the lands.
Señor Bridoux has selected his lands near the port of Vinchuta. This
gentleman was very kind to the expedition in Cochabamba. We are indebted
to him for personal attention at his hospitable house. We owe him many
thanks for aid and assistance offered in a most generous spirit.
Citizens or foreigners wishing to cultivate the public lands of Bolivia,
may do so by a formal application to the prefect of the department in
which the lands are situated, and the prefect has authority, by custom,
to secure to the settler one square league.
For the want of laws touching the sale of public lands, citizens or
foreigners are deprived of the advantage of purchasing, but are at
liberty to settle where they please, so long as they do not interfere
with others, or the public treasury.
So extensive are the public lands of Bolivia, and so few emigrants enter
the country, that the government has thought it policy to make liberal
grants to actual settlers, as well to citizens of other countries as to
their own. These valuable lands lie idle for the want of population.
The men of intelligence in Bolivia received the idea of exploring
their rivers to the Atlantic with enthusiasm. In Cochabamba the whole
population have been aroused to the importance of the enterprise.
When the rivers are swollen in the low lands, the arms of the canoemen
have not power to propel their vessels against the current. Trade,
for half the year, stands still; human strength is not equal to the
requirements of the trade that is carried on.
There are supposed to be at least ten thousand silver and gold mines
abandoned in this country; one-third may have been exhausted, and the
remainder have been left because the miners struck below the water-line.
Respectfully taking off our hats to the gigantic Andes, we push on in
our little canoe. As the men dip their paddles in the water we glide
rapidly along with the current of Coni creek. After being tossed up and
down on the mountains for a year, the change is enlivening. We feel this
water-carriage is put in motion by the All Powerful, in whom we have
placed our trust and confidence in a long journey through the wilderness
towards our homes.
The Indians suddenly began to work hard at their paddles; the
fine-looking old captain talked to the crew sharply, and we went dashing
over rapids at a most furious rate; the waters roared against the great
trunks of trees that stuck up in the shape of snags; the logs were
in constant motion, like sawyers; the channel was narrow; one little
mistake of the pilot would have dashed us sideways among the snags,
and our canoe must have rolled under. Every man's eyes seemed, for the
moment, half a size larger, for the reduced crew of the heavy and long
canoe had to exert themselves to the utmost of their strength to manage
and keep her clear of danger.
Our cargo was bulky—cakes of salt brought her down so deep in the water
that she moved sluggishly. Richards, seated on the baggage in front,
guarded Mamoré, who was unaccustomed to the water, and it was with
difficulty he could be kept from jumping overboard.
Coni creek is not navigable for a steamboat; the lands on both sides
are flat and thickly wooded with a rich growth of bamboo; these lands
are all overflowed in the wet season, and therefore are uninhabitable.
Temperature of water, 74°. We saw a small lion or puma on the bank,
besides a number of wild turkeys, and shot a wild goose. The banks break
down perpendicularly with rich black surface soil one foot and a half
thick.
Our canoe was soon launched into the waters of the river Chaparé, one
hundred yards wide, and where we entered it twelve feet deep; we have
scarcely lost sight of the Andes. The canoe was stopped that we might
repeat the soundings; as we descended the soundings increased to two
and a half fathoms upon a current of one and five-tenths of a mile
per hour. The muddy stream wound its way through the forest trees and
thick cane-brakes like a great slow-moving serpent. We find, at the
foot of the most lofty mountains, that the lands on both sides of this
navigable river are semi-annually deluged; that the rise of the waters
in the wet season is about thirty feet, and by the marks on the trunks
of the trees, the appearance of the undergrowth, with the information
gained from the creoles and confirmed by the Indians, the banks are
overflowed about two feet deep. In the rainy season, the bottom of the
Madeira Plate would have been found covered with water, so that we might
navigate over the land in a canoe drawing less than two feet; our canoe
draws but six inches when fully loaded.
The forest trees here are not so large as higher up the country, nor is
vegetation heaped up in such luxuriance as we saw it on our way down
through the boisterous region. The climate is more mild and gentle
in its action. As night comes on, thunder roars and lightning flashes
above us towards the southwest among the mountains, while here the sky
is clear, and winds gently blow from the northwest. The winds strike
heavily against the great elevated side of the earth, and the storm
there is raging from the southeast.
The sun passes from our view behind dark clouds, and cuts our day
short by setting below the great ridge which stand between us and the
Pacific. We have watched the mercury in our thermometer as it fell by
the application of boiling water in ascending those mountains from the
great western ocean, and saw its indisposition to rise or to fall as we
travelled along on the table lands of the Titicaca basin. As we descend
on this side it gradually ran up again, until now we have arrived on a
level. The observation of yesterday was the same as that of to-day, at
our journey's end.
Turning to the table of observations, in Lima, 22d April, 1851, at 3
p. m., boiling point, 209, 250; temperature of air, 77°. Here on the
Chaparé river, May 27, 1852, at 9.30 a. m., boiling point, 209, 500;
temperature of air, 75°. These show how near the bottom of the Madeira
Plate is on a level with the ocean. They tell us we are below Lima; but
Lima, according to our barometrical measurement, was 493 feet above sea
level. On the river we are 28 feet below the general level of this part
of the Madeira Plate.
The Indians paddle their canoe for a short distance with a will, and
then let her ride along on the current. They lay up the paddles on the
gunwale, put one leg over the handle, and drawing from among the baggage
a piece of corn husk, cut it into squares, and rolling tobacco up fine,
make the husk serve as a wrapper for their cigars.
Each one carries a little spunk in the hollow end of a cow's horn, which
indicate cattle ahead somewhere, and with a piece of flint rock strike
light with the back of a knife. We noticed that the crew carried small
bags filled with flint rocks, which they gathered about Vinchuta, and
were taking down to the province of Mojos for sale. We have just passed
the rocky formation, and find the soil alluvial for over thirty feet.
We camped on a low sand beach on the west side of the river. The crew
gathered a number of canes from the brake, and the captain made a
frame-work, over which an India-rubber poncho was hung; underneath the
leaves of the cane were spread as a protection from the dampness of the
soil on which the bed was laid, and over it a musquito net.
The crew made a house by stacking cane leaves and branches on the side
of a ridge-pole, like farmers make a shed of corn fodder for cattle.
The open side of this shed was facing the east. A fire was soon made,
and our disappointed governor proved to be as good at cooking as the
schoolmaster at eating chupe. The only provision the ex-governor had
made was a bladder filled with what sailors call slush, a few cakes of
chocolate, a pot, and some bread turned green with mould. The Indians
peeled yuca, and we supplied rice and goose for the chupe, and sugar,
and tin pots for the chocolate. The schoolmaster came unprovided with
grub; it is presumed he was usually "boarded out."
The Indians gathered around their fire, while the captains of the boat
saw the patron's bed attended to. When the chupe was made, the cook
politely informed the captains, and after they had seated themselves by
our tin basin, the others gathered round. All in turn talked and joked
as they enjoyed their suppers. The crew elect their own captains; the
most active, energetic, and intelligent man was chosen, without regard
to age. Should he prove incapable, or misbehave, he is broken and placed
in the seat of the paddle-man selected over him. Every man obeys his
orders, and is particular in his mode of addressing the captain and his
mate, or rather a second captain, who helps to steer the canoe, and
generally encourages the men to keep good time with their paddles by
stamping his foot upon the floor of the canoe where he stands behind the
cabin. The captain only stamps his foot on particular occasions, when
the crew work unusually well, laying out their whole strength when he
speaks to them. The captains do very little but steer the canoe, and
attend to the wants of the person who employs them. Every man attends
to his duty according to the usages of their service. They take turns at
cooking or bailing out the boat, and while one or two secure the canoe,
a number of others run up to the woods and bring fuel for a fire, and
cut cane for the house. While one cook fetches water, another breaks
out from a platform in the canoe their provisions for supper.
As they all sat joking about the arrieros, while they smoke tobacco,
they laugh at the Quichua Indians they saw at Vinchuta, with the
arrieros, chewing coca leaves "like horses," as they said.
At midnight the captain called me, speaking in the Canichana language,
which I could not understand, however; when a man is called up in the
silence of night in such a wild country as this, he soon gains his feet.
We found that the storm on the mountains had flooded the river; the
canoe floated in close to my bed, which was gathered before the flood
passed over the spot, where a few moments before we were sleeping. As
the river was rising very fast, we were obliged to embark or be driven
into the cane brakes, which is the bed of the tigers, who growl if
disturbed by gentlemen at night.
We all took our seats in the canoe and slept sitting, as well as the
musquitoes would let us. The bow was made fast to the root of a tree,
which was fastened to the bottom by its branches.
These Indians are very careful people, constantly on the look-out. We
were aroused from a sound sleep in a moment by these watchful fellows.
Had the crew been an inexperienced one, the canoe might have been
carried off by the flood and we left in the canebrake. The Indians
expected a freshet. In the evening they carried our cooking utensils
far from the boat to the most elevated part of the beach, which was not
highest near the bank. When the flood came, the water passed between
us and the bank, leaving us on a sand island, which was afterwards
completely overflowed.
At daylight the Indians begin at the paddles. They work best early in
the mornings and in the evenings.
As we moved slowly down stream, rain began to fall; the winds were
variable. Some four or five different kinds of monkeys kept up an
excited chattering. An awkward, thick-set, ugly, bay-coated fellow was
bellowing out a noise not unlike that made by a large bullfrog. The
black ring-tailed squealed as he scampered off among the tree-tops.
The little white-whiskered tribe come down close to the river-bank
among the canes, and seem quizzically disposed to examine the character
of the craft that intruded upon their morning sports. There goes a
chocolate-colored little family, as though frightened to distraction.
Richards shouts at them in English, and the Canichanas roar with
laughter. The crew desire a ring-tailed monkey for breakfast. Their bows
and arrows lay on the roof of the cabin, but they prefer to see one fall
by a shot from our gun.
The captain suddenly called to the men, and they all shouted. Looking
down the river, we discovered two canoes well peopled, working manfully
against the current close along the bank. Canoes going down keep in
mid-channel, where the current is most rapid. These canoes were from
Trinidad on their way to Vinchuta, with orders from the prefect of the
department to report themselves to me for service in the expedition as
soon as they landed their cargo of cacao, sugar, and passengers.
A basket of fine oranges was passed on board of us, the compliment being
returned in biscuit. Our captain received news of some men he had left
on the banks of the river with small-pox.
We pushed on by islands in the stream. Though the river is flooded,
there is little or no drift-wood. Along the beach large trees have been
left as the rain-belt passed north. These trees lay on the inner side of
the turns in the stream. That side is a flat sand-beach, while the long
or outer side of the turn breaks down perpendicularly. The current of
the river strikes the bank; the drift-wood beats against the alluvial
soil; undermines the forest trees; the roots are washed clean, and the
tops fall down into the river; their branches sink; the heavy green
leaves go to the bottom loaded with mud; become entangled or anchored.
Drift-wood and rubbish collect about them; and while an island is built
up on the small frame-work of one single log of wood, the bank gives
way for the river to pass on.
The turns in this stream are very short. We are at one time heading
northeast, then northwest, and often southwest, when we turn round
northeast again. The distance between the upper and lower turns, in a
north direction, is constantly decreasing; for the perpendicular bank on
the upper turn is being dug away towards the north, and the same bank on
the lower turn is caving in on the south side. When the work is done,
the upper waters flow straight through to the lower; and as the river
grows older, like a well-drilled soldier, it straightens.
The southwest turn is deserted by the waters, and the bed of the river
lies uncovered, and becomes a proof to us that, while rivers travel,
they do not always sleep on the same side of their bed, but shift from
one to the other, as suits their convenience. The speed of the current
of the river, after it has straightened itself through the land, instead
of winding down, as the llama descends the side of a mountain, appears
to us the same. That the older the river grows the more rapid the
current would be a work directly in opposition to the natural purposes
of navigation, for which it was intended.
As the upper country wears away, and the heavy load of earth is
carried down towards the mouth of the river, the head of the stream
is deepening, and being constantly cut down towards a level with the
bottom, which is filling up at its mouth. This will be best explained by
the sounding-line, cast from a vessel entering the mouth of a river. The
pilot is taken on board to carry the ship safely over the bar, or that
bank of earth which has been carried down from the head of the streams
and deposited at the river's mouth. As the ship crosses this shoal,
the man at the lead-line calls deeper and deeper soundings as he enters
the river. He will continue to do so some distance up. From this point
back to the bar, the bottom of the river is an inclined plane, sloping
from the edge of the sea towards the mountains, down to the last deep
soundings of the leadsman, from which place to the ocean the river may
be said to be running up hill; a hill made by its own action, and which
is stretching farther and farther up stream.
We find some snags and sawyers in the channel that should be cleared
out to make this river in a condition for steamboat navigation.
As we descend, the Chaparé widens in some places two hundred yards, and
from two and a half to three fathoms water. The river has risen three
feet by rains in the up country, though the current remains about the
same, which is not half the rate of the Gulf stream between the Florida
reefs and the Bahama banks.
After paddling from daylight until 9 a. m. the crew were ready for
breakfast. Mamoré sported over the beach. We made after ducks, geese,
and wild turkeys as the only safety-valve to our boiling pot. The
beautiful pink and white spoon-bill skims the insects from the surface
of the river, while the proud-looking but homely tall white cranes
survey us like some bodies with very stiff shirt collars. Temperature
of the river water, 74°; air, 75°; and wet bulb, 74°.
We have been unfortunate at fishing. As the Indians pay no attention to
it just here, we are inclined to believe there are few fish, while in
the rocky formation we found the Indians pursuing them. There the water
is not so muddy as here. In Lake Titicaca the most fish are found on the
east side of the lake, where the water was limpid. We found more fish
at the southern end of that lake when the waters were settled than at
the north, where they come in turbid.
The air at night seems to be filled with musquitoes and bats; by
daylight birds appear in proportion. Thousands of parrots keep the woods
in a constant din.
The forest trees decrease in size and thickness; as we descend the
canebrake takes their place. Some of the logs on the beach and snags
in the stream are larger than those we generally see. These large trees
are found in the upper forests as the exception rather than the rule.
The general course of the Chaparé is north; its bottom is sandy
and muddy. There are no streams flowing into it, nor are there any
appearance of beds of streams to be filled in the rainy season. We
judged, therefore, the country on both sides of it, as far as we have
come upon it, is a dead level.
After breakfast the men entered the woods, cut down some trees, stripped
off the bark twelve or fourteen feet long and two feet wide, rolled it
and brought it on board.
The common percussion lock shot-gun is the proper arm for the traveller
in this country; the shot will keep him supplied with game. In case
of necessity, a ball carried in the pocket can be slipped in over the
shot, and answers all purposes, as the ball does execution much farther
than an Indian's arrow. The most serviceable and important arms are
double-barrelled shot-gun and a five-chambered revolver of Colt's.
The men pull irregularly. When they pull a moderate stroke, by our log
they make about two miles per hour; but going with the current they only
pull half the time, because on their upward passage they are obliged
to pull incessantly, except when they stop for breakfast, or for the
night. The down trip is the resting one. They work hard when they meet
with obstructions, and overcome the difficulties. When they find things
in their favor, they slide through them as easily as possible.
After supper they commenced manufacturing bark cloth by the light
of the fire. The end of the piece of bark was laid over the end of a
smoothly-barked log, and they commenced beating upon it with mallets,
beginning at the corner and striking diagonally the piece to the middle,
where the mallet was turned to the same angle at the other corner.
They beat the bark regularly along. The fibres spread out, and the
piece two feet wide was beaten out one foot more, to the thickness of
stout pilot cloth. After all is beaten out, it is rolled up. The cloth
is afterwards spread out in the sun to dry; the sap which has been
so thoroughly pressed out from among the fibres by the beating, soon
becomes dissipated by the sun, and the cloth is left with quite a woolly
feel, and is painted in figures to suit the fancy of the wearer. By his
own peculiar process it is cut out to form a very simple garment, and
the Indian is dressed in a fancy-colored shirt, which reaches below his
knees. This, with a hat of grass from the river-bank, is his wardrobe,
except an extra shirt of foreign manufactured cotton, worn in the heat
of the day when not at work, or in the evening when the musquitoes are
troublesome. The bark cloth is most frequently used at night, when they
particularly protect themselves. In the middle of the day they take
off their clothes, carefully fold them up, and place them aside until
they are required. When it rains very heavily they always undress, but
as soon as the storm is over, or after the weather has been unpleasant
for some time, and the air becomes cold, they dress again. They undress
while at their seats in the canoe. As soon as we stop to breakfast,
every man puts on his shirt before he leaves the boat; the captains
always wear their clothes. The men seem to be very careful about the
temperature at night. I have seen them put one shirt over another, and
double their garments.
_May 28, 1852._—The night was cloudy, and morning foggy. At daylight we
were under weigh again, after sleeping comfortably in the woods on the
bank, which varies its height from four to five feet. During the night
the river rose three feet and fell again one. A short distance below
we ran into a canebrake, and there, to our astonishment, stood three
men belonging to this crew. The poor creatures had been here seventeen
days, with the small pox. A little shelter of canes shaded them from
the heat of the sun, but rain beat in upon them as they lay helpless on
beds of green leaves, with no one to attend them. A knife was their only
protection from the savage tiger, unless the stench from the disease
kept wild animals at a distance.
Their faces brightened as they saw their friends; but there were only
three. Where was the fourth, inquired the crew? Their answer was, that
during the fever, in the middle of the night, he had rushed into the
river; they heard a splash and never saw their companion after; he was
carried down the stream by the current and drowned.
One of them was still quite sick; the others could work. Their usual
seats were in the after part of the canoe, but as the odor from their
bodies was great, I sent them as far forward as they could go. One of
them, called the padre of the crew, became very much affronted at this
order, and was disposed to disobey it, but the captain insisted, and he
moved. His duties were lighter where he was sent, and there he was not
so confined among us and the men. The idea of all being afflicted with
the small pox in this little canoe, was an unpleasant one. We were in
constant expectation of seeing some others taken sick.
The first symptoms, as described to us, were fever with pain in the
back, which lasts three days. Then the breaking out commences, with
inflamed lips. At the end of six days the disease has attained its
height, when the case of life or death is decided. After six days more
they begin to bathe, if they are well enough. This is the course the
distemper takes when the patient lies out in the woods, without medical
aid or shelter from the weather.
One of them had employed himself in making a white grass hat, after
the fashion of a Panama. They were delighted to get on board, and as
we paddled along, the one with the new hat was telling the crew what
sort of a time they had. The schoolmaster gave us the amount of what
he could understand. The crew were silent while Straw Hat was speaking,
but kept him going by questions when he held up. They seemed very much
affected, and, one by one, gave expression to his feelings at the loss
of the missing man.
At 9 a. m. we came to, as usual, for breakfast. Thermometer, 76°; wet
bulb, 74°. Temperature of water, 71°. The channel, as we descend, is
less obstructed by drift-wood, snags, and sawyers. The banks are three
feet high, the trees smaller, and the wind light from the north.
We passed an Indian slung up in a hamac between two poles stuck in a
mud bank. The crew called to him, and saw the hamac move, which was our
only sign that the poor creature was alive. He had been left with the
small pox by one of the canoes we met. The flooded river had reached
the under part of the hamac last night, and now the hot sun was shining
over him. The old captain shook his head when we wanted him to go and
see what could be done for the man. The crew pulled rapidly by.
The beach here is mud. On the shore of San Mateo, the beach was rocky,
with large and small round stones, such as are used for paving streets.
After we got below the rocky formation we found sand beaches, white
and grey. The banks of the river were high. Here we have low banks, and
run out of the sandy region into the mud. For the first time we saw an
alligator.
The waters of a stream, as it increases from a mountain torrent to a
large river, performs the labor of a system of sifters. The earth and
rocks are broken away; stone, sand, and earth, are carried down the
side of the Andes by the floods in the rainy season. The large stones
are thrown out on the sides of the stream, as it reaches the base of
the mountains, while the sand and earth pass through. Finally, the sand
is separated and deposited in another place below, and the mud, in its
turn, settles through and leaves the sifter clean. The water at the
mouth of a muddy stream is the clearest. When river water meets the
heavy salt water of the ocean, the river current comes to a stand, and
it is there, while standing still, that dirt settles from water the
quickest; there careful navigators look out for the bar across the mouth
of the river as they come in from the sea.
The muddy waters of rivers seem indisposed to mingle with the salt
waters of the sea, or rather the salt waters of the ocean turn the
muddy waters on the one side or the other of the mouth of rivers, until
they have deposited their mud, and then the clear new water cordially
joins the older, briny ocean. Where a large river empties into the sea,
if the current of the ocean flows parallel to the coast, and strikes
the river current at a right angle, all the mud is carried with the
ocean current, and is quickly placed on the bottom. By the arming on
their lead, navigators may tell, at night or in a fog, on which side of
the mouth of the river they are as they near the coast, provided they
study the ocean currents. This is, however, not always the case. An
ocean current, sweeping by the mouth of a navigable river, may not have
sufficient force to be of this service to the mariner; but it is the
case in a very important river on this continent. Where sand is found on
the south, and mud on the north side of the outlet, the former is washed
from the bottom of the sea, the latter comes down from the highlands,
and is carried out by the river.
While floods are constantly shifting the soil from the mountains to the
low grounds, and the land is pushed out into the sea, its waves are
regularly heaving back all the earth which has gotten over the shore
line. Between the currents of rivers and the waves of the sea, the earth
is found growing.
We encamped for the night on the east side of the river, where the
thick forest trees prevented my getting latitude by the stars. This is
the first clear night we have had for a long time. I doubt, even if the
branches of the trees were out of the way, if the swarms of musquitoes
would allow me to observe. Richards generally stands by with a bush when
the sand-flies or musquitoes are troublesome, but they bite through the
holes in a man's boot in spite of his stockings.
We entered the woods some distance with the gun, just before dark,
and found that as we left the river the trees became smaller, and in
some cases the land was even now covered with water, long grass, and
canebrakes.
The banks of rivers that flow through a low, flat, newly-made soil, are
thrown up high by deposits, so much so that the surface of the water,
at times, is above the general level of the country near it. When the
river rises, it breaks over the banks and floods the back lands.
The largest forest trees are found immediately on the banks; these trees
are most frequently undermined and carried down stream by the currents.
It will not do to judge of the general character of a country by the
size of the trees found driving out of the mouth of a river. When the
first navigators on the Amazon saw great logs floating out of the mouth
of the river, in whose tributaries we are, they called it "Madeira."
This fact set us all looking about for the largest trees in the world,
but they are not to be found here.
After supper the crew knelt by the light of the moon in prayer. "Padre"
gave out a hymn, and they all sang according to the teachings of the
Catholic church. The scene was a solemn one. Their voices echoed over
the waters of the river, and through the woods to the listening wild
beasts of the wilderness. Dressed in white cotton "camisas," they
kneeled down with faces up, praying with hat in hand. We were able
to look at their countenances, which were grave and serious, with an
expression of truthfulness and honest devotion.
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.
The Indians look on with some astonishment at our work; and as Richards
was drawing in his sounding-line, with a two-pound lead upon it, "Padre"
very knowingly informed him it was useless to attempt to catch fish
in that way in the Chaparé. We were sorry to find the "Padre" was the
ill-natured one, and frequently quarrelled with the men during the
day. He spoke Spanish, and always addressed us in that language. The
schoolmaster said, when an Indian became the leading man in religious
pretension, he invariably was quarrelsome and overbearing in his manners
towards others, who seem to treat him with contempt, except when called
upon for ceremonial formalities.
We had seen cattle lassoed on the pampas of Buenos Ayres, and boys in
Mexico practise the art upon chickens, but to-day "Nig," our bowman,
gave us a treat.
A good sized alligator lay by the mud beach, with his head just on the
surface of the water. The canoe was run into the canebrake some fifty
yards below. One man cut a long cane, while "Nig," modestly smiling,
with eyes shut and mouth open, drew a hide rope from under part of the
baggage. Making a noose in one end, he hung it on the end of the pole,
and wound the rope round to the other end, so that he could grasp both
pole and rope in one hand. He pulled off his camisa, lowered himself
into the river, where he could walk on the bottom with his chin just out
of water. The noose was carried by the pole near the surface, and "Nig"
slowly moved towards the alligator, who seemed to be somewhat doubtful
of results. After watching "Nig's" eye for a while, he disappeared;
by the motion of the water it was evident he was swimming away. The
men laughed, but "Nig" stood perfectly still; the stream rolled on in
silence. In a moment the alligator's head appeared again nearly in the
same place, only he held it higher, as he attentively looked "Nig" full
in the face. He moved slowly and steadily towards the monster of the
river, and put the noose over the alligator's head; when he jumped, it
looked as though he wanted to jump through the noose. "Nig" let go the
pole, and in doing so lost the line also; and while the alligator swam
off with one end of the rope, "Nig" swam after his end, to the great
amusement of our party. "Nig" reached the line, and putting it over his
shoulder walked up the beach. As the alligator was led to the edge of
the water, "Nig" stood grinning at one end of the line on shore, while
the alligator lay quietly awaiting a ball from my gun or a stroke from
the hatchet in the hand of a man. But we were disappointed; "Nig" had no
weight to sling to the under part of the noose to keep it under water,
so when the alligator jumped he caught the noose in his mouth, and while
"Nig" was grinning, his eyes closed with delight, the alligator cut the
rope and swam away.
There are parts of the alligator near the back bone which the Indians
eat. This is the only manner in which they take alligators here; their
arrows will not enter the scales, which often turn a rifle ball. I
have seen a boat's crew in Mexico fire a volley of musket balls into an
alligator and not kill him. The alligators here are much smaller than
those found on the rivers in Tobasco. The Indians make buttons, beads,
fancy birds, and animals, of their teeth.
CHAPTER IX.
Pass the mouth of Chimoré river—White cranes—Rio
Mamoré—Woodbridge's Atlas—Night watch—"Masi"
guard-house—Pampas—Ant-houses—Cattle—Religion—Sugar-cane—Fishing
party of Mojos Indians—River Ybaré—Pampas of Mojos—Pasture
lands—City of Trinidad—Prefect—Housed in Mojos—Don
Antonio de Barras Cordoza—Population of the Beni—Cotton
manufactures—Productions—Trade—Don Antonio's Amazonian
boats—Jesuits—Languages—Natural intelligence of the
aborigines—Paintings—Cargoes of foreign goods in the plaza.
We ran down the river by the light of the moon; sounding in from three
and a half fathoms to four; half the crew pulled at a time, until we
passed the mouth of the Chimoré river, which empties into the Chaparé
from the south. We were obliged to come to as the morning became cloudy
and dark, which made it unsafe for us to pass through the drift wood
flowing from the Chimoré.
Canoes ascend the Chimoré in the rainy season to the town. Near its
mouth, the river resembles the Chaparé in width, color of water, and
swiftness of current; but, from what I can learn, the Chaparé is the
largest stream, and deeper at the head.
The rains have been to the southeast; therefore we find more drift-wood
coming out of the Chimoré than we have in the Chaparé.
The country at their junction is all low, uninhabited, and unfinished.
The current of the Chaparé continues the same below the junction. Unless
we had seen the Chimoré enter, we should probably not have known that
the quantity of water was nearly double, the width of the river and
soundings being the same.
Lightning flashes to the south during the night; and, as the clouds
thicken, thunder roars among the distant mountains.
_May 30, 1852._—We have a strong wind from the east this morning, with
light rain and thunder to the south. The drops are small compared with
those which beat against the Andes in the boisterous region.
Files of white cranes of equal size stand in good order on the
mud-beach, with a tall one at each end of the file, of from fifteen to
twenty individuals, like sergeants. As we approach, a sergeant steps
proudly out, gives orders by a "quack," and the party either faces back
over the mud-beach into a hollow, or flies down the river. The manners
and habits of these birds are very amusing. A large crane walks through
the drizzle, holding his head and body as straight as possible, which
gives him the air of an elderly gentleman leisurely walking out for his
health, with hands crossed under his coat-tail.
We entered the river Mamoré, which, at Cochabamba, is called "Grande;"
and where the Chaparé empties into it, is named Rio "Sara." It seems
the inhabitants upon the banks of this great stream call it by a name to
suit their own neighborhood. Those who lived on its more slender parts
called it "Grande," probably without knowing where it flowed, or if it
was a tributary to the Paraguay or Madeira; while those inhabiting the
lower waters changed the name again and again. "Grande" is the Spanish,
and "Mamoré" the Indian name.
We find it interesting to see how the people on the Andes supposed
the rivers of South America flowed towards the Atlantic. The Beni, for
instance, is represented as the source of the Amazon, while it is only
the second tributary of the Madeira. The headwaters of the southern
tributaries of the Amazon, over which we passed, are laid down in
ordinary maps too far to the westward. They are made to appear to the
student too near to the Pacific; there is a mountainous strip of land
between the headwaters of the Amazon and the Pacific shore.
The long travel of Lieutenant Smyth, of the royal navy, before he
reached the navigable waters of the Marañon from Lima, and the still
longer journey taken by Lieutenant Maw, royal navy, over the mountains
from Truxillo, in Peru, to the same point, show that these officers did
not find the head of navigation as soon as was generally supposed they
would, by the appearance of the maps they had studied in 1829.
Not only the Beni, but the Mamoré, is made, by recent publications,
to flow into the Amazon, not through the Madeira, but by an imaginary
course, through a ridge of mountains, distinctly laid down. This map
represents the Paraguay and Madeira both flowing from the same source
in Brazil, while the source of the Madeira is on the Andes, in Bolivia.
Some credit is due to Mr. Woodbridge for endeavors, twenty-four years
ago, to lay before the schools a map, which is useful and truthful, with
only such errors as are consequent upon an existing want of information.
The Mamoré, at the junction with the Chaparé, being the smaller of
the two streams, surprised us; but the rainy region explained the
difference. All the tributaries of the Chaparé are within the rain-belt,
while most of those forming the Mamoré, above Santa Cruz de la Sierra,
are beyond the rain-belt.
Canoes ascend the Mamoré to the mouth of the Piray river, and up that
stream to Puerte de Jeres, or "Quatro Ojos," as it is more frequently
called. Thence travellers mount on horseback, by a road through the
forest, to the city of Santa Cruz, where the Mojos cacao is sent
to Market. During the latter part of the dry season, in the month
of November, travellers from Trinidad to Santa Cruz go on horseback
entirely through the country; in preference to _poling_ and paddling
against a rapid current, which in the descent often endangers the safety
of the cargo by upsetting the canoes against snags.
The banks of the Mamoré are the same as the Chaparé. Our soundings are
now thirty feet, and the Mamoré has a width of four hundred yards below
the junction; this stream flows in a northerly direction. The current
of the Mamoré runs at the same speed as the Chaparé—one mile and a half
per hour.
While the porpoise bows his back in the air above the surface of the
river, and spouts like the porpoise of the sea, small parties of seal
whirl round and bark at us daringly. The seals are very small; not near
so large as those we have seen on the river La Plata.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 73°; wet bulb, 70°; river water, 75°. As we
passed near the perpendicular bank a moderate-sized tree came down with
a terrible crash just before us. The bank broke and the current washed
away the earth, and we left the tree struggling with the river, which
in time will either give way and follow us down, or stand stubborn as
the foundation of another island.
We met with a fishing party of Indians in a canoe, with two women as
cooks for twelve men. As we had been feasting on wild turkeys, ducks,
and geese, we offered to purchase fish, but they were as much in want
as we, and showed a disposition to keep at a distance—very likely on
account of our cases of small-pox.
The river was so clear of snags and drift-wood that the men wanted to
continue on all night, which promised to be clear, though the day was
wet and unpleasant, with an easterly storm, which seemed rather to
encourage the musquito tribe. We therefore had dinner cooked early.
After the sun went down the bright moon lit up our water-path through
the wilds. The earth seemed asleep as we watched the nodding Indians
at their paddles, which hung dripping over the sides of the canoe. At
one moment a rustling noise was heard among the canes. We swept close
in towards the bank by the current. The burning piece of wood which the
old captain kept on his part of the boat disturbed the black tiger, or
a serpent slipped softly from a cluster of canes into the water to avoid
us. As we turn, the moon shines directly up the river, and the sheet of
water appears like a silvery way. We think of obstructions, and fear we
are not going fast enough to see the glad waters of the Atlantic.
[Illustration: DESCENDING THE RIVER MAMORÉ, Bolivia.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
In the dead of night the owl calls, as though surprised at our daring,
and a fish, by mistake, jumped into the boat. As it flapped its tail in
the water, on the bottom of the canoe, every Indian was roused from his
sleep. After joking awhile, they dipped their paddles into the stream,
and away we went again.
Midnight passed; the watch was called, and while Richards fought
musquitoes, the first watch slept. The sounding line was kept going by
night and by day; the turns of the river mapped by the points of the
compass; the distance made marked down at the end of each day, and all
the streams entering the one we navigate carefully drawn in.
_May 31._—At sunrise we ran alongside of a perpendicular bank of red
and blue clay, eighteen feet high; by steps we ascend to see a great
pampa stretching out before us, or an ocean of grasses, herd-grass
from five to seven feet high, gently waving to and fro by the morning
breeze, which came from the east. As we stood upon the bank the sun got
up behind us; we looked towards the west over the bottom of the Madeira
Plate, which is shallow and extensive.
A shed stands upon the bank, and as there was nothing under it, we took
a well-beaten path leading from the river, and walked over a level,
among ant houses built five feet high and three feet in diameter at the
base, made of clay and shaped like sugar loaves.
The ants ascend to the tops of their houses when the pampa becomes
overflowed, and there await the falling of the waters. This pampa,
however, is not flooded every year, and we have pretty certain
information from the ants that the rise is never as much as five feet.
Every house is exactly the same height, though they may differ a little
in thickness.
We came to a large wooden two-story building, the "Masi" guard and
custom-house, at which all traders and travellers must show their
passports and papers. We walked up the wooden steps to the second floor,
to call upon the commander of the station. In the lower story was a
sugar mill, and we found the commander of the guard in bed groaning
with stomach-ache under his musquito net. He seemed glad to see us, and
while he sat up in his night-cap reading our papers, we walked out on
the balcony to look round.
To the north was a row of small trees which gave the pampas the
appearance of cleared lands, but the commander came out and explained
to us that those trees grew immediately on the bank of the Securé
river, and that they marked out for me the true course of that stream
as far as I could see, showing that the rivers in this low country are
beautifully curtained in with thick foliage, while behind the curtain
is a great flat, an extended stage on which wild animals roam. The tall
crane stands admiring his reflected whiteness in a pool of clear water,
which lies like a mirror on the bottom of this magnificent green floor.
The lands are beautifully hedged in by the line of forest trees. Man has
set before him here the hedging and ditching of nature. This pampa looks
like a great pasture-field, enclosed by the Mamoré ditch on the south,
and the Securé on the north. Under the shade of those trees stand the
cattle of the field. They have gradually clambered over the Cordilleras
from the flats of Guayaquil, through the table lands of Oruro, and from
the salt district of Charcas. The creoles drove them down by the side
of the Mamoré river, and let them out into the grassy prairie lands of
Chiquitos and Mojos. From this balcony we see one Indian holding a calf,
while another milks the cow.
When the cattle came among the Indians, they knew not what to make of
them. There were no such animals in their wild lands. The fierce tiger,
which they worshipped along with the poisonous serpent, were outdone.
The cow interfered with the belief they previously had that the largest
animals were God's favorites, particularly those which had the greatest
means for active aggression or self-defence.
The cow helped to change such a religion. She was larger than either;
and to be attacked by a bull on the open prairie was quite as dangerous
as the tiger or the serpent. Great horns stood out boldly in defence of
a powerful body.
By degrees they learned that she neither bit, clawed, or stung; that
she carried a bag full of milk; that her teeth were given her to cut the
pampa grass, and not to devour the flesh of a human being. That she was
docile and friendly to man, and not his enemy. The Jesuits taught the
Indians how to milk a cow, and how to use its milk. They soon learn how
to tend cattle; to lasso them; yoke them by the horns, and fasten long
poles to them, so that they might drag along a bundle of drift wood from
the edge of the river to the middle of the plain, and to give up their
first impression that the tail was the most appropriate and convenient
part of the animal to attach the sticks of fire wood to.
In this way they kept gentle cattle by them, while herds roamed through
the pampas, became wild, and are now so scattered through the lands that
it is difficult to count them.
The horse travelled the same way from Spain with the horned cattle.
The ancestors of the five mares with their colts, which we see grazing
before us, crossed the Isthmus of Panama more than three hundred years
ago. This beautiful and useful creature caught the eye of the Indian,
but as he had never seen an animal fit to straddle and ride, he little
knew the true value of the horse who fattened on the pampa grass. When
he mounted and found himself flying at full speed across the plain,
he must have been quite as much pleased with the invention as more
civilized people are with the movements of modern machinery.
The introduction of these animals among the Indians by the Spaniards
had a powerful influence over them. It is said that when first the South
American Indians looked at a man on horseback, they supposed both _one_
animal, and it was not until they saw the man dismount that they knew
his distinctness from the horse.
Accounts have been written of an Amazonian race of women defending their
country with bows and arrows in their hands. The dress of the Indian men
of this warm climate is the same as that worn by the women. The Indians
use bows and arrows altogether. It seems reasonable to suppose such was
the origin of these stories.
A few Mojos Indian families occupied the only habitations on this pampa.
Around the bed-room door of the commander were very light-colored Indian
children. One of the several dogs running about, being impudent to
Mamoré, received a thorough shaking.
We obtained a large bunch of plantains and bananas, with some yucas and
jerked beef, and a cow was milked for us. As we were from Cochabamba,
the native place of the bald-headed commander, he was exceedingly kind
to us, hoped we would come back and remain with him, as he found it
very lonely on the pampa. He says it is very seldom that the lands are
completely covered with water, though he lives up-stairs for fear he
might be caught asleep. Like the ants, he keeps in the upper part of
the house until the water falls, and this is the most elevated land in
the neighborhood.
On the wave of the land along the river bank the Indians are encouraged
to cultivate sugar-canes. The government has put up a mill under the
custom-house for the accommodation of such as choose to pay contribution
in sugar. The route of the sugar-cane was originally from China, by the
way of the Cape of Good Hope, into Brazil at Rio Janeiro, thence across
the interior to the head-waters of the Paraguay river, where the Mojos
Indians got it, and carried it up stream to this pampa, and even bore
it to Yuracares.
The best sugar-cane in Peru, it is said, came from the South Pacific
Islands. So did that of Yungas, which adjoins Mojos at the base of
the Andes in the Madeira Plate. The inhabitants there have received
this plant from different sides of their continent, and the sugar-cane
emigrants have met nearly in the centre of it.
The sugar-canes which have travelled from the West India islands, over
the Isthmus of Panama into Peru, are thought not to be of as good a
quality as those from the South Pacific islands. We suppose this is
owing to the difference of soil and climate. The best sugar-canes on the
plantations in South Peru come from the Society islands on a parallel of
latitude due east through longitude. The plant kept in nearly the same
latitude on the same side of the Equator. The line of longitude which
passes through the Cuba plantation, runs due south into the Peruvian
field, with a great change of latitude. The Cuba plants, in 20° north,
were carried through 35° of north latitude, from near the Tropic of
Cancer towards Capricorn. Yet, from personal observation while cruising
among the Pacific islands, the richest sugar-cane and the most beautiful
white sugar was produced among the Sandwich islands. The midshipmen of
our mess declared they never saw such molasses as the caterer purchased
at Maui—it was like honey.
As the Island of Maui is in the same latitude as the Island of Cuba—both
near the Tropic of Cancer—we judge that the canes of Cuba are not
less sweet than the canes of the Society islands, until after they are
transplanted into South Peru.
The Mojos Indian never would have known there was such a plant in the
world, if the sugar-cane had not been carried to him. He does not travel
abroad himself, but remains in his own district, as the wild animals
do, living upon whatever may from time to time be passed over into his
plate. The hand that brought him sugar was the hand of the Ruler of the
winds—those winds, the southeast trades.
The old Indian seems perfectly comfortable now that he has milk and
sugar. If he was wise enough to know anything about the advantages of
commerce, it is doubtful how far he would exert himself. He is rather an
indolent fellow. The Indians _want_ nothing particularly; clothing they
get from the bark of the tree, or the produce of the cotton plant. Yuca
is their bread; there are fish in the stream, and beeves on the pampa;
coffee, chocolate, and sugar.
The kind old commander said they only produced a little sugar for house
use; "there was only one other Creole with him; he had no guard, and
the Indian population was but a handful."
There was a time when this pampa was unfitted for man's habitation; when
the water lay deep over the land. We are led to believe that the bottom
of the Madeira Plate was a great lake. It appears to us like the bed
of an uplifted sheet of water. Water flows into it all round the edge,
except at the head of the Madeira, its outlet to the sea.
All the streams that flow from the mountains are confined between high
banks; the water is deep; cultivation and navigation join hands. Here
we found the first signs of trade and of a friendly exchange.
We floated down the stream, passing the mouth of the Securé, which was
two hundred yards wide, flowing in from the westward, and landed to
enjoy breakfast. The disappointed governor distinguished himself this
morning by making excellent coffee, with milk which we brought along in
an earthen pot, manufactured by the Indians from clay of the pampa.
On the sides of the river there are several bays, which the schoolmaster
calls "Madres." Some of them are quite large. As the water falls in the
dry season these madres supply the river, and in the wet season fill
up again. From the name they are considered mothers to the river, from
which it obtains sustenance when it gets dry.
We encamped for the night on a sandy beach, from which I judge the
Securé river is not navigable far up, and that the distance between its
mouth and the rocky formation is not very far. The lands to the west of
the mouth of the Securé are wild and little known. Cattle roam upon the
plains, and the cinchona trees grow in the woods.
We found a party of fourteen men and boys encamped on the beach. They
had been up the river fishing and hunting. A fire was built by them;
their canoe lay by the shore, and their white cotton hamacs were slung
to poles stuck in the beach in a circle. They all go to bed by word
of command, otherwise the hamacs would all come down by the run. They
hang their hamacs out where the night breeze, as it comes sweeping up
the river, will drive the musquitoes away. Near the trees they are very
troublesome, and in the bushes insufferable.
The intelligent bright faces of the boys pleased us. They looked like
little girls in their long cotton frocks of white, standing round the
campfire watching yucas roasting. The youngsters noticed us much more
than the men of the party, who were generally from twenty-four to thirty
years of age. These were Mojos Indians, from the town of Trinidad. Our
Canichanas crew spoke a different language, though they only live a
short distance apart on the pampa. The Canichanas came from the town of
San Pedro, and yet these people do not understand the language of each
other.
When our men landed, I noticed they said nothing to the others. Our
fire was built and camping ground was near theirs, but the Mojos boys
and North Americans were the only ones disposed to be sociable. Mamoré
seemed the favorite of both parties; they both fed him, and as be ran
back and forth, receiving kindness from all sides, the dog became the
cause of jealousy between the two crews.
The boys had little bows and arrows and small paddles, but they
carried no game or fish—nothing but yuca to eat and water to
drink. They were fat, straight, well-built figures, with a clear
molasses-and-water-colored skin. When they smiled, their white teeth and
handsome black eyes gave them an agreeable and healthful appearance.
They were washed of dirt and paint. The savage custom of boring great
holes in their ears and noses had been cast aside, and they appeared
neatly in simple frock, with straw hat, bows and arrows. The dress is
certainly an awkward one for a man, but it is a great protection from
the musquitoes, while it keeps off the sun and night dews; they are cool
and comfortable also.
The ancient bark dress seems to have been the custom all through the
interior of this plate. The Indians of the lowlands dress in bark and
cotton cloth, while those of the mountains use wool and the skins of
animals. Leather is best in a dry climate and rawhide in a wet one.
Straw hats are seen in the truly tropical regions, while cloth caps and
fur hats are wanted in the mountains and cold countries. Where there
are the greatest diversities of climate, there are required the largest
assortment of goods.
Soon after leaving Masi, the banks of the river are seven feet high,
with the appearance of an overflow of as much as five feet.
One of the Mojos Indians informed the ex-governor we could get up to
the town of Trinidad by a small stream which flowed by the town. This
interested our men, as they would be obliged to carry the baggage some
distance over the plain on their backs.
They pulled with a will, and entering a small channel we crossed, with
the current, from the Mamoré to the river Ybaré. The channel was four
fathoms deep and just wide enough to pass.
The Ybaré is sixty yards wide, and has very little current, with
twenty-four feet depth of water, though it is said this stream becomes
very shallow in the dry season. Descending the Ybaré a short distance,
we entered a stream only twelve feet wide, where the men found great
difficulty in forcing the canoe against the current. The land on the
left hand side of the Ybaré is an island formed by the channel we came
through from the Mamoré.
After the men had been working for some time up stream, they rested,
got breakfast, and cut several long poles, which were carefully stowed
away in the canoe for the purpose of carrying baggage. A trunk is slung
to the middle of the pole, and each end is placed on a man's shoulder.
At 9 a. m., June 1, 1852, thermometer 77°, wet bulb 72°; a short time
after breakfast, we suddenly came where there were no trees. The men
took their bow and stern lines and mounted the bank, and we followed;
on gaining the top, there, stretched out to the far east, was a perfect
sea of herd grass. As far as the eye could reach the land was as level
as a floor; scarcely a tree to be seen except along the little stream we
had been following, with a belief we were amidst a great wilderness of
woods; but the clear light of day shone down upon an open pasture-field.
While the Indians towed the canoe by the path, "Padre" turned to inquire
whether we wanted to go farther down the country; if so, the captain
and crew still desired to serve us. But, señor, said he, "should you
engage us to take you, please pay us and not the authorities, who keep
the silver themselves and make us take cotton cloth." Here, for the
first time, I discovered the crew were dissatisfied with the way the
governor of Yuracares had treated them. Under the circumstances, I
considered it a duty to pay them extra, in silver coin, for valuable
and faithfully-performed services.
There are two characteristics in the Indian we particularly notice—his
honesty and his truthfulness. We have never lost the least thing from
our baggage or persons by dishonest Indians; whenever they offer
information it must be asked for, and what they say may be relied
upon as correct. We have never found this to be otherwise among any of
them—of the high or low countrymen—these traits are observed among all
the tribes.
The schoolmaster told me he never knew a boat's crew volunteer to take
passengers; that they preferred to go alone, and no doubt they offered
to take us because we did not interfere with them. He said it was
customary for the prefect of the Beni to "whip the Indians" when they
delayed on the voyage up the river. This reminded me that on the way
down the disappointed governor told me, if the men did not work fast
enough, by threatening to have them whipped at Trinidad they would pull
more rapidly.
We arrived at a wooden bridge thrown over the narrow stream, where a
number of canoes and Indians were collected. The bridge is on a road
leading from a plantation to the town of Trinidad. It was arched ten
or twelve feet above the prairies, to prevent its being washed away. In
the rainy season the lands overflow every year two feet deep. The road
travelled by horses and on foot may then be navigated in canoes nearly
up to the town. It is now a dusty road; then it is a narrow channel
through the herd-grass, which grows eight feet high. The floods come
loaded with earth from the mountains, and overflow these lands. The mud
settles on the surface of the soil as it filters through the herd-grass.
The clean water gradually drains off, leaving a coat of earth behind.
The old crop of coarse grass has fallen; the seeds are planted in the
old deposite, and up it grows again. Here we have an annual deposite of
earth and one of grass-stalks.
The bridge stands so high we can see afar off in all directions. There
are a few clusters of trees here and there where the river upheaves the
land.
Thousands of birds that fly in the air or walk on the plain are
_water_-fowl. Away on the eastern horizon we see a long black line. As
it approaches we hide in the grass, for the motion of the wings are
those of the wild duck. As the gun goes off, wild geese rise up with
cranes, as they do from the edge of a great lake. Snipe and signs of
snakes are visible.
Mamoré enjoys being let out of the canoe. He dashes through the grass
after the cattle; while he chases the calf, the cow rushes after.
Suddenly he comes to a stand in front of an angry-looking bull. Some of
these cattle are in good order, while others look small and thin. The
land is all new formation; not a stone is to be seen in the soil nor a
grain of sand. We now understand why the Indians gather up flint from
rocks about Vinchuta. Here is a great market for salt and flints.
We find the sun warm as we walk along the stream. In the distance we
see the red-tiled roofs of the town of Trinidad.
Flocks of large blue pigeons are flying by us, and feeding upon the
seed of a weed that grows in marshy places. These pigeons are wild, yet
they are the same in appearance as the common tamed pigeon. There are
a number of large birds we never saw before. One of them I supposed to
be an ostrich; but it flew up in the air, spreading a larger wing than
the condor, and of a spotted gray color. Among the grass-tops are some
of the most beautiful little scarlet and blue birds, all feeding upon
the seed.
A deer bounded through the grass; the country seems to be alive with
animals.
If we had come down the Andes in the wet season, we have some doubts
if we should have found much of the province of Mojos above water; for,
from the accounts of the men, they cross the country in every direction
in their canoes, while the horses, cows, and other anti-amphibious
creatures, take to the high spots for safety. They remain on what, in
the wet season, become islands, there patiently to wait the going down
of the annual deluge. Many cattle and horses are lost by not knowing
where to go.
As we approached the town of Trinidad, the canoes lying at the bank of
the stream, logs towed up from the wooded country, with the resemblance
of the cathedral to a ship-house, added to the number of white cotton
hamacs hung under sheds by the canoemen, reminded us very much of a navy
yard.
The Indians were all dressed alike, in white cotton frocks; some
carrying jars of water on their heads from the stream to the houses;
others washing. Carpenters hewing logs for houses, or digging out canoes
with North American tools. One of the men was somewhat astonished at
the interest we took in his chisel, manufactured in New England, and
from hand to hand passed to this Indian carpenter, who used it tolerably
well, and took great care of it. He had no idea from whence it came,
except that the canoemen from Vinchuta brought it with them. His mallet
was of home manufacture. His adze came with the chisel. He had no nails
for fastening his timbers; wooden pegs were used. Some of the canoemen
were loading with chocolate and sugar for Santa Cruz and Vinchuta;
others were unloading salt, flour, and foreign goods. Women were digging
clay out of the bank for pottery. The men are industrious, and the women
quite as good looking and as pleasant in expression of face as they
are active and handsome in figure. The exterior of the town and people
was remarkable for neatness. There was life and activity here. What
particularly pleased us was, that no shabby-looking policemen came to
demand our passports. We walked into town undisturbed by the side of a
fine-looking Indian driving a yoke of oxen.
The streets were cleanly swept, wide, and perfectly level; they ran at
right angles; each square had been nicely measured by the Jesuits who
came into the wilderness, called the savages together, and instructed
them how to build a city.
The houses are all of one story, roofed with tiles, which extend over
the sidewalks and supported on a line of posts, by which arrangement
every house in town has a piazza, and, in the wet season of the year,
people walk all round one block under cover, or all over town, only
exposed to the rain at the crossings. The floors are on the ground,
raised a very little above the level of the street. The hollow of the
square is open to all on each side, so that oxen or horses may be driven
through. One of these squares is the market place, with buildings all
round. One square in the centre of the town is perfectly open—it is
the plaza. A large wooden cross stands in the centre, directly in front
of the cathedral. At each corner of the plaza there stands also small
wooden crosses, roughly hewn. Next the cathedral stands the government
house, the only one of two stories in the place. Here we met the prefect
of the department of the Beni. As we knew him before he was appointed,
in Cochabamba, he received us as old acquaintances.
One of the government houses was put in order for us, that is to say,
a small table, three chairs, and bedsteads, with hide bottoms, were
put in, with a jar of water, and the floor well swept. Our baggage was
brought up by those of the crew not sent to the hospital, some distance
from town, where numbers went every day with the small pox. Our hamacs
slung up, Mamoré lay down at the door, and we were housed in Mojos.
The crew came to take leave after every thing had been brought from the
boat; they were going home to San Pedro, to their wives and families,
after being absent on a voyage of over a month. We have been seven days
descending from Vinchuta; they were twenty days on the river from this
place up.
The old captain made a short speech of thanks for the crew, who seemed
perfectly satisfied with what they received in addition to the cotton
cloth. "Nig" was more pleased than any when presented with the hide rope
he used to lasso the alligator. "Padre" was sent to the hospital; the
remainder left immediately.
The doctor of the town is down with the small pox a few doors from us,
and one hundred cases at the hospital. We have come into the midst of
it, and are obliged to remain to make arrangements to get out of the
Madeira Plate, which is considered difficult. There are three ways to
reach the Atlantic ocean; one by the Paraguay river; the other across
the empire of Brazil, from the town of Matto Grosso to Rio Janeiro, and
the third by the Madeira to the Amazon. These roads all pass through
tribes of savage Indians. We must try all three before we turn back
towards the Pacific.
We dined with the prefect and all the officers of the prefectura,
besides some of the correjidores of the neighboring towns in the
province. The correjidor or governor of Trinidad, under the immediate
eye of the prefect, is an Indian; but those of the smaller towns are
creoles, appointed by the prefect, and approved by the government.
[Illustration: HOUSED IN MOJOS.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The beef was tough and insipid; yucas watery. The correjidores
particularly fancied boiled cabbage, baked plantains and yucas served
as bread, except on particular occasions, when corn-cake, made of grain
mashed into paste between two stones, was presented. The corn is raised
on the pampa near the river banks, and the stones sold in market, after
being transported from Yuracares.
A row of large glasses containing chicha was set in the middle of the
table, to which the government officials paid particular attention.
One of the young men at the table had the goitre very badly, though the
swelling was so low down on his neck that he could tie his cravat over
it, which gave him a most strange expression. We attribute the insipid
taste of the beef of dinner, and the swelling in this man's neck, to
the same cause—the want of salt.
The coffee was excellent, but the tobacco not so good as some we found
in Cochabamba from Santa Cruz, where the plant grows under a drier
climate.
Don Antonio de Barras Cordoza, a native of Pará in Brazil, came to see
us. Don Antonio seems a clever person. He had more resolution in the
expression of his face than any man we had met with, while he looked as
if he had seen some hard service as a sailor on the Amazon. The quick
and pleasant flash of his eye, when I told him I wanted to descend the
Madeira and Amazon to Pará, gave me hopes. He told me he had been seven
months on his voyage here from Borba on the Madeira river; that he had
dragged his boats over the land on rollers by several of the falls on
the Madeira, unloading his cargo at the foot of each fall, and, after
carrying it by the fall, launched his boat and embarked again. His
father had made a trip of the same kind some years before. He advised me
not to take a Mojos canoe or crew; that the boat would be broken among
the rocks, and that the Indians of Bolivia were so inexperienced they
would be of no use to me, even if they did not desert me as soon as they
came within the sound of the roaring of the waters of the first fall, as
they had already done with some Bolivians who attempted to descend the
river with them. It was very clear that our only way was to give up all
idea of aid from the canoemen of Bolivia in this respect, and look to
Brazil. The prefect might order men to descend the Madeira, and we might
go at once; but Indians are unwilling to go a great distance from home.
One month to them is considered a long voyage, therefore they would want
to return in that time; but, by Don Antonio's account, it will take
them at least seven months to return alone. The Indians keep count of
the number of days absent from their wives by cutting a small notch in
the handle of their paddles every seventh day, and a crew that returns
with over four notches has been absent a long time from Trinidad, it is
thought.
Don Antonio explained to me how it was that the canoes of Mojos were not
fitted for the route down the Madeira. They are all hewn or dug out of
one stick, long and narrow. When the crew drag the canoe over shallows
in the river, she may lodge on a rock under the centre; the heavy
weights fore and aft, on a boat forty feet long, break her back in two.
The heft, as well as the length of these canoes, make them unmanageable
among the rapids. When we come to navigate the land, he said, she might
go along as well as other boats, but they were unfit for the waters of
the Madeira.
Don Antonio was a trader; he had brought up a cargo of fancy glassware;
liquors of different kinds—French wines, brandy, gin, and sweet wines.
The Indians drink chicha; they are unaccustomed to the taste of good
wine, and care little for it; they also use earthenware. For four months
he has been here with goods exposed to view in a house on the corner
of the square. He has sold but little. The iron he brought sells at
eighteen and twenty cents the pound. He has but a few pounds that is not
sold. Sweet oil is used among the few creoles, but they refuse to take
it by the bottle; so he retails it out, six cents a wineglassful.
He invites the people to purchase fire-rockets by setting off a few now
and then at the corner of the plaza. A Creole comes along and gives him
so many pounds of cacao for so many rockets, which he takes, knowing he
will have to send the cacao to Santa Cruz to get money for it.
I lived with Don Antonio, and mention with confidence and respect, that
when we had eggs they were purchased with a handful of salt for two;
a wineglass four times filled with sweet oil paid for a chicken; two
glasses bought a pound of sugar. A jar of molasses was offered us as a
present from the correjidor; and a lady sent a pair of ducks, for which
a bottle of sweet wine was returned. In this act Don Antonio displayed
the most exquisite gallantry and generosity, so considered by her lady
friends next door.
Don Antonio owned the only two boats from the Amazon on the upper
waters, which were of the proper build for the falls in the Madeira.
He offered me one of his small boats when it returned from the Itenez
river, but he had no men. I was obliged to wait and go with him to
Brazil to get them.
We met an Englishman here who had made a voyage over the falls in the
Madeira and back with Señor Palacios. He also advised me not to trust
the Mojos Indians on such a journey. This was discouraging, for I was
uncertain how long we might be kept without knowing whether we would
eventually succeed or not. This was the dry season, and the proper time
to move forward. Should we be delayed until December in this plate, our
chances were over until next year.
The Department of the Beni has a population of 30,148 friendly Indians
and creoles, of which 6,732 Indian men, between the ages of eighteen and
fifty years, and only 325 creoles, pay contribution to the government
of two dollars each a year. There are 985 men in this department over
fifty years of age, and they are excused from paying this tax, as well
as the women and children.
The government of Bolivia settles accounts with the church for the
Indians out of the annual income of $13,464. The Indians pay this tax
in cotton table cloths, sheets, hamacs, towels, ponchos, and pieces of
cotton goods made by their own hands. They cultivate maize and coffee,
tobacco, yuca, oranges, plantains, lemons, and papayas; cocoa grows wild
along the rivers; rice is raised in small quantities.
A home-made tablecloth is worth three dollars; there were over seven
hundred exported last year from this department. A pair of sheets costs
five dollars and fifty cents; a hamac, five; a towel, two. Over three
thousand yards of Indian domestic cotton cloth were also exported last
year, at thirty-one and a quarter cents a yard; dry hides are valued
at twelve and a half cents; tiger skins, two dollars; straw hats,
from fifty cents to one dollar; coffee, three dollars; tamarinds, two
dollars; tobacco, one dollar and twenty-five cents; and cocoa, two
dollars the arroba of twenty-five pounds; prepared chocolate is worth
eighteen and three-quarter cents a pound.
It is difficult to estimate the annual yield of cacao—last year over
eight thousand arrobas were sent to the people on the Andes. Horned
cattle on the pampa are worth two dollars a head. A few Brazil nuts are
brought into the market of Trinidad, where they sell at one dollar the
arroba.
This is a list of the exports from the very bottom of the Madeira
Plate—all of which are sent out against the current and up the sides
of the Andes. There are a few Indians in Yuracares who pay contribution
in cinchona bark; it has to be entered at the sub-treasury here; forty
arrobas have come down in a year. The Indian is allowed eight dollars
and seventy five cents the arroba when it is forwarded to the Pacific
ocean.
While the door of this interior is at the head of the Madeira river, the
people go back up-stairs, and pass their goods and chattels over the
roof, down through the chimney, to the Pacific; stemming the current,
and struggling against difficulties among the clouds, through storms
and dangers, passing through cold, frozen regions, on the way to market;
leaving a most productive country road, and passing through one less and
less valuable, until they get into a desert, the off-side of which may
be approached by a ship; while Don Antonio has brought his vessels from
the Atlantic ocean, and is trying to sell them the very articles they
are struggling for at such great expense from the other direction. He
has brought a cargo of glassware and Pennsylvania iron up the Madeira,
while they seem to insist upon getting New England tools over the Andes.
He expresses to me the great difficulty he finds in selling his cargo.
The creoles seem perfectly contented with the trade as it is; some of
them have gone so far as to express an opinion that, should commerce
be made to flow through the Madeira, it will _destroy_ their present
_prosperity_.
The department of the Beni is considered by the government the dungeon
of this country. When a man's opinions are thought by the president to
endanger the public peace, he is banished to the Beni. He leaves his
domicil on the tops of the Andes, and comes down under the tamarind
trees of Mojos. This band of exiles settle here amidst an industrious
tribe of Indian planters. By their superior intelligence and greater
recklessness, as a race, they out-trade the Indians. The Indian
produces all the necessaries of life—he makes hats, cotton cloths, and
leather shoes; tends the cattle; manufactures sugar; raises coffee and
chocolate, yuca and plantains; builds houses; bakes the pottery, and
lassoes the horse on the prairie for the creole to ride. He is brought
under control, and obeys as a servant.
We find our enterprise less popular here than anywhere upon our route.
The prefect of the department tells me he doubts if one of the people
will consent to go down with me to the Amazon; that Señor Palacios
was one of the government authorities, and the Indians did not dare
to disobey when they were called upon to go on his expedition; but the
Englishman says the men had such a rough time of it on that occasion,
that when they returned and told their families and neighbors, it made
such an impression they refused to go again, and deserted from the
canoes. One of the correjidores fitted out an expedition for Pará; when
the Indians ran, he confessed he had to run with them for fear of being
left to starve in the wilderness. They have less fear of savages, it is
said, than of the roaring sound of the falling waters.
I rode two leagues over the pampa with Don Antonio, to visit his
vessels, which we found moored by the bank of the Ybaré river. The
largest, the size of a line-of-battle ship's launch built upon, had a
covered cabin, and a roof over the forward part of the hold, called
by the Amazon sailor "Coberta." The second one was also covered,
but smaller, called "Igarite." They are without masts, propelled on
the river by paddles or poles, and prepared to pass over the land on
rollers. The largest one mounted a small four-pound iron gun, which
Don Antonio fired off when the new prefect arrived; and the sound of
that little gun was echoed through the whole of this country by the
newspapers.
On the Andes we found two languages spoken by the Indians of the great
tribes, the Quichua and Aymara, both in the days of the Incas under
the same government. But in the Madeira Plate, the Indians living on
the same plain are divided into small tribes, and speaking different
languages, between the Inca territory and uncivilized tribes of
savages below them. Here, in the city of Trinidad, the tribe is called
_Mojos_, speaking the same language as the Indians of the three nearest
towns—Loreto, San Javier, and San Ignacio. In Santa Ana the language
differs; the Indians speak _Mobimos_; in San Pedro, _Canichanos_;
in Exaltacion, _Cayuvaba_; in San Ramon, Magdelina, and San José del
Guacaraje, _Itonama_; in San Borja, _Borgano_; in Reyes, _Reyesano_; in
San Ivaquin, _Baures_ and _Yuracares_.
Here are nine different languages or dialects in the same district of
level country, and we recognise a difference in the physiognomies of the
Yuracares, Mojos, and Canichanas tribes. The Yuracares are more lively,
cheerful, and talkative; they are lighter colored, more fond of hunting
and rambling through the woods than the others. The Mojos Indians are a
grave, sedate, and thoughtful people. They are larger than the men of
Yuracares. The women are considered handsome; those of Yuracares are
very homely. Here the girls are large, well developed, and pleasant;
there they are small and cross-tempered, looking as though they wanted
to quarrel with men. Here they take their rights without asking. The
Mojos Indians are particularly fond of cultivating the soil; they drive
the ox-team well. The boys run away from school to the plough-field,
where they seem to enjoy the labor, or paddle the canoe with a load
of fruit to market. They have little fancy for the town or house; the
older ones like farming the best, and the women seem satisfied to stay
at home. These Indians carry no bows and arrows about with them, except
on long voyages up and down the river. Since domestic cattle were
introduced, they have put aside the arrow and taken up the lasso, which
they handle well. They know nothing of fire-arms, never having used
them. The Spanish race has stripped them of all means of defence, except
the war-club, should they choose to cut one. They are civil, quiet, and
peaceable; seldom quarrel among themselves, and are already taught the
consequences should they do so with the creole, who treats them worse
than slaves. The humble Indian obeys the meanest creole. The laws are
made for the creole, not for him; he pays the same annual tax, yet he
has no vote. He is ignorant of the laws by which he is governed. But
one case has been known where the correjidor had been so overbearing and
cruel in his treatment of them that they put him to death and burnt the
government house. These sent to say they would obey any one else the
President might appoint over them. They built a new government house,
and were ever after quiet. These were the Canichanas, the same as our
faithful canoemen, who appear to be spirited fellows.
The province of Mojos extends to the east as far as the Itenez river,
which is the boundary line between it and Brazil. The country is
inhabited by wild tribes of savages, upon whom the Jesuits never could
make any impression, for they will neither hold friendly intercourse
with the Spanish race nor with the friendly Indians. They are warlike in
disposition, and meet all overtures on the part of others at the point
of their arrows.
The labors of the Jesuits, here, were much more difficult than on the
mountains, where the whole nation seemed as one man to fall under the
new order of things after the Spanish conquest. Here all the different
tribes had to be approached with distinct care, for as their language
and dispositions differed, their forms of worship also in some degree
varied from each other. The Jesuits were untiring in their efforts, and
made advances to them all. Many of the priests were murdered in their
moral struggle with the red man.
The few Spaniards who followed down the eastern slope of the Andes at
the heels of the priests, and settled near the line, have not assisted
the workings of the church; for, wherever they have met the savage, a
difficulty between them have caused continuous wars, and now the savage
deposition of the red man excites a constant desire for revenge.
The Spanish schools are drawing the children of these different tribes
closer together by teaching them lessons from the same language. The
Bolivian government has adopted a wise plan to bind these ignorant
people together. The fewer number of languages the more friendly
disposed people become towards each other.
We have seen on the mountains the effect of the Quichua speech taught by
the Inca family to the wild tribes that inhabited those regions. There
remained but two languages from the equator to the southern boundary
of Potosi, and the highest state of civilization. From what we see of
the Mojos Indians they are quite as intelligent, and even more so, than
the Quichuas or Aymaras, who never manufactured the wool of the alpaca
or vicuña so well as the Mojos Indians do the cotton. The stone-work
of the Quichuas or Aymaras does not surpass the wood-work of these. The
stone chisel in the hand of the Cuzco or Tiahuanaco Indian was skilfully
used; but we see at a glance in how superior a manner the Mojos Indian
employs carpenter's tools. The mountain Indians have been praised for
their natural talent in painting. Some of the productions in Trinidad
would amuse the critic; yet the highest taste is found here. The lesson
in colors is nowhere more plainly set before the eye. We have seen in
the hand of a Mojos Indian a bird the size of a sparrow, with seven
distinct colors among its feathers; probably there is no part of the
world where there are a greater variety of beautifully-colored birds
than in the Madeira Plate.
The aptness of these people in learning is not second to those of the
mountains. They cultivate the sugar-cane quite as well as the others
do the barley, and when we examined the woollen goods of the mountain
girls, and compared them with the white cotton dresses of the fair
ones on the banks of the rivers in the lowlands, both made by their own
hands, we must give preference to the manufactures of Mojos, with all
deference to the memory of Manco Capac's wife, who taught the mountain
girls to net and knit, to spin and to weave. The Mojos women are few in
number, and the people of the next tribe being as exclusive as those
of Japan, the manufacturers of the one tribe had no opportunities to
exchange with them ideas.
The Mojos Indians have a natural fondness for painting human figures
and representing birds and animals, particularly the common chicken and
the cow. The latter seems to have made a deep impression upon them at
first sight; they often paint the cow fighting or chasing a man. These
Indians describe the novel sights. I have not seen a single painting
of an Indian or of an animal which originally belonged on this pampa.
The white man, the cow, and chicken cock, are their favorite studies.
On the white walls of their houses, inside and out, such figures
appear as a decoration. In the rooms of the government houses the best
artist displayed his talent, and those drawings on the walls of the
market-place are admired by all who go there. So much taste and caution
have the boys and little children, that none of them are known to
disfigure any of these paintings in the public market-place.
The Indians of Cuzco have had some of the most beautiful, large, and
costly paintings hung before them in the churches of that ancient city.
The church encourages this taste; yet we saw nothing there like what we
find among these people who have never had lessons set them, and the
natural scenery here is less calculated to draw upon the imagination.
The whole country is a dead level; the view only extends to the horizon,
the sky above, and one continued sheet of herd grass below.
The Mojos Indian makes a scene for himself, and describes it with
colored paints. On a windy day he strikes light and puts fire to the
dry prairie-grass. As the wind carries the fire swiftly along, and the
sheets of blaze shoot up under the heavy cloud of smoke, the Indian
sketches the effect produced upon the cattle, who toss their tails into
the air, and rush in fear with heads erect at the top of their speed in
an opposite direction to that from which the wind comes. He decorates
the inside wall of his house with this scene, which is a common one on
these prairie lands.
The Mojos Indians have musical talent also, what the Quichua Indians
want. The Aymaras have a little, but the Mojos are decided by natural
characteristics: they play the guitar, violin, and flute; blow their
organic pipes, and beat the drum. They accompany the instruments with
a sweet voice, and read music with ease. They all take part in church
music, while on the mountains a regular choir is employed.
The altar of the cathedral is beautifully carved out of ornamental
woods, adorned with hundreds of dollars' worth of silver. The
candlesticks are made of tin, and the candles are tallow. The silver
and tin came from Potosi. The wood and tallow are close at hand.
We are ignorant of the means used by the Jesuits to incline the savages
to collect together on a swell of the pampa, and plant the corner post
of this cathedral. They could not understand the white man's language;
they worshipped what they saw before them on the plain, in the heavens,
and among the woods; and yet they were induced to erect a church, kneel
in it, and worship the God who made them as well as the animals. All
this was accomplished by a series of signs of the hand.
Don Antonio brought among his cargo some gold ornaments manufactured in
France and Portugal; amidst other similar articles, a number of gilded
beads. The Indian women of the town of Exaltacion fancied and purchased
a quantity of them. They were sold as gold beads, just as a jeweller
disposes of such things. The Indian women put one of them into the
fire, and after heating it well and then cooling it, placed it by the
side of some others. The change of color proved to them that the beads
contained alloy. They were at once deposited in the hands of the police
and sent back to Don Antonio, who had left for this place. He laid the
case before the prefect, and informed him the beads had not been sold
as pure gold, but as ornaments. The beads were forwarded to a jeweller
in Cochabamba to determine their true value, which was as Don Antonio
said. But the Indians would not receive them. They answered that the
beads were not pure, and for that reason they did not wish them, nor
would they wear such things if they were manufactured in Paris. He had
to return their money.
Gold manufactured into ornaments in this country is generally worked
up just as it comes from the river, without the application of any
artificial alloy. The Indians do not understand this art of mixing.
The Spaniards often do; and the Indians have their own way of proving
the impositions sometimes practised on them. The Brazilian merchant was
exceedingly annoyed at the idea of being considered dishonest by those
he had been dealing fairly with. He tried in vain to show that he sold
the beads for less than if they had been pure. It was of no use; the
Indians had their ideas of what they should be; they did not want the
reasoning, but pure gold beads.
Don Antonio made a young mestizo girl a present of a gilded chain,
because she had purchased a number of ribbons and silk handkerchiefs
from him. She brought it back a short time after, and thanked him for
it, saying it was of no use. They had put it into the fire, and it very
soon turned copperish. He was much displeased with her, because he had
made it a present; but she answered, "Had your present been pure, I
should have valued it."
Shot-guns are valuable; but the people refuse to pay coin for them;
there is very little here indeed. The Amazon trader, who comes from
a cacao-producing country, is invited to accept so many pounds of
chocolate for a shot-gun, or to exchange shot for the same article.
The copper coin and paper money of Brazil are of no value here. The
smallest coins in Bolivia are three-cent silver pieces. There is no
copper currency. The metal is found on the plains of Oruro in too great
abundance. Neither have they paper money in Bolivia as in Brazil.
The authorities mentioned to Don Antonio he would be expected to pay
a duty for every thousand dollars he may collect in silver and gold in
the country. The people seem jealous of the foreigner who brings them
goods and carries off silver.
CHAPTER X.
Horned cattle and horses—"Peste"—Salt trade—Church
service—Bull-fight—Mariano Cuyaba—Rules and regulations of the
town—Laws and customs of the creoles—A walk through the plaza
at midnight—Scenes on the road to the town of Loreto—Annual
deluge—The beasts, birds, and fishes—Loreto—Inhabitants—Grove
of tamarind trees—Winds of the Madeira Plate—A
bird-hunter—Trapiche—A black tiger burnt out—Departure
in Brazilian boats—Enter the Mamoré river again—An Indian
overboard.
Horned cattle and horses are scattered over the plains of Mojos far away
from the settled parts, and are now roaming wild through the country, so
that it is impossible to estimate their numbers. A creole returned to
Trinidad from Reyes reported many thousand cattle roaming wild between
the Mamoré and Beni rivers.
These cattle and horses are suffering under the effects of an epidemic,
which the Creoles call "peste"—plague. This disease is said to have been
brought from Brazil, where the cattle are affected in the same way. The
horse seems to suffer the most. Within the last few years nearly all
the horses in Mojos have been swept away by the "peste."
The first symptoms are weakness in the limbs. The animal does not lose
his appetite, but gradually falls away, until his strength is entirely
gone, when he lies down and eats the grass around him even to the roots
with a most ravenous hunger. The nearer death approaches the greater
his desire for food, when he ceases to be able to hold up his head, and
finally is lost. We have seen a fine saddle-horse in good order kept
clear of the peste by placing a cake of Potosi salt where he might lick
it when he chose. This noble animal seemed really to feed upon the salt.
His coat was sleek, and he held his head up above the pampa horses, who
are never supplied with this expensive article.
The cattle all look miserably thin and stunted, as though not well fed,
yet the plains are covered with a fine growth of grass. This epidemic
commenced in 1846. There is no telling the sweeping effect it has
had upon the cattle. As to the horses, we judge they have nearly all
been destroyed. We see them still dying about on the plain. Mules are
affected in the same way, though they linger longer than horses. Salt
dissolved in water will sometimes bring them to after they are unable
to stand on their legs.
As we never heard the Gauchos of the pampas of Buenos Ayres speak of
this disease, there is reason to believe it is principally confined
within the rain-belt region, where fresh water covers so much of the
pasture lands. We have no account of this disease having destroyed the
cattle and horses of Chiquitos, where evaporation is greater than the
precipitation.
Throughout our route we have found more females affected with the goitre
than males. In the deep mountain ravines, we were nearly led to the
belief men never were troubled with this swelling of the throat.
While looking at a drove of cattle, which has just arrived from the
plains, at the market of Trinidad, we noticed that while nearly all the
cows, young and old, were miserably thin, many of the males were in good
condition.
There is no trade at the present day in this part of the country so
important as that of salt brought from without the rain belt. This rain
belt is broken. At Lima, in Peru, it never rains, only sometimes drops.
There the precipitation is very little, and the evaporation great. Lima
is in latitude 12° 03´ south. A few leagues north of Lima, on the coast,
are found the salt basins of Huacho. Sea-water is let into basins on
the plain. In twenty months the sun evaporates the water, and blocks of
salt are left, which supply the markets of North Peru. The government
of Peru takes advantage of the break in the rain-belt, and leases the
"Salinas," as they are called, to those who pay an annual rent into the
public treasury.
The salt of Huacho is carried east, over the Cordilleras, to the
valley Juaja, where it rains half the year, and where we found animals
suffering for the want of it, though found in veins. The northeast and
southeast trade winds carry rains from the north and south Atlantic up
to the snow-capped Cordilleras to the west of Juaja valley. There the
winds give out; after they have had all the moisture wrung out of them,
there is none left to pass over the Cordilleras and rain down into Lima.
The break, in the rain-belt, formed by the meeting of these two trade
winds, drawn back and forth after the sun takes place on the very tops
of the Cordilleras range of mountains, where the last drop of moisture
in the winds freeze and fall in the shape of snow flakes. Just below
this is found the native habitation of the Peruvian camel. The Indian
who inhabits the valley of Juaja, in want of salt, drives the llama down
to the Pacific coast, and takes it from a line level with the ocean. He
goes to the sea for it in preference to collecting it from the mine.
Should he go south, to Chile, he finds the southerly winds bring rain
along the coast, and instead of a supply, he finds a market. If he goes
north of Huacho to Equador, there northerly winds bring rain, and there
is another market.
The Indian loads his llama with one hundred pounds of salt, and drives
him up the western slope of the Peruvian mountains, through a gorge
filled with snow, over sixteen thousand feet high, to the plains of
Juaja.
While the Potosi Indian loads his argentine mule with three hundred
pounds of salt, not from the ocean, but from the salt lakes on the
plains of Potosi, made by the natural evaporation of the sun from a
fresh water stream on the top of the Andes, running over rock salt; he,
too, takes it under the rain-belt to the market of Mojos. If salt may be
made so readily from the water of the sea at Turk's Island in the West
Indies, why may it not be made somewhere on the west coast of Mexico?
The scorching rays of the sun peel the skin off people's noses there
just as they do on the table lands of Potosi, and along the shores of
Peru.
The town of Trinidad is the largest in Mojos, with a population of
over three thousand, few of which are creoles. The national creole
guard musters about twenty soldiers and five officers, headed by the
prefect with the rank of _General de Brigada_, armed with old flint
lock muskets. One common gun-flint will purchase, in the market, a
basket containing one dozen delicious oranges. The flint part of Don
Antonio's cargo was disposed of at once, and the silver willingly paid.
He brought a supply for a long time to come, even at the risk of a
revolution. External wars have never interfered with Mojos, except the
war of exclusiveness.
On the 6th of June, mass was held in the cathedral, the day being called
Santissima Trinidada. After mass we witnessed a grand procession, headed
by the prefect and clergy, followed by the whole population dressed in
white gowns, "camecitas," as they are called here. Whenever the Indians
are performing church service, the women unplat their hair, and allow
it to hang gracefully loose behind over their white dresses. The hair
of the men is cut short.
At each corner of the plaza was an arbor, constructed of green foliage
and flowers, with plantain trees and palm leaves. As they marched round
to music and singing, the scene was beautiful and interesting. The red
race dressed in white cotton cloth, following the catholic clergy in
rich costume, bearing wooden images on their shoulders; three thousand
savages, half civilized, were singing church music, and living under
the laws of quasi white men. The few creoles who walked by the side of
the prefect and clergy were but a drop in the plate.
After the procession returned to the cathedral, the Indians pulled down
the arbors and entered the plaza, bearing long poles, with which they
built an enclosure on the corner of the square next the prefectura. A
pen was erected adjoining, in which, one by one, were placed a number
of savage bulls, wild from the pampas.
The people gathered round and on the balcony of the prefectura;
musicians were comfortably and safely seated. As twelve or fourteen
able-bodied Indians entered the enclosure, a bull was let loose on them,
and the play was commenced. The bull rushed at the first man near him,
and as he got away, ran headlong towards the crowd outside the poles.
The people laughing jumped on either side and let the animal run his
horns into the fence. He became furious, bellowed and tossed the poles
of the fence into the air, but they were quickly put in place by the
crowd outside.
Red handkerchiefs were shaken at his head; some pulled his tail, while
one man, who was engaged talking to another, found himself suddenly
raised off his feet by the horns of the bull under his camecita. He was
not hurt, for by this time the bull had been teased so much he was tired
down, when he was hissed out of the ring and let loose, to find his way
back to the plain.
This was great sport for the Indians; they seemed particularly to enjoy
the fun. Great jars of chicha had been provided by the authorities of
the town, and passed round among those who wanted to drink. There were
few who declined, and as soon as the bull was let out, baskets of bread,
made of corn and yuca meal, were emptied from the balcony over the heads
of the people, who scrambled after it. The manner in which this bread
was presented to the Indians from the government store, was the same
as throwing corn to poultry elsewhere. They scrambled for it amidst the
dust that had just been torn up by the hoofs of the enraged bull.
After the scramble was over another bull was entered, and the sport
continued, while a third was being saddled. An Indian mounted, holding
to a strap placed round the breast of the bull; when they let him loose,
the heaving and setting of the animal was most laughable; the man's head
was heavily nodded and jerked backwards and forwards as the bull reared
or kicked up behind. It was like the tossing of a small fore-and-aft
schooner in a heavy seaway. The roars of laughter from the Indians were
amusing; they highly enjoyed the saint's day of their city after the
programme arranged by church and state.
The good order at all times maintained, the greetings of the people,
and cleanliness of the city are owing to certain internal regulations.
Fratos, an old Indian, is considered the rich man of Trinidad; he is
the correjidor and commander of the town; all the other officers among
the Indians are under his orders.
Mariano Cayuba, another respected Indian, seventy-three years of age,
holds the office of "casique," which is second in command. Cayuba
receives all reports—how many sick, and all deaths; the condition of the
town, as to cleanliness and good order; how many canoes in port; their
arrivals and departures; and the state of the cattle on the plains.
When Cayuba goes to prayers in the evening with his wife and children,
he stops at Fratos's house and tells him all; makes a regular report
of everything that is going on, be it good news or bad. Fratos is held
responsible for the good order of things by the prefect, to whom he also
pays a daily visit, for the purpose of posting him up in regular order
by word of mouth.
Cayuba receives his reports from the following officers: one
"intendente," who oversees portions of the public business, with one
"alferes;" four "aguacils," (constables;) eighteen "comisarios," who
carry orders, keep watch at night, and are employed on duty about
the prefectura—one of them is head waiter at the table; two "policia"
officers, whose duty it is to see the boys of the town supply water
for drinking during the day. The boys are marched out of town early in
the morning with earthen jars on their heads—in the wet season to the
stream, and in the dry to the lake. Boys don't like such work, but they
grow fast, when this labor falls to others. Four "fiscales" superintend
the streets and houses; see that they are kept clean and in order. A
fiscale, in olden time, was a ministerial officer—an attorney general.
Sixteen "capitanos," who command gangs of one hundred Indians each—these
are working men. Whenever the government of Bolivia requires a house to
be built, a bridge made, or a sugar plantation and sugar-cane gathered
and manufactured, an order is given to that effect to Fratos, who calls
for one or sixteen captains' companies, as the case may be, and they
muster their men into immediate service, for which they receive no pay,
as it is for their country they are laboring.
A "teniente de estancia," or mayor-domo de estancias, overlooks the
cattle in the prairie; keeps accounts, as near as he can, of their
number; what their condition is; whether the floods and the tigers
destroy them; what is the state of the pasture-lands. When he finds the
grass dead, he fires it, and a young pasture springs up, as the rain
begins to fall, and fattens the cattle. He instructs the Indians how
to build enclosures for the calves, which keep them from running wild.
This brings the cattle in from the plains, when their bags of milk pain
them—so the calves and people are both supplied without the trouble of
driving in the cattle. An "alcalde" takes charge of all the canoes in
the ports; attends to their repairs; gives orders when others are to be
built or dug out; appoints proper crews to them, when, through sickness
or otherwise, the men are called away. He reports to Cayuba the state
of commerce; how much cacao goes up the country, and how much salt comes
down—in fact he is the "old salt" of the tribe.
Under this system of regulations the city is kept in order; no
quarrelling or fighting is ever seen in the street. As soon as a person
is taken sick, those whose duty it is to attend to that department give
aid and assistance to the family; people are sent to the hospital as
nurses, and a doctor of medicine is furnished by government. The daily
duties are performed by all with so much regularity that no one seems
to be over-worked, and all appear to be accommodated, for every Indian
man is obliged by the regulations to do something; there are no loungers
here except the creoles. One Indian goes a voyage on the river; another
is obliged to cultivate a chacra or farm, tend cattle, cut timber, or
learn some trade; while the boys go to a school teacher provided for
them by the government.
The women are free to do as they please, which suits them best. They are
volunteer workers to pick cotton, spin, and weave it by hand. The frame
for the weaver is a simple wooden one, which stands upright in a corner
of the house, where the women work at it when they have the cotton spun,
by twisting it suspended from the hand to a ball, the thread being wound
on a slight stick; both spinning and weaving appear to us very slow
work, but time is never considered by the Indian; he works as though he
lived for the present, and thought more of the past than of the future.
The prefect has a secretary and clerk; a captain of police superintends
the whole department of the Beni, and reports any internal disturbances;
he keeps watch upon all people to see there are no revolutionary
schemes, and receives twenty-five cents from every person wishing to
leave, for a written passport granting permission so to do. When a
traveller wants a boat and crew, he applies to the captain of police,
who sees that the proper price is paid to the men, and no more. He is
a creole, like the clerk of the prefect. The only other creole officer
in the town is a justice of the peace.
For the last ten years the Indians of the Beni have paid annual
contribution. Before that time the government supplied them with
clothing, fed and lodged them, and received into the public treasury
the whole products of their labors. The Indians very properly became
dissatisfied, and it was found advisable to change the order of things,
and to tax them.
Cayuba was the wise man of the Mojos tribe. He was respected for his
intelligence, while Fratos claimed rank over him on account of his
wealth. This Cayuba thought unjust; while he performed his duty well,
and his house was the gay one of the town, he was constantly reminded
by the most important man about him that he should be made correjidor.
He was a planter, and owned a large chacra on the opposite side of the
lake. The prefect took me to Cayuba's and gave me a formal introduction
to him. His first question was: "What is your name?" On being told, he
sneezed, shook his head, and said, "Mucha questa."
When the arrieros reach the foot of the mountains, they point to the
tops of the Andes, and describe the difficulties of gaining the summit
with the cacao, by saying "mucha questa"—much up-hill. Cayuba used
the same expression to explain to me in Spanish how difficult English
sounded to his ear. He looked intently at me and said—"Another language?
Where is your country?" I pointed to the north. "Ah," said he; "have
any women there?" The Indians think strangers travel about alone because
they have no women at home to take care of them.
Cayuba often came to see me. He spoke a little Spanish, and was so
anxious to know all about my country, we became great friends. I asked
him whether the people were happy. He said, "Yes; but we are all slaves
to the white man; we used to have plenty of cattle and fine horses. The
white man comes from Santa Cruz and drives them all away."
By the laws of the land, Indians are punished by whipping on the
bare back with a raw-hide rope—twelve stripes for insubordination,
drunkenness, or idleness. The custom among the authorities has been
to punish whenever they deem it proper, with as many lashes as they
please, though there is less punishment now than in former times. One
prefect, who was exceedingly tyrannical in his behavior to these people,
was recalled, as the Indians all signed a petition against him to the
President. He was displaced and afterwards banished to Brazil. On the
voyage down the Mamoré river, the crew filled the boat with water at
midnight while the ex-prefect was sleeping. They swam to the bank, and
he was drowned.
[Illustration: MARIA NOSA, CASEMIRA NACOPEARH, JOSE VICENTE, CAYUBA,
JUANA JUA.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
Cayuba introduced me to his wife—a fine-looking, fat, cheerful Indian.
Juana Jua Cayuba was very industrious; she superintended the hired
women moulding earthen jars, which are used in manufacturing sugar; her
house was kept in neat order; she was constantly employed weaving cotton
hamacs, table-cloths, sheets, and bed-spreads; she wore two gold chains
round her neck, to which were suspended a silver cross and a medal; she
wore ear-rings of pure native gold, and on Sundays a very respectable
man-like black beaver hat; she was a strict church woman, and kept
Cayuba in that direction, who sometimes shyed off or overslept himself
in the hamac, which was slung across the room.
The Indian men take to the European fancy of dress. On Sundays, before
the authorities call upon the prefect, they take off the "camecita," and
put on trousers, coat, vest, boots, and hat; each one carries a cane,
the signal of his office. On such occasions they walk with the most
amusing air of importance. Cloth clothes are very different from their
usual cool dress, though they undergo the greatest amount of warming
rather than take them off before sun-set. All the discarded black beaver
hats, which have been battered and bent on the road down the mountains,
find a market here. All the queer-looking black frock and swallow-tailed
dress-coats, that are made in the country, seem to have concentrated and
are displayed before the public on state occasions, in this place. The
native dress, worn by the Indians, is well adapted to the women, but the
men work quite as awkwardly in camecitas as they appear in thick cloth
clothes.
Cayuba was kind enough to send us milk and fruits; when I asked him what
I should present him in return, he said, "a black silk handkerchief."
He was fitted out complete. The interest Indians expressed in sketches
of their country, their town, or themselves, was remarkable. Cayuba was
much surprised at daguerreotype likenesses of two ladies. He came to
my room next day with a party of old men and his wife, to request they
might be shown the women "of my tribe." He looked at the pictures, then
at his wife, saying he would like to swap her off for the original of
that likeness; and then turned to me and said—"Have you got plenty of
them there?" pointing to the north, and looking very intent.
Before the break of day the whole population, except the creoles, are
upon their feet; as day dawns, drummers, fifers, and fiddlers, assemble
at the church, and beat reveille. The church bells are hung under the
roof of a small steeple near by; as they ring, the Indians flock to
morning prayers. The year round this form is gone through, as it was
originally established by the Jesuits. While kneeling in church, the
music commingles with their songs of praise, as the morning sun throws
his light upon the city.
Every evening the same ceremony, as the sun descends over the Andes,
at 8 o'clock, on clear nights, the boys of the town kneel by the
large wooden cross in the centre of the plaza, and sing a hymn before
the inhabitants retire. A band of music accompanies their voices.
As the bright moon lights up their world, these little boys shout
their verses of thankfulness for the blessings of the day just past,
and pray that God will protect his people in their sleep. There was
something agreeably impressive in these forms of the church to attract
the attention of the Indians. This daily service was pastime for them;
their true natures were worked upon, and we found them performing such
religious duties in a willing, grave, sincere manner, while the rules
permit them after prayers to frolic. We have never seen more sober faces
than among these Indians, as they walk to and from church; nor have we
ever heard a more hearty roar of laughter at a bull-fight than in the
plaza of Trinidad after mass.
Marriage ceremonies are performed by the priests, according to Catholic
form. Before the appearance of the Jesuits, such were not known among
the Indians, except in their own hearts.
We had been detained some time in Trinidad. I became much troubled at
the idea of being fastened up amidst disease during a long rainy season,
doubting by which route we were to find an outlet to the Atlantic. Kept
awake after midnight; to drive away thoughts of the morrow, I got up
and walked out into the plaza. The night was clear and moonlight; the
only noise at first heard was that made by the bats—the air was filled
with different species of these night-birds, flying in all directions,
feeding upon musquitoes; the tops of the houses were covered with them;
and so clear did they keep the air, as they darted close about me, that
there were no insects left to attack the inhabitants, except those
protected from the bats in the bed-rooms of the families. I supposed
the whole population was sleeping, but it was not so. As I walked slowly
round the square, when I came to a creole's house, silver and gold coin
were heard to jingle on the inside of the door-way. The silent dealing
of cards was going on; bets were being made by counting out the coins.
The creole portion of the population were gambling. As the comisario
struck one by the bell at the cathedral, the working population slept.
Indians have no time for such occupation; their games are played at
the weaving-frame and sugar-field. The supply of bread-stuff is drawn
from the laborer of the plains of Mojos; the silver is chiselled
from the rocks of the mountains by the Indians; and yet the most
intelligent people of Bolivia ask how it is there is so much progress
and improvement in other parts of the world and so little in Bolivia.
The creoles of Trinidad are from all parts of the country. We never
beheld such a rough-looking set—seemed to be the very outcasts of the
nation. There are few married people among them; some of the men may
have wives and families on the Andes, but they live here without them.
The creoles dress in calicoes and silks, straw hats and leather shoes,
with silk stockings. They prefer the foreign manufactured goods to the
white cotton cloths of the Indians, except for the table or hamacs, and
towels, which the Indians make to perfection.
The Indians seem to take pride in acting as servants. They cook, wash,
and bring firewood to the whites for a trifle.
On the morning of the 17th of June, the prefect made up a party,
inviting a Brazilian, an Englishman, and myself to join him in a visit
to Loreto, twelve leagues south-southeast from Trinidad. Our horses
were small, but in good order, though badly broken. It is the custom
to lasso a horse in the pampa, saddle, bridle, and mount him. Should
a man be thrown, no harm is done; he lights on the grass or in the
mud. Indians had been sent ahead by the prefect, at daylight, with our
bedding, and table furniture. The day was clear and pleasant as we rode
along the level road over the prairie. One of the comisarios led the
way on a little stunted mule. He rode well, with his big toes touching
the large wooden stirrups; his legs and neck were bare; a scarlet skull
cap on his head, and white camecita wrapped gracefully round him. He
made quite a picture galloping over the plain, which was spotted with
clusters of bushes, palm trees, or a pool of clear water. Here and there
the view was uninterrupted, and the eye fell upon a clearly defined
grassy horizon. A wooden bridge in the road proved so much out of order,
that we wet our feet in wading the lazy stream, when we halted to hear
a distressing story from the Brazilian, who was the life of the party.
It seems the evening before a fellow countryman had sent him a couple
of bottles for his saddle bags, to be opened on the road. Don Antonio
examined a bottle, which proved to contain _varnish_. His countryman
was a cabinet-maker in Trinidad, and had evidently made an unfortunate
mistake. It was not until long after that I understood why the prefect
appeared so much displeased at the circumstance. The cabinet-maker had
some difficulty, and the prefect had ordered him to leave the department
of the Beni, and go home to Brazil. Don Antonio succeeded in persuading
the prefect to let the man take passports for the department of Santa
Cruz, as he had been a number of years in Bolivia. Owning property in
both places, he was obliged to sell out at Trinidad at a great loss,
and had the prefect insisted upon his going directly to Brazil, he
probably would have lost what he owned in Santa Cruz. The prefect
believed the cabinet-maker had sent the bottles of material used for
mechanical purposes, instead of those for medicinal, on purpose to
varnish him. The honest mechanic, it is supposed, took this opportunity
of showing his ill will towards the authorities, who have orders from
the supreme government not to be too smooth with _foreigners_, but to
send them to Brazil immediately upon the least suspicion of misbehavior.
Liberty, property, and even life hinge on the will of the prefect of
this department. The power of the prefects of all the other divisions
of the territories in Peru and Bolivia are great enough, but none are
so far from the eye of the government as this, which is geographically
independent of the mountainous regions. The authorities have unlimited
powers, over foreigners particularly.
Four leagues travel brought us to a hacienda; we dismounted, after
having toiled through herd grass, mud, and water up to the horses'
knees. The water is gradually drawing off the lands, it has settled
among the grass, and now is perfectly transparent. For miles we waded
through it a foot deep; then the land swells up and becomes dry. Where
we find water, there fowls are in great abundance—flocks of ducks and
long-legged cranes. As we rise on the dry soil, deer start from our
path, and the ostrich walks slowly off, holding his head down below the
tops of the grass, as though we did not see his tail of beautiful and
valuable feathers.
The two houses at the hacienda were surrounded with plantain and papaya
trees. There were several enclosures for cattle, one of which contained
a great number of calves; they, with the Indian women and dogs, had used
up all the morning's milk. The Englishman, therefore, drew the cork of
a bottle of wine, the prefect produced bread, but cheese had been left
behind. A large pot of beef was boiling on the fire; it was so tough and
insipid, for the want of salt, we could not eat it; while the "peste"
remains, we doubt whether it is healthy food.
After leaving the hacienda, with its two-storied houses, we waded one
league through water two feet deep, spread all through the grass on the
plain as far as we could see in every direction. Birds of most beautiful
plumage flew up about us, and the party became pretty well ducked. We
would have done much better in canoes than in saddles. Reaching dry
land we pushed on foot, in single file, to the river Yvaré. An Indian
from the opposite side obeyed the call of our guide. The horses were
unsaddled; we all embarked with the riding gear in a canoe and paddled
over, as the horses swam to the opposite bank. While the Indians
saddled up, we bathed in the stream with the greatest number of snorting
alligators above and below us. The stream is narrow, without current,
making it difficult to tell which was up or down. The banks were twenty
feet high, and yet they are overflowed in the wet season. The water was
dark colored, though clear.
At the house of the ferryman we met his old Indian wife, who cultivated
a few cotton-bushes about her hut, with some tobacco plants. The
cotton is produced from a bush eight to ten feet high. It is difficult
to find a person who has noticed how long these bushes will produce
without replanting. The impression is seven years. The same tobacco
plant yields from two to three years. The hut was shaded by a number of
orange trees, from which the woman gathered us most delicious fruit.
There is nothing like them on the coast of Brazil nor at the Cape de
Verde islands. The skins are thin, almost bursting with the juice. The
trees were as large as a moderate-sized apple tree, and loaded with
oranges, while the sweet blossoms bloomed for another crop. Plantains
form the bread of this country; near every house the trees are found.
This hut stands on the northern boundary of what are called the Plains
of Loreto. Here the land is somewhat higher; the path is smooth, and as
the afternoon is passing, we hurry on. To our right a drove of cattle
look up; fierce-looking bulls stand between us and their mates; they
are not very amiable fellows, and often attack the lonely traveller;
but their numbers have been reduced by the thieving creoles from Santa
Cruz, who come here and take them off by droves. There was a time when
sixty thousand head of cattle were counted on these plains. As the
doe leaped through the grass, following its young, the peccary—a sort
of wild hog—jumped up under the horses' noses, and with his civilized
grunt and short tail, rushed along the same path. Tigers are found in
great numbers; their skins are sold in the market of Trinidad. As we
rode by a cluster of trees on our right, we heard a bellowing bull, and
saw the wild cattle rushing to his aid. I was told the tiger leaps from
his hiding-place in the grass, catches the bull by the ear, fastens his
fore-claws securely in the neck and his hind-claws to the fore-shoulder;
his head is then just behind the horns of the bull, and his tail hangs
down by the side of the fore-leg. In this position the tiger commences
to cut into the great vessels of the neck, while the bull runs through
the pampa, his head high up in the air, bellowing with pain. Unless the
herd who follow to help, gather round and attack the tiger, he soon
brings the prey upon his knees. The suffering animal bleeds to death
surrounded by his kind, while the panting tiger prowls about at a short
distance, knowing that when the bull dies the cattle will disperse, and
he can then enjoy the feast. These tigers sometimes attack a man when he
is alone, but seldom when in company. Few persons escape when engaged
in the death-struggle with him. The Indians usually go together, or
take dogs along, who attract his attention, and prevent his seeking an
engagement with the man. The tigers make dreadful work among the calves
when they are allowed to go abroad in the grass. They are generally kept
up in the day and watched by the Indians and dogs. At night they are put
with their mothers in an enclosure, where a tiger dare not go. His only
chance of killing cattle is between the time he catches and when the
herd come up to the sufferer, who rushes off at full speed the moment
the tiger touches him. The work of death is speedily done.
As the sun was going down, we came upon a plain stretching far off to
the west. Deer were grazing in pairs. We all put spurs to our horses and
gave chase, but they showed their white tails and bounded out of reach
of a rifle. The horses soon became worried down running through the
grass. The tapir, or Brazil elk, is found on these plains, keeping close
to the river. It is called "gran bestia" by the Spaniards. Its color is
iron gray, with a short coat of coarse hair. The meat makes very tender
beef. The hoof is divided into three parts like toes. On the inside of
the fore-foot there is a fourth toe; and the hind legs double up at the
joint like those of the llama and elephant. The strength of this animal
is very great. The Indians sometimes lasso him, but take care not to
have the end of the lasso fastened to the saddle, as is usual, for the
tapir will manage three or four horsemen with ease. The tapir lives on
grass, and although he is harmless, the Indians are excited upon meeting
one, as though they feared the animal's strength. He can only be taken
by a ball or arrow. Although his skin is thick, he is not very difficult
to kill. In Brazil there are great numbers of these animals. The Indians
say the tapirs and the mules are cousins, because their heads somewhat
resemble each other when looked at full in the face. The tapir holds
his head about as high as a mule; his hinder parts are more like the
elephant.
Night overtook us amidst the beasts of the prairie. As the road was
reported dry by the guide, we galloped in a line for a long time through
the silent plains, and finally reached the small town of Loreto. On the
outskirts we passed enclosures filled with cattle. It was after eight
o'clock, and the inhabitants had gone to bed. A death-like silence
reigned as we dismounted at the door of the government house, where
Indians had already arrived with our beds and provisions.
The correjidor was a fine-looking Indian, dressed in jacket and
trowsers, becoming to him. Being of domestic materials, he was more
at his ease than those who get into tight-fitting old cloth clothes.
Bedsteads, chairs, and tables were put into different rooms, with jars
of fresh water. Indians came rubbing their eyes, and, looking at us,
smilingly offering to assist the correjidor. A fire was kindled, water
heated, and a first-rate chicken soup made, while the cotton hamacs
were slung across the room. A white table-cloth was spread; after soup,
coffee was produced, and the party rested in the hamacs, with home-made
cigars.
The day's ride has been a fatiguing one. The motion of a horse wading in
water is unpleasant and harassing, both to man and beast. This journey
to Trinidad cannot be made on horseback during the rainy season. The
roads are navigable for canoes half the year, when travelling is much
more easy than when the season is called dry. The Indian builds his hut
on those elevated places which remain islands; when the great flood of
waters come down, crickets, lizards, and snakes crawl into his thatched
roof; droves of wild cattle surround his habitation. Armadilloes rub
their armor against the pottery in the corner of his hut, while the
tiger and the stag stand tamely by. The alligator comes sociably up,
when the "gran bestia" seats himself on the steps by the door. The
animal family congregate thus strangely together under the influence
of the annual deluge. Those of dry land meet where the amphibious are
forced to go, and as the rains pour down, they patiently wait. Birds fly
in and light upon the trees and top of the hut, while fish rise from
out of the rivers and explore the prairie lands. The animals begin to
seek a place of refuge in the month of January, when the soil becomes
gradually covered. As the waters subside in March, they spread out over
the drying earth, and pasture upon young grasses, which spring up upon
the passing away of the flood. At these annual meetings of the beasts,
birds live upon fish and upon each other. All the carniverous animals,
man included, fare the best; while horned cattle, tapirs, deer, and
horses suffer for want, and become an easy prey. As the fluctuation is
uncertain, many are drowned, or die from exhaustion in running about
with the water up to their chins, out of sight or reach of shelter.
The Indians of Mojos are not friendly to the Spanish race at heart;
that they love and respect the influences and arrangements of the church
there is no doubt. The Indians of Loreto are of the Mojos tribe, and are
remarkable for beauty and intelligence. The men are very independent.
One of the most wealthy went to his chacra, while the prefect was here,
and remained there, not only because he disliked him, but all the creole
race.
Loreto has somewhat a ruinous appearance. The streets and plaza are
filled with grass, on which hogs, goats, and sheep pasture. A small
stream runs close by the town, and supplies the people with water. A
wooden bridge is thrown across it, over which the Indians pass to their
chacras. There are but few creoles living among them. The population
is poor, and the hospital filled with cases of small-pox. While walking
through the town we saw too men evidently affected with consumption—one
of them a silversmith. We met an old woman ninety years of age, without
teeth, her hair as white as snow; she embraced us all. Don Antonio
returned the compliment with so much warmth, that the old woman's life
seemed in danger, to the great amusement of all the young girls.
There were a number of cases of chills and fever, one of them a black
man. There are said to be about two thousand fugitive slaves from
Brazil in the territory of Bolivia. By the first article of the last
constitution they are free and equal with the white people the moment
they enter. The negro of Brazil, in Bolivia, has more rights and
privileges granted to him by law, than the Indian on his own soil.
We visited an old Indian woman with a house full of daughters; these
Indian girls are beautiful and much respected; several of the creoles
have desired to marry them, but the father is displeased with the
whites, and refuses to permit his daughter to marry any but a man of
their own race. The house was furnished better than any Indian's house
we had met; their beds were neatly curtained; floors partly carpeted;
neat white hamacs and table cloths. One of the daughters was decidedly
beautiful; her complexion white and clear, with regular features; her
eyes large and deep black, like her hair; she was of middle size, with
a most perfect figure; hands and feet exquisitely shaped, and teeth
perfectly white; her manner was modest and shrinking, while, at the
same time, she spoke Spanish remarkably well; attention had been paid to
her education. This family of Indians were more respected by both white
and red than any other in the Beni; yet the father would have as little
to do as possible with the authorities. He was a leading man among the
Indians, and did not hesitate to make them acquainted with his opinion
of the wrongs every day practised against the tribe. We were unfortunate
in not seeing this man; upon inquiring, it was found he would not remain
at his farm, but was visiting about the country among the Indians.
Near the town there is a grove of large tamarind trees, planted by the
Jesuits. Under the shade of one of them some carpenters were hewing a
large canoe, like the one we descended in from Vinchuta. When complete,
it will be worth from thirty-five to forty dollars.
The floods rise up into the streets of Loreto, and the church floor is
so damp they have commenced a raised foundation for another alongside
of it.
The southeast winds were exceedingly raw and wet during our two days'
stay at Loreto, so we had a poor opportunity to see the inhabitants.
They keep their houses during these cold, damp days; such weather is
the most pleasant for travelling. We returned to Trinidad by the same
and only road, which continues on to Santa Cruz, through a wild country.
In the month of June, sometimes fresh winds blow from the northwest,
over the bottom of the Madeira Plate, veering often to north and
northeast; but this is seldom the case. When the wind is from the
northwest, the thermometer ranges at 82° in the morning, and as high as
90° in the afternoon. Although the dust is very much disturbed by it,
the population sit out of doors in the calm, clear evenings after the
wind goes down with the sun. This wind seldom exceeds three consecutive
days; it then changes, and blows from southeast, rather lighter, but
brings fogs. Rain falls from the clouds; and, in the latter part of
June, during these winds, the thermometer falls as low as 66° in the
morning and 70° in the afternoon. The natives then shut their doors, and
keep in from the street; their cotton camecitas are doubled, or one of
bark cloth put on. The Indians suffer for the want of proper clothing;
they shiver, and are perfectly helpless until this wind changes to the
northwest, when the town becomes enlivened again—the southeast winds
being wet winds and the northwest winds dry. These two currents appear
to be struggling against each other. The northwest winds appear like
water-carriers going back with dry buckets; as they pass the town of
Trinidad, the southeast winds are pushed out of the way, and after they
have passed, then the southeast winds come up like a train of watering
pots, and down drizzles the rain, and the dry atmosphere, as well as
the hot soil, becomes cooled and watered. The rains are seldom heavy
in the month of June, nor are the winds strong except in puffs from the
southeast. We have never witnessed such regularity in the distribution
of heat and cold as we find in the Madeira Plate. The dry and wet winds
are independent of the dry and wet seasons. The trees here ripen their
fruits, while, at the same time, they put forth fresh buds and blossoms.
Vegetable life goes on in rapid succession, and seems to be as regular
as the year in and out. In the month of July, the southeast winds
blow a little fresher, and sometimes veer round to the southwest. The
northwest wind often commences to blow light from northeast and north;
and in this month the wind from northwest is much fresher than it is
in June. They come back as though showing some temper at the manner in
which the southeast winds crowd up. While the northwest winds blow, the
thermometer ranges at 76° in the morning, and 82° in the afternoon.
The northeast winds are warmer than the northwest winds, both being
dry winds. During the southeast winds the thermometer sometimes stands
as low as 62° at 9 a. m., and 67° at 3 p. m. The southwest breezes are
generally a little warmer than the southeaster, with lightning flashing
among them—both wet winds. After a fresh wind from southeast, we may
expect one from northwest; this wind appears very fighty at times.
In August the northwest current often increases to a gale in the
struggle with its opponent, and the thermometer rises as high as 80° in
the morning, and 90° at 3 p. m. When the wind from the southeast gets
the upper hand, it knocks down the thermometer as low as 73° at 9 a. m.,
and 81° in the afternoon.
These winds sometimes blow for three days from the southeast, and then
exactly three days back from the northwest. This is so frequently the
case that the inhabitants say that, when it commences from either point,
they expect the same wind for three days. On several occasions we were
struck with this phenomenon, and whenever the Sundays happened to be
calm days, the fact reminded us of the commandment for periodical rest.
Mojos invites the zoologist. The different habits of the bird kind, from
the ostrich to the most delicately shaped humming-bird, are observed
with great interest. The ostrich lays its eggs in the thick grass on the
dry plain; two eggs fill a man's hat, and weigh as much as two pounds
each. The ostrich lays a great number, spread out in the nest over so
wide a space that it is very certain one bird cannot cover them all
sitting, even by spreading all their feathers over them. Yet the eggs
are all broken when the hatching is over, and the young have left the
nest. The ostrich is so wild, it is difficult to become well acquainted
with its habits. The number of young that appear upon the plain do not
compare with the number of egg shells found; some suppose the ostrich
lays one egg for the purpose of producing, and another to feed with.
The young grow very rapidly, stepping out of the eggs; their legs are
enormous, compared with other parts of their system.
When the ostrich is going at full speed across the plain, his head is
held erect, like the smoke-pipe of a locomotive; his body resembles the
boiler, and beautiful rich feathers, which start up straight, flutter
behind. The great speed with which he passes through the level country,
with the external appearance of the bird, reminds one very much of a
distant locomotive, as it runs without any train attached.
On one or two occasions we started them upon the pampas; Mamoré ran very
fast, and so did our horse, but the ostrich outran us with the ease
of a steam-engine. While running, its awkward looking legs are thrown
out on the sides in circles, so as to clear the long grass, but the
body and head are carried remarkably steady. We have never seen ostrich
feathers in the market of Trinidad, and believe the Indians never hunt
them, though they play with them at times by disguising themselves in a
tiger skin, and prowl about near them for amusement. Indians pay great
deference to those birds, originally worshipped by them. It is possible
that the ostrich held the same relation to the religious worship of the
Indians of these low lands, as the llama of the mountains occupied among
the Indians there. These Indians appear to have no particular use for
the ostrich, and for that reason do not hunt them, for an Indian seldom
puts to death any animal unnecessarily; he makes use of what he finds
about him, and is careful not to destroy, nor to waste without need.
There are a few individuals among the creoles of Santa Cruz who
understand the art of collecting and preserving the skins of birds
with arsenical soap. They make their living by stuffing birds with
cotton, to be boxed up and exported. The bird collector differs from
the bark gatherer; he is found on the plains as well as in the woods;
his ammunition is good powder, in small tin cannisters, different sized
shot, and a small quantity of quicksilver. The shot are for ordinary
birds. He puts a few drops of quicksilver in a small piece of paper,
and loads his gun with it instead of shot. The quicksilver knocks the
humming bird over, without tearing the skin, or disfiguring the plumage;
it stuns, and before the bird recovers, the sportsman has him in hand.
After the hunter has collected some five hundred kinds, he then becomes
difficult to please; he wants the beautiful little songster who sits
at the base of the Andes, and sends forth his music before the rising
sun. There are many birds who feed by night, and sleep in daylight;
some steal the eggs of their neighbors; others drive away the parents,
feed and rear their young, or sit upon the eggs and hatch them for the
rightful owner. All these birds we see around us have their regular
hours for feeding, singing, bathing, resting, and sleeping.
We met a bird-hunter in Trinidad; he had been at work two years
collecting near six hundred different kinds. He was of opinion there
are over a thousand varieties of night and day birds to be found in the
Madeira Plate, besides snakes, lizards, and any quantity of insects.
Trinidad was his head-quarters from which he branched off in all
directions during the dry season. His room was a perfect curiosity shop.
The birds were rolled up in paper after they had been properly cured,
and stowed away in large wooden boxes. Every day, at different hours, he
went to the field; after days of labor, he would be seen returning with
a single bird, differing from any in his room. He procures poisonous
snakes by splitting the end of a stick to form a fork, which he places
over the neck of the snake, and holds him until a gourd or bottle is
fixed over his head, when he loosens his fork and the snake crawls into
the cavity. He then corks the gourd and puts it into his pocket. After
the snake starves to death, or is drowned in spirits, his skin is taken
off, preserved, and stuffed, ready for exporting to the museums of the
civilized world.
During the rainy season the bird-hunter enters a canoe, and repairs
to those places where the various animals are collected together. He
obtains many species there, which would require a length of time to
follow up, and fills his canoe with venison and deer skins.
Longevity is not so great in the bottom of the Madeira Plate as on
the mountains. We find very few old people in Mojos. The population is
principally composed of middle-aged men. Women appear to reach a greater
age, both on the mountains and here. They arrive at maturity about the
same time in both regions.
The men of Mojos are less addicted to exciting drinks; they use tobacco
in moderation, while those of the mountains are immoderate in their use
of the coca. The men of Mojos appear to possess more physical strength;
they are more supple and active than the mountain Indians. All agree
perfectly as to indolence. The creole portion of the population of
Bolivia are the most idle of the two races.
On the 14th of August, 1852, Don Antonio found his cargo could not be
disposed of in Trinidad, and he must return to Brazil with his boats.
Don Antonio had Brazilian boatmen—negroes and mestizos. These men came
up from the Amazon with him, and were thought the only kind of people
who could be employed upon the expedition.
At daylight in the morning, Cayuba came with his wife and thirty
Indians, bearing poles, to carry our baggage to the port at Trapiche.
Cayuba's wife brought us yuca and oranges to use on the voyage. Our
passports were made out, and upon my offering to pay what was usual,
the Intendente, who was a very polite person, said the government did
not charge me.
[Illustration: PLAZA DE TRINIDAD, Bolivia.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The passports of Don Antonio and his twelve people cost him the sum
of four dollars, for permission to return by the river Mamoré to his
own country, more than half the distance being through the wilderness,
beyond the line of civilization. The authorities insisted upon it; he
required a Bolivian passport to present to the authorities of his own
country when he arrived there, "otherwise they would not know where he
came from." There was some displeasure shown towards Don Antonio, that
he had not a thousand dollars in silver. He, on the other hand, was
displeased at being obliged to take cacao, instead of silver, for his
goods.
The prefect of the Beni gave me a letter to the prefect of the
department of Santa Cruz, in case we found it impossible to get men in
the town of Matto Grosso, for Don Antonio's boat to descend the Madeira,
and could not pass by the forts on the Paraguay river, or over the
country to the Atlantic, through Brazil. We would have a passport to
return into Bolivia. It is necessary to have permission to come in as
well as to go out.
Over one hundred Indians died with the small-pox while we were in
Trinidad. The people were still suffering with it when we left.
Trapiche is situated two leagues west-northwest of Trinidad. The road
in August was dry, but in February is navigable for canoes. The whole
surface of the country is strewed with ant-hills, though not quite as
high as those of Masi plains. We examined the inside of one and found
the earth worked into a perfect honey crust, not regular like hived bees
make their comb, but bees that burrow in the ground, and deposit their
honey in a mass of cups. The inside of the ant-house was built so that
the ants could enter at the base and wind their way up to the top. There
was no outlet on the top; the outside was one solid mass of baked clay,
burnt hard by the heat of the sun. We suppose that the ants live in the
garret when the lands are overflowed; do not crawl on the outside and
get on the roof for safety or curiosity. Some of these ants are small
and reddish in color, while others are black. They do not sting as those
of the woods, until they are made very angry, and then they worry a dog
considerably.
There are a great number of large pigeons feeding on these plains; the
young are full-grown, very fat, and form a good substitute for miserable
beef.
The Indians carry their loads of plantains, yuca, and wood, on the
crotches of two limbs. The single sticks made fast to the yoke of oxen,
secured on each side to the horns, while the two prongs slide on the
ground behind. Sometimes they secure a large square box or basket on
the crotches, and let the children ride in this Mojos carriage. The
sugar-cane is generally planted on the side of the river and carried
in canoes. At Trapiche we found them manufacturing sugar, molasses, and
rum.
I embarked in a small canoe with my gun, and a little Indian boy paddled
me up the Ybaré to look at a field or patch of sugar-cane. The Indians
had just set fire to the dry weeds in it, and the light breeze soon
created a flame. A large black tiger rushed out on the bank, plunged
into the river, and swam before us to the opposite shore, where he
looked round crossly at the fire. Shaking himself, he proceeded up the
bank, and through the cane-brake, without condescending further to
notice us. His body appeared full five feet long, with short, heavy
legs, long tail, and a remarkably disagreeable expression of face,
as though he would like to take some revenge for being burnt out. The
little Indian boy looked up quickly, and simply said, in Spanish, "He
is a large one."
On the banks of the Ybaré we found plantains, pine-apples, papayas,
Spanish peppers, lemons, and oil beans; small fish and eels in the
river, with poisonous snakes in the grass.
Our baggage was stowed on board the "Igarite," over which the flag of
the United States was hoisted. Don Antonio embarked his cargo on the
"Coberta," from which the flag of Brazil was suspended. Five Mojos
Indians were employed in addition to the Brazilian crews. Two horses and
two mules affected with the peste were embarked in a canoe. Four dogs
and one man crowded a small batteau. Four of the Brazilians had their
wives with them. Just before the boat squadron got underway, there was
trouble on board the "Coberta"—the men whipped their wives all around.
After which they followed us down stream. The noise and activity in
getting off was new to us. The Indians crowded the banks, while the
Brazilian negroes seemed disposed to show their seamanship to advantage.
We were delighted to get off.
The Ybaré is a small winding stream, of fifty feet width, with
perpendicular banks thirty feet high, a depth of nine to twelve feet,
and a half-mile current. A short steamboat might ascend the Ybaré from
the Mamoré river to Trapiche. The turns are too short to admit a long
river steamer. The Indians call this distance three leagues. There are
a few snags, and quantities of musquitoes. The dew falls at night, and
the new moon appears unusually red. We noticed this peculiarity at the
base of the Andes east of Cuzco.
On entering the waters of the Mamoré river again, we found
_thirty-three_ feet water. A ship-of-the-line could float in the bottom
of Madeira Plate in the dry season. The current is now one mile per
hour. Temperature of water, 76°. One of the Indians wanted us to give
him our compass, after inquiring what it was, saying there were none
in Mojos. The banks of the river are twenty-five feet high; with the
depth of the river, the bed is fifty-eight feet below the surface of the
plain. The river is less winding, with a width of four hundred yards,
and the channel little obstructed by snags. We progress very slowly in
this clumsy boat. The men propel her about half a mile per hour when
they choose. Sometimes we pole along the bank. She measures thirty feet
in length, and eight feet two inches beam, drawing three feet water when
loaded.
Here we meet fish. Don Antonio came alongside with his batteau and
hand-net, and politely gave me one of each of the different kinds he
caught in a few hauls. This was quite an addition to our collection.
The country around is a perfect level. Clusters of trees here and there
spot the plain, though cane-brakes and grass predominate. The banks of
the river are often picturesque, sloping down to the water, covered with
grass, while in other places the large drift-trees lay on the beach,
where the Indians cultivate patches of maize, earth almonds, or ground
peas.
_August 19, 1852._—At 9 a. m., thermometer, 80°; temperature of water,
78°. Among the heavy clouds that approach us from the southeast the
thunder roars, and a rainbow comes towards the Andes. Ducks, geese,
turkeys, and cranes thickly line the stream; porpoises puff and hawks
screech. The boat's crew and their wives enjoy a roasted ring-tailed
monkey for breakfast.
We landed on the east side on a bank thirty feet high, and visited
the Trapiche of San Pedro. Four sugar mills were in motion by oxen.
The Indians had collected large piles of cane from the patches, and
were manufacturing rum and molasses under the superintendence of the
correjidor, a creole, having a wife and children with him. We supplied
ourselves with sugar of good quality for the voyage.
The same planting produces sugar for twenty years in Mojos. The suckers
yield a juice which increases in sweetness for twelve years, after which
it begins to loose its saccharine matter. Cacao is gathered in November,
coffee in May, and sugar in August and September.
We have quantities of musquitoes during the night, but none in the day.
At 3 p. m., thermometer, 91°; water, 78°. We count eighteen different
kinds of fish in the Mamoré, where the river is thirty-nine feet deep.
The country has become somewhat broken in places; the land is dry, and
raised well up from the level of the river, while in others it sinks
down swampy. We drifted along by the current during the night after
getting entangled with a sawyer or run on the side of the shore.
One of the Indians who had the "sleep in," was seated napping on the
rounded roof of the barrel-shaped boat, with his head between his
knees and camecita doubled under his toes, to keep the musquitoes out.
He lost his balance, rolled in his sleep over and over off the boat
into the river. The remarkably quick time of the man in waking up and
regaining the boat, amused the old captain, who was standing forward
like a figure-head, with a cigar in his mouth; now looking up at the
bright moon, and then on the surface of the water for snags, both hands
fighting musquitoes on all parts of his nakedness. Instead of giving
the usual cry of a look-out, "Man overboard," he laughingly remarked to
himself, without offering assistance—"Mucha fiesta esta noche"—plenty
of fun to-night.
The grasses on the prairie are fired, and as the midnight hours pass,
lightning flashes to the east. The wild cattle roam bellowing beyond
the ravages of the flames. Our lead here tangles at the bottom of the
river and troubles us, where we find fifty-one feet of water.
_August 22._—The wind from southeast freshened almost to a gale. At a
turn in the river we lay by the bank for the day; the men were unable
to force the boat against the wind, which made a little sea against the
current, and drove us up stream.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 77°, and at 4 p. m., 69°. August 23d rain and
lightning, with a strong southeaster. We clung to the bank all night.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 62°. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 61°. The Indians
became quite cold, fastened up in the boat by the side of a steep bank.
To warm themselves they took out a line ahead and pulled us slowly along
against the wind and sea to the next turn in the river, which gave us
the wind fair. Our poles were rigged up as masts, and with old pouches
and baggage covers, we stuck up a sail, which drove us along at the rate
of four miles, very much to the delight of the Indians, who never use
sails in their canoes. Arriving at another turn, it became necessary to
take in all sail; doing so, we ran into a cluster of trees sticking fast
to the bottom of the river, when the Indians laughed, and pronounced
sailing a humbug.
CHAPTER XI.
Exaltacion—Cayavabo Indians—Descending the Mamoré
river—Indians shooting fish—Houbarayos savages and birds
at midnight—Ascend the Itenez river—Forte do Principe
da Beira in Brazil—Negro soldiers—Kind attention of the
commandante—Favorable notice of the expedition by the
President of Matto Grosso—The wilderness—Friendship of Don
Antonio, his boat and a crew of negro soldiers—Departure for
the Madeira river—Birds and fishes congregated at the mouth of
the Itenez—On the Mamoré river again—A negro soldier's account
of the Emperor's service—Roar of "Guajará-merim" falls.
_August 24._—Arrived at the port of Exaltacion. The Indians
manufacturing sugar at the mill on the bank. The largest Indian we
met on the route was superintending the workmen; he measured five feet
eleven inches. This is the Cayavabos tribe. These Indians are said to be
the most courageous in the Beni. They are certainly a superior looking
set of men.
The town of Exaltacion is situated in the elbow of the river, one mile
inland, near a beautiful lake. The place was nearly deserted for the
sugar patches and chacras which line the banks up and down the river, to
which the Indians repair in the morning early, men, women, and children,
and after the day's work is over, return to town for the night. All
the towns in Mojos are laid out and built after the same fashion, and
the costume of the Indians is the same, except here the women have a
fancy for black, and dye their cotton camecitas of that color, which
is anything but an improvement in a country where plenty of water may
be had. Exaltacion stands on a dry, parched, uninteresting flat. The
cathedral and government houses are superior to those of Trinidad,
though this town is small and more like Loreto. The tamarind trees and
orange groves planted here by the Jesuits flourish better.
As there were some cases of small pox in town, we declined the kind
invitation of the correjidor to take up our quarters with him. This
gentleman was exceedingly polite, and promised to give us a canoe and
fourteen men to carry us to Brazil as soon as possible; Don Antonio
being obliged to leave his large boats in the Mamoré river, and load
his small canoe with that part of his cargo intended for Matto Grosso.
Boats drawing three feet water could not ascend the Itenez river to
that town at the dry season of the year. The correjidor gave orders to a
commissario to detain a crew in the morning, before the Indians started
for the chacras, so they might prepare their "farinha" for the voyage.
Yuca turns green, and rots in a few days in its natural state; we will
be detained some days, while the women manufacture it into farinha; it
is washed, pealed, and grated into a wooden trough; after which it is
ground, or mashed by hand between two stones. Maize is often mixed with
it, by which it is much improved. After it is dried hard, the flour
lasts long enough for a voyage of a month. Cattle are scarce on these
prairies; a beef costs four dollars; the crew require one for a start,
but as the meat keeps so short a time, they are dependent upon farinha,
and what they may pick up on the way.
Don Antonio lost two of his animals on the passage, and from the dry
appearance of the pasture, he will lose the others. The correjidor
was unwilling to permit him to let them loose on the plain among other
cattle and horses; suffering with the worst stages of the disease, he
was fearful that they would affect those which had escaped.
In the evening we met the Indians returning from the chacras, all armed
with bows and arrows. The tribes to the north are savages, and very
unfriendly towards the Cayavabos, who often whip their neighbors when
they misbehave themselves. They were loaded with yucas, plantains,
oranges, sugar-cane, alligator's eggs, and with the only farming tool
they use, a small iron shovel, attached to a long straight handle.
The sugar mill is going all night long; several pairs of oxen are kept
ready, and as soon as one becomes tired, a fresh pair is hitched in; the
boy that thrusts the cane between three perpendicular cogged cylinders,
and the driver of the team, often fall asleep at work, but are kept at
it by those put over them to keep the mill going. The mill and oxen all
belong to the State, as well as the chacra, from which this cane came.
After the Indians have manufactured the government's sugar and rum,
then the mill is loaned to them, and their own oxen are hitched to. The
fixed stipend of the Church and State officers of the Beni are paid by
the income from these government sugar patches, worked gratis by the
Indians under orders from the authorities.
The market price of sugar, in the town of Exaltacion, is one real
per pound. A quantity of fresh juice is drank like new cider; it is
called guarapo; the Indians are very fond of it. They make wry faces at
aguadiente, but naturally take to chicha. An Indian always "acknowledges
the _corn_." There are three kinds of sugar-cane here. The largest
sized white cane is considered the least valuable; the sweetest and
best quality is the small white stalk. The third kind has a dark bluish
color, which is said to produce the best aguadiente. It is seldom
manufactured into sugar, being inferior to either of the two whites. I
collected cuttings of each kind.
[Illustration: DON ANTONIO'S AMAZONIAN BOATS, EXALTACION, Bolivia.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The Cayavabo Indians are good horsemen. When they require cattle, a
party mount horses and ride into the pampa, where they encounter the
wild cattle. They ride round them in the most skilful manner, run them
into an enclosure; from the outside of the fence they lasso a beef,
and haul him to a bull-ring fixed in a post. Tame oxen are kept and fed
near the place where the beef is butchered. The horns of a wild bull are
sometimes secured to those of a tame ox, when they are let loose on the
plain. The ox knows the road, and naturally runs to the place where he
is fed at the market, and holds his wild brother, while the Indian puts
him to death.
The boat's crew were mustered by the commissario, and in the presence
of the correjidor, I paid them our passage money from Exaltacion to
Forte do Principe da Beira, in Brazil, with the express understanding,
that in case there were no men there for Don Antonio's boat to take me
to the Amazon, they would continue with me to the town of Matto Grosso.
It appeared very evident that the Indians disliked leaving the chacras,
preferring much more to remain and gather their harvest than go on this
voyage, which is seldom made by the Bolivians. They were fine, stout
built men, and reported to be the very best crew belonging to the tribe.
The correjidor gave them instructions to do whatever I desired of them,
and to take good care of us, as we came down the mountains from where
the President lived. He was also kind enough to give me the choice of
all the canoes in port; the largest and best one measured thirty-nine
feet long, by four feet three inches beam, and would carry, besides the
crew, one thousand pounds weight; the paddles were five feet long.
The correjidor presented a raw-hide box filled with jerked beef—charque,
as it is called—some corn bread, and farinha. The superintendent of the
mill sent a jug of molasses and some of his best white sugar. We had
appointed the 30th of August as our day of sailing, when the crew came
down, headed by their captain, to beg we would allow them to celebrate
the Fiesta de Santa Rosa, when mañana—next day—they would be ready to
start. As there was dancing and an unusual encouragement of the chicha
manufacturers in town, I saw there was no chance of getting off, and
very unwillingly gave consent.
While we observed the northern stars for latitude, several Indians came
to look on. Being shown the image of a star in the basin of mercury,
they appeared astonished, and inquired of Don Antonio what we were
doing. He told them we lived in the north, and were inquiring of the
stars how far from home we were in their country. The fellows ran off
immediately and called others to come and see the North Americans' home
under the stars. One of them looked intently for some time at the little
twinkling image in the quicksilver, and gravely told the others "it was
far off."
_August 31._—The crew came down to the canoe, bringing with them their
farinha and women; this was a favorable sign for our getting off; the
captain, however, came to me and said he was very drunk, and thought it
best to put off our start until to-morrow; but the men were generally
sober after their saint's day; stowed our baggage neatly in the canoe,
kissed their children, and shook hands with their wives; one having been
married lately to a good-looking Indian, cried; but the older ones took
the departure more easy. The captain had a pretty little daughter of
twelve years of age, with whom he seemed very loth to part, though he
promised her to me as a wife when we returned. The "cacique" of the town
came down with the men, and superintended the loading of the canoe. When
we were all ready he made a speech, telling the men what their duties
were, and wished them a safe return to their families. Each man stuck
his bow and arrows, feathered-ends up, near by him, between the baggage
and the side of the canoe, as they took their seats. We presented quite
a "man-of-war" exterior. We pushed on down stream at rapid rate, leaving
Don Antonio to follow to-morrow. Our canoe had a washboard all round her
of six inches breadth. We found our load, with crew, brought her down
so deep we took in water. The captain ran alongside of a perpendicular
clay bank, with which we caulked ship. We passed several canoes loaded
with sugar-cane, from the chacras on the way to the mill.
The river holds about the same width—four hundred yards, fifty-four
feet deep, one mile and a half current per hour. We remained all night
at the port of San Martin—the lower port of Exaltacion. The bank is
thirty feet high, and steep. The distance from the town is not quite a
mile, but the conveniences for landing at Trapiche are the best. The
men asked permission to go to town and spend the night, promising to
return by daylight in the morning. The captain's wife appeared with a
jar of chicha; and after the fire was made, supper over, and beds made
upon the bank, they went to town, and we slept upon the shore near the
boat. There was a house on the bank, but it was filled with chickens
and dogs, who were scratching themselves all night. The fire on the
shore disturbed an ant's nest, and they gave the party some trouble;
they stung Mamoré most unmercifully. We received another present of
fruit from the correjidor, sent to meet us here, with his farewell
compliments.
_September 1, 1852._—The men came down strictly to their promise, and
we at last got off, but it is dreadful slow work wading through this
country; a man only worries himself who pretends to hurry—poco-poco is
the word in Spanish. A few miles below San Martin we came to a stony
point, the first rock we have seen since leaving Vinchuta. We take
specimens of rocks, metals, minerals, and earths, as we go along. By
the river we find chocolate, coffee, sugar-cane, papaya, plantains, pine
apples, yuca, large straggling forest trees, thick undergrowth, but no
inhabitants. The Indians all sleep in the towns, and work by day in the
chacras. The largest cacao leaf I could find measured one foot six and a
half inches in length, with five inches and three-quarters in breadth.
The cacao tree grows wild in the woods; when planted in an orchard by
themselves, even close together, the yield is much greater than where
they grow in the shade of the larger forest trees. The soil here is of
the richest kind.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 88°; water, 79°. The turns in the river are
becoming much longer; we find sixty-three feet water. With a gun, we
landed on the west bank, and paid a visit to the pampa of Santiago,
where the State has a large drove of cattle, attended by Indians. There
are numbers of deer, and flocks of birds. The territory to the north,
through which the Mamoré river flows, is inhabited by a warlike tribe
of Indians, called Chacobos, who are constantly fighting with the
Cayavabos, our crew. The men caught a number of fish from a pond on the
pampa. My bottle, unfortunately, was too small at the mouth to admit
more than one species. The banks of the river sometimes break down on
both sides perpendicular, like those of the Mississippi. Where this
is the case, the river is narrower—350 yards wide—though the soundings
are over one hundred feet. We lost one lead and part of the line, but
fortunately had duplicates.
_September 2._—At 9 a. m., thermometer, 78°; water, 78°; light southeast
winds; thunder and lightning during the night, with rain. The crew
caught a number of young birds; and gathered eggs from the sand-beach,
while the old birds—a species of gull—flew over them, cried, and darted
down at the Indians' head as they made way with the young. Mamoré was
let out among them. As he put his paw playfully on a young bird, the old
ones were in swarms close over him, showing desperate fight in defence
of their young. The sand is gray and black, like the rocks we saw
yesterday. There are a few snags and sawyers in the channel. We observe
they stick fast in the sandy bottom more securely than in the mud.
While we breakfasted on young birds and eggs, wild cattle were seen on
the opposite bank of the river. These cattle have roamed down to the
territory of the savages. A number of palm-trees stand on the banks, and
the country appears to be getting more thickly wooded. An alligator had
driven a school of fish close to the bank, and, in the most comfortable
way possible, was making his breakfast. The fish were crowded together;
they could not clear themselves from one another so as to swim away.
The alligator took full advantage of the difficulty. Our crew saw what
was going on some time before we rapidly neared the school. The captain
steered the canoe in about three feet of the bank, cutting between
the alligator and his mess. In an instant a broadside of arrows were
fired by the crew; nearly every man struck his fish. The fish were so
frightened that numbers jumped out on dry land, and several leaped into
the bottom of the canoe. The Indians laughed; became excited; kept on
shooting. Some jumped on shore and secured the game; others ran up the
bank, firing their arrows through the crowded school. One man stripped
himself, jumped into the stream, and gathered in the quivering arrows
as they floated down, the feathered ends up, and struggling fish on the
points. The crew were most active and perfectly delighted at the number
of fine fish they had to help down their farinha. While the men broiled
fish on sticks and over hot coals of fire, or made a chowder with yuca,
the alligator indignantly rested on the opposite shore, now and then
slowly wagging his tail as he cleared the fish-bones from his teeth, but
constantly eyeing the long, low, black canoe and the happy crew as they
seated themselves laughingly about the boiling iron pot. The fish were
the size of a small shad, shaped like them, except in mouth, and quite
as good eating. Our fears of starving in the wilderness are overcome.
We can travel a long way on fish, fowls, and eggs.
These Indians talk very little. They silently pull along as though
they were sleeping, but their eyes are wandering all the time in every
direction. Nothing moves above the water's surface or among the forest
trees but they see it at once. They understand the habits and customs
of the animals perfectly. Knowing that the alligator keeps accounts
with the fish, when they see him, they are at once on the look-out for
sport. They know at what time in the evening the wild turkey will appear
on the bank of the river to drink before he goes to roost, and when
to look for him in the morning, as he feeds by early light. The wild
ducks sleep on the beach in the noonday sun; then it is the Indian calls
our attention to them. They understand the manners of the savages too.
Sometimes we all sleep on the beach; at other times in the canoe. When
we keep afloat, they secure the bow of the canoe to a stake run into the
sandy bottom. When night overtakes us, we pull silently along, until it
becomes so dark that no one can see us come to for a rest. Our paddles
are in motion again before the break of day, to avoid being caught
asleep by others. In this way the chances of being fired into by the
arrows of the wild men are pretty certainly reduced to broad daylight,
when we take mid channel.
Our crew know tolerably well what parts of the country are populated,
and when there is a probability of meeting their enemy. We find the
party depending entirely upon the judgment of this aboriginal race,
who are a generous set of fellows, constantly offering to share their
game with us. We return the compliment when we can, but there are more
fish than turkeys. The men tell me that the Chacobo savages inhabit
the west bank of the river, and a tribe called "Houbarayos," the most
unmerciful, live on the east bank; therefore, we are between two fires.
The soundings taken the second day from Exaltacion were one hundred and
two feet deep—the very bottom of the Madeira Plate. We have reached
a rocky formation passing through it, and beyond it the soundings
decrease. Rocks stand up in mid-channel where we find forty-five feet
water; while it requires more careful navigation, the river is 400 yards
wide, with plenty of room for a steamer to pass.
_September 3_, at 8 a. m., thermometer, 72°; water, 78°; wind,
southeast. The night was foggy. As the day promises to be clear, we
break out our cargo, wash out the canoe, and restow. The internal
arrangements are the same we had on board the Canichanas. We passed
the mouth of a small stream emptying into the Mamoré from the eastward.
During the rainy season this stream is navigable for _canoes_.
_September 4._—We find small creeks running in on both sides of the
river. After passing about five miles of rocky banks, the country
becomes more and more thickly wooded. We breakfast on young gulls and
old green parrots, the latter very poor living, even when made into
soup. The men dip their fingers into the pot; the captain carries along
with him a spoon made of horn, which he carefully wipes on the tail of
his camecita before taking his seat at breakfast. He reclines on the
bank while the others prepare the meals, after he has waited upon the
"patron," one of the men appears before him with a cup of water, or
light for his cigar. The crew never sing or whistle on a voyage like
this; it is generally understood such noises _disturb_ the savages. They
quietly laugh at monkeys at midday, and joke the old geese as they trot
along the beach with a brood of little ones. When the wind blows from
the southeast, the men shiver and shake for the want of proper clothing,
and work much the best when it blows from the northwest, under a clear
hot sun.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 78°; water, 77°; wind southeast. At 3 p. m.,
thermometer, 80°; water, 78°; wind northwest; lightning to the north.
The Indians decorate their hats with the green and scarlet feathers of
the parrots shot. Current of the river one mile and a half per hour. We
came to a shoal in the middle of the river where the channel was only
fifteen feet deep; parties of small seals barked at us, and the men
saw a "Gran Bestia" looking out from among the foliage. The woods are
cut up in paths made by these heavy animals, who come down the banks
to drink in the river. The alligators make use of the ends of the paths
to bask in the sun. Tigers are not particular about keeping in the old
beaten track, but roam through the grass and bushes after the scent. The
Indians shot a number of fish to-day. The Mamoré is well supplied with
animal life—though the alligators are small, there are great numbers of
them.
After dark, a pole was stuck in the sand on the east side of the river,
near a flat beach, which extended some distance back from the water,
perfectly clear of vegetable growth. The bow of the canoe was fastened
to the pole, and she swung to the current of the stream. We were trying
to sleep, but the musquitoes disputed the question with us all. At
midnight, some birds roosting on the flat began to fly up and cry out;
in an instant every Indian silently raised his head, and while looking
intently towards the beach, they all laid their hands on their paddles.
The screaming of the disturbed birds became more general, and those
nearest us began to take up the cry of alarm. Mamoré, who was lying on
the baggage, uttered a sleepy growl, when the old captain whispered to
me, that the savage Houbarayos were approaching us. The stake was pulled
quietly in, each man inserted his paddle deep into the water, and with a
powerful pull together, the canoe silently glided into mid channel. As
the current carried us rapidly down through the darkness, the men were
ready with bows and arrows, and we with fire arms. No noise was heard
above that of the screaming of the birds; we could not see any enemy,
but the captain and crew said they saw several men. These fellows are
not easily entrapped; we were struck with the admirable order with which
they handled their canoe, and were ready to return a shower of arrows.
They watch closely the movements of all animals; could tell by the alarm
cry of the birds that some one approached, as they knew the difference
between the notes of a bird disturbed by man, and those sounds produced
from other sources—wild animals, or one of their own feather. They tell
me that some of their tribe were robbed and murdered by these savages
during the night while encamped on the bank in this neighborhood, and
that it is best to remain in the boat all night. We drifted down the
Mamoré, and before the break of day, under a bright moon, turned up
into the Itenez river, which divides the territory of Bolivia from
the empire of Brazil. The crew hug the Brazil shore where there are no
inhabitants, and paddle with a will against an half mile current. Here
we are forced to turn away from the direct road towards home, for the
purpose of procuring the means of getting there. The boat we are in is
unfit for the navigation of the Madeira, between us and the Amazon. This
valuable crew of civil men are inexperienced beyond their own country.
We must now grope our way among the Brazils.
I had thought, while detained in Trinidad, we should have had a few good
North American carpenters and seamen along, to build a boat and launch
her on our way to the Atlantic, but last night's experience taught me
to believe I was mistaken; unless sailors understand the cries of birds
better than I do, we might have all been cut off in the darkness of
night, before the rising of the moon. These Cayavabos Indians are good
fellows; they say very little, and keep thinking as well by night as by
day. I asked the captain if he was certain we were in the Itenez river?
"I don't know, patron, but," said he, "that is the land of Brazil,"
pointing to the east bank, "and this is the way to Matto Grosso."
The Itenez river varies in width from four to six hundred yards, with
white sandy bottom and shoals. The color of the water is clear dark
green; half a mile current, with a winding channel, through sand flats,
decreasing from thirty-three feet depth to six feet. Seals and river
porpoises are in great numbers, while the shores are lined with water
fowl.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 80°; water, 82°. The difference between the
temperature of the Mamoré and Itenez is 4° Fahrenheit. The Brazil water
is clear and green, with white sand bottom, while that of Bolivia is
muddy, and of a milky color, with grey sand and clay bottom. The muddy
water is the best; we are all complaining of pains after drinking Itenez
water; it bears a bad character among the canoe-men.
The country is low and well wooded; the banks overflow in the rainy
season; the foliage on the Brazil side of the river is the richest
green; the dew at night is quite heavy, and during the calm days the sun
is oppressively warm. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 86°; water, 81°. After
night we secured the canoe to a stake on a flat in mid channel. Soon
after we fell asleep, a tiger came to the bank, and while smelling the
party, growled fiercely for some time; we were then kept awake by the
musquitoes which swarmed about us.
_September 6, 1852._—Our paddles were dipped in the river at 4 in the
morning watch. The men get out of the channel, and often run the canoe
on the shoals. The thermometer dipped into the water near these sand
flats gives 88°, showing the difference of 7° between the slack water
of the river, and that in the middle of the current, which varies in
its speed from half to one and eight-tenths of a mile per hour. The bed
of this river is very uneven, few snags, but in some places we find
rocks along the bank, and standing up in mid channel. At 8.30 a. m.,
thermometer, 85°; water, 81°; clear and calm. The foliage and grasses
extend down the sloping Brazil bank into the water, and the palm trees
loom up above the tops of other trees, while on the Bolivia shore the
bank breaks down perpendicularly, with a large growth of forest trees.
Before sundown, we came in sight of high land to the southeast. We are
now approaching the eastern side of the Madeira Plate; the hills appear
beyond the flat country like islands at sea.
_September 7._—We are disturbed all night by musquitoes. The heavy dew
falls upon the crew as they are sleeping in mid-channel. Fifteen of
us pass the night in a space thirty-nine feet by four, which is rather
close stowage, with a dog in the middle. At 9 a. m. breakfasted on the
rocks, by the Brazil banks, upon turtle and alligator eggs, with chicken
gull stew. Two small creeks empty into the Itenez from the Brazils.
We came to rapids where the bed of the river was very rocky. There are
fewer fish in this stream than in the Mamoré; some of those caught are
very curious in appearance.
As the men forced the canoe through the narrow rapid channel, they
shouted the news that _Forté do Principe da Beira_ was in sight. We
could see the flag-pole and the upper bastions. Its situation was
commanding. A steamer of less than six feet draught could ascend to
these rocks, which are four miles from the fort, but no farther at
this season of the year. The rocks are so low that many of them are
overflowed during the rainy season. The crew had some difficulty in
forcing the canoe up among the rocks; the current rushed through narrow
channels with great force.
[Illustration: BRAZIL SHORE OF THE ITENEZ RIVER.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
As we neared the fort our small American ensign was supported by a
Cayavabo arrow in the stern. We see soldier people rushing about as
though they had been suddenly awakened from sleep or surprised. A
canoe came down to meet us with two armed _negro_ soldiers; one of them
politely gave his commander's compliments to me, with the request that
we would keep off. As this appeared warlike, I sent my compliments
to the commander that we would remain by the rocky island in the
middle of the river until he read a letter from the Brazilian minister
plenipotentiary in Bolivia, which I sent him by the negro sergeant. Two
old bald-headed negroes came, by order of the commander, to inquire if
we had any cases of smallpox on board, saying, if not, the commander
invited us to land at the fort. One of these negroes, fully supplied
with smiles and white teeth, was the surgeon of the post; the other,
with broken spectacles, was the armorer, who, together, seemed to be the
health officers of the post. We had never seen people quite so black.
As we landed, a young negro lieutenant in the emperor's army came
to meet me, and offered, in the most polite manner, to escort me to
a house in town. There was a shed in sight on the bank, which was
the guard-house. As we passed, there was so much pulling at white
trousers and blue jackets, it was evident the negro soldiers had been
hurriedly dressed; the officers had their hair curled extra. While they
respectfully saluted Uncle Sam's uniform, we noticed, for the first
time, how very awkwardly the negro handles the musket. As we rose upon
the forty-feet bank there stood the fort, pierced for fifty-six heavy
guns, pointing in all directions towards a perfect wilderness. The
view down the river as well as up is very impressive. The soldiers wear
leather slippers, and a hat manufactured wedge-shape, probably that the
rays of the vertical sun may be split as they fall upon the negro head.
Some paces north of the fort were a few wretched little negro huts, in
which the wives of the soldiers lived, and where a part of the force
was permitted to sleep, by turns, during the night. One of these huts
was offered to us; it contained one table and two chairs; was built of
cane, plastered with adobe, tile roof, with rat-holes in the corners of
the floor. The chairs were set out at the door, and Señor Commandante
Don Pedro Luis Pais de Carvalho came to pay us a visit. He was a thin,
middle-sized, dark-complexioned Brazilian, above fifty years of age,
exceedingly mild and gentlemanly in manners; at once apologized for the
general order throughout the empire, prohibiting the commanders of all
fortifications from inviting a foreigner inside the walls; he said that
the president of the province of Matto Grosso, under whose jurisdiction
the Forte do Principe da Beira was, had instructed him to be careful
the smallpox was not introduced among the soldiers from the department
of the Beni, which was the cause of our being requested not to land.
I told him we were anxious to go from the fort down the Madeira river,
and asked his opinion of the practicability of making the journey. He
said the president of the province at Cuyaba, the capital, who was a
French naval officer, with the rank of captain of frigate, had ordered
him to do everything in his power to assist me; the only boat fit for
the service in the port was a small one belonging to a citizen, whom he
daily expected from Bolivia—my friend, Don Antonio—and it was possible
we could get that, and he might supply a crew from his small force of
forty negro soldiers.
The commandante assured me there were no boats at the town of Matto
Grosso, such as are used for descending the Madeira river, and the
chance of getting men there was very uncertain. The voyage up the
Itenez, from the fort to that town, would occupy over a month. I
found our only hope was now vested in the kindness of this Brazilian
officer, and of Don Antonio, who had not yet overtaken us; but as he
had already promised me the boat, the commandante politely offered to
have her at once put in order for me. As we could swing our hamacs under
the guard-shed, near the river, and better attend to our preparations
there, the Cuyavabos moved our baggage up, and we took our quarters with
the negro-guard, instead of among the twenty huts inhabited by black
families of the station.
The walls of the fort are built of stone, in the shape of a hollow
square, with diamond corners, thirty-five feet high. There are two
entrances on the northwest front; one a large door-way, at which is a
constant sentinel, and a subterraneous passage from the inside, leading
to the bank, just above the annual rise of the river in the rainy
season, or thirty feet above its present level. The third entrance is
through the southwest wall, fastened by large iron-bound and double
wooden doors. The trenches round the walls are twenty feet deep. In
walking round the ramparts, I only saw two heavy iron guns mounted,
which pointed down the river towards the territory of Bolivia. The
date over the main entrance of the fort was nearly erased by the
weather. We could with difficulty make out "Joseph I, June 20, 1776."
The commandante was unable to give us much of its past history. The
Portuguese engineers who built it came up the Madeira river from the
Amazon, bringing with them a small colony, who settled here by order of
the King of Portugal, and, after building the fort, moved away, leaving
none but the garrison within its immense walls, which enclose over
an acre of land. The stone of which it is built was quarried near by.
The magazine on the southeast side, half a mile distant, also built of
stone, has gone to ruin and is not used. A subterraneous passage leads
from the fort to it.
[Illustration: VIEW DOWN THE RIVER ITENEZ FROM FORTE DO PRINCEPE DA
BEIRA, Brazil.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The country around is low and overflowed in the wet season, with the
exception of three small hills in sight, to the northeast. These are
situated to the southwest of that ridge of mountains marked on the
common atlas—"Geral mountains." The situation of this fort is usually
called "Lamego," and the river "Guaporé." There are a few wild Indians
roaming about the country on both sides of the river, of which very
little is known. They never make their appearance at the fort, and the
commandante never troubles himself about them. He sits in his castle
for months without seeing a stranger, grumbling at the cold southeast
winds. His rheumatic pains are better when the warm northwest winds
clear away the clouds. The negro soldiers plant sugar cane, pine apples,
and produce a few oranges. The government rations are farinha, sent from
Matto Grosso, and beef when they can get it from the "Baure" Indians,
in Bolivia, whence this portion of the inhabitants of Brazil receive
their _coffee_, _chocolate_, and _sugar_, by the rivers Machupos and
Magdelina.
This side of the Madeira Plate presents a very different appearance
from the Andes side. The commandante tells me he has navigated the low
lands between this fort and the town of Matto Grosso, formerly called
Villa Bella. The negro cook of the commandante prepared us a supper of
chicken and rice. We slept comfortably and soundly in the guard-house
after our harassing voyage. The Cuyavabos crew wanted to return to
Exaltacion at once. I told them they must wait until we decided whether
it was necessary to go on to Matto Grosso. The captain shook his head
and said, no, Señor. Every man of the crew declared that the correjidor
of Exaltacion had directed them to return home as soon as they landed us
here. Whether this was so or not we are ignorant, but as the correjidor
particularly told them before me to take us to Matto Grosso, I was
curious to see what our chances would have been in case we were entirely
dependent upon this boat's crew. They refused positively to go up the
Itenez any further, saying they had never been to Matto Grosso, and
knew nothing of the river, but must hurry back and gather their crop of
sugar. They traded three raw hides for a few fish-hooks. The commandante
gave them a written passport to return to Exaltacion. Their canoe
was light, and they paddled swiftly down through the rocks, with the
current, as though they were glad to escape a longer journey. I doubt
if they could have been persuaded, under any circumstances, to make the
voyage to Matto Grosso. They landed us here the seventh day out, and
will be full nine days returning against the current of the Mamoré.
Every day two of the soldiers are detailed to catch fish for the
garrison. Although the trip from San Joaquin to the fort can be made
in three days with beef, the men say they seldom get it. The monthly
mail was despatched from the fort while we were there. A small boat was
loaded with the bags and baggage of five men and the same number of
women. They all came to bid the commandante good-bye, as he sat with
us under the guard-shed. He told them he never expected to see them
again: he knew they all intended to desert him. But both men and women
declared their intention to return. The passage is made to Matto Grosso
in forty days by these mail-carriers; from thence the despatches are
carried through the country by mules to Cuyaba in twenty-two days, from
which place there is a regular monthly mail to Rio Janeiro. The canoe
is polled and paddled up the Itenez, said to be very shallow at this
season of the year, with rocky and sandy bed. It is possible, as the
river rises thirty feet in the wet season, that a steamboat may be able
to reach Matto Grosso from the mouth of the Itenez; but during the dry
season it is not navigable for anything larger than a first-class canoe.
Don Antonio arrived and reported our crew returning. He at once had
his boat fitted out and gave us "Pedro"—one of his men, who had passed
up the Madeira with him—as our pilot. The commandante detailed five
soldiers to take us to Borba. The boat was a small Igarite, twenty-three
feet long and four feet seven inches beam. Her bottom was of one piece,
cut out of a very large tree, with washboards nailed rudely on the
sides, calked with oakum, and well pitched outside and in. The bow and
stern, or two ends, were fastened up by a solid piece of wood, also made
water-proof. She was more the shape of a barrel cut in half lengthwise,
than a boat. She was strong, short, and good beam—the main objects. She
could stand being dragged over rocks, sledded over the land, and worked
quickly in a rapid current among rocks and sawyers. She rode on short
waves securely. The soldiers were accustomed to managing boats in the
rapids and among rocks by the fort, and were somewhat experienced, but
they never had descended the Madeira river. They had not passed from
their own native province, Matto Grosso, and were, like most negroes,
anxious to travel, and particularly desirous of going away. We had a
number of volunteers among the soldiers, but the commandante said some
of them wanted to desert, and he gave me those he supposed would be most
apt to return.
There are no roads leading from the fortress except the rivers, so that
every man understands something about the management of a boat. Three
of the crew were negroes; one an Indian, whose mother was savage and
father civilized Indian—what an Englishman would call "half and half."
The fifth was of such a mixed composition that we were unable to trace
his lineage. He was nearer a white man than a negro, not in very good
health, and extremely ill-natured in his expression of face. Pedro, the
pilot, was an Amazonian Indian, quite lazy and not worth much, though
his services were needed, as he was the only one in the party who had
navigated the Madeira. The soldiers were supplied with a decent suit
of uniform, ammunition, muskets, and farinha. We were obliged to reduce
our baggage; even the jerked beef had to be diminished in quantity, as
well as the men's provisions. The boat was too small when we were all
on board to float lively. Four of the soldiers took their seats in the
bow as paddlers. Mamoré mounted the baggage, with Pedro as pilot; while
"Titto," the sergeant, a stout, well-built negro, stood up behind us and
steered the boat. The commandante gave me a passport for the crew, with
an account of the public property in their charge. Don Antonio entrusted
me with a remittance to his father, which was the only sign we had from
the people that we would ever gain the mouth of the Madeira. To him we
are indebted for many prominent kindnesses. If he had not been here we
certainly would either have gone to Rio Janeiro by the mail-route, or
tried that from Cuayaba, down the Paraguay, to Buenos Ayres.
At midday, on the 14th of September, 1852, we parted with Don Antonio,
who expected to be two years longer trading off the cargoes of his
two small boats, which he left at Exaltacion during a voyage to Matto
Grosso. He appears disappointed with his undertaking, and declares
he never will make such a voyage again. He supports a party of twelve
people. They remain by him in idleness during the time he is occupied
disposing of his cargo, each man drawing regular pay, from four to six
dollars a month. As our little boat passed swiftly down the current
among the rocks, the men paddled as though they feared being recalled.
They all sang as we bid farewell to the grim old fort. The commandante
treated us with marked attention, and appeared sorry to let us go so
soon. He said he had spent several years in his younger career as an
officer at the fort. Officers generally shrunk from orders here, for
the place had the name of being unhealthy. After the death of its
last commander, he had been selected for the station because he was
acclimated.
There is a horrible disease among the soldiers, called the "Fort fever,"
which, for the want of medicine, slowly destroys the garrison. We found
the climate quite pleasant, but its general character is any thing but
favorable from reports.
Thirty miles below the fort I sealed a bottle, and threw it into the
Itenez river, with a note inside, requesting the finder to enclose it to
Washington city. Titto was somewhat surprised at what he saw us doing,
and inquired who the note in the bottle was directed to, and why it was
thrown into the current. On being told that the bottle would go to North
America in the water, if undisturbed, he told the other negroes, the
gentleman had sent a letter home in that bottle. A tall, ugly looking
negro in the bows, answered in Portuguese, "It don't go there." The
negroes all engaged in an argument upon the subject. Titto said it would
certainly go somewhere; that it could not go to Matto Grosso, because
the current of the river flowed from there to the fort. A little sleek
black, by the side of the other, shook himself, laughed out loud, and
paddling with all his might, said, "Come, boys, let us get along down;
that nigger in the stern of the boat is right."
On the evening of the 16th of September we landed silently on the
sand flat, near the mouth of the Itenez, for the purpose of making an
observation upon the stars for latitude. The men stood at ease with
their arms, while Richards drove the musquitoes away with a bunch of
green bushes, for the observer is constantly under the necessity of
being fanned. We were on the Brazilian shore, while a great prairie-fire
lit up the night for the savage "Houbarayos" on the Bolivia side of the
river. We succeeded in getting a good observation, and after continuing
down stream some distance, swung to a snag in mid-channel during the
night.
Early in the morning of the 17th of September we came to the junction
where the Itenez empties into the Mamoré. The beach was lined with
water-fowl; alligators lay on the sand like canoes, half out of water;
porpoises were playing about, while fish were jumping. Even the prairie
and forest birds seem to come down to join the congregation. It was
evident, by the conduct of the birds and the fishes, that they had all
collected together in one place for some particular public purpose.
The water of the Itenez is 4° warmer than the water of the Mamoré.
During the cool nights, the fishes and the birds sleep in or by the
warmer water, which protects them. We saw a wild hog feeding near the
bank; he, too, had been sleeping near the warm bed of the Itenez. There
are exceptions to this practice, both among the fishes and birds; some
of the fish ascend the muddy stream, while others seek the clear. Many
fish we recognise in the Mamoré, like those found in the northern rivers
of the United States; while those in the Itenez seem to take after
families we had known living in streams flowing through the sandy soil
of Florida. The porpoises of the sea are of a deep blue color; those
of the turbid waters of the Mamoré are lighter. In the limpid waters
of the Itenez, the porpoise has a light white and pink color, though
all puff and jump above the surface of the water, and are of the same
size, shape, and manners. The drift wood, and more active current of
the Mamoré, produce an enlivening effect. After repairing one of our
paddles, which was broken by hard pulling, we launched our boat, and
were carried gallantly on the Mamoré once more.
The distance by the river from the mouth of the Itenez to Fort Beira,
is about fifty-five miles in an east-southeast direction; opposite the
junction of these rivers, there are three small hills on the Brazil
side. The Mamoré turns its course from a north direction a little to
the westward. The stream here comes in contact with the solid formation
of coarse granite in the Brazils. The commandante of the fort told me
his father made a fortune by collecting diamonds on the head waters of
the Paraguay in Brazil, and that he had found traces of the same stones
in the bed of the Itenez. The sharp angular edges of the diamond, put
in motion by rippling water, cuts itself a little hole in the hardest
rocks. As the waters rush over it in the wet season, the diamond works
deeper and deeper, so that common stones may enter the hole. The water
whirls round in this hole, the common stones wear away the sides, and
increase the size of the cavity, while the diamonds are busily at work
at the bottom. In such holes the diamond hunter seeks his wealth. We
find no traces of silver or gold on this side of the Madeira Plate, We
passed through a rapid, between rocks on the banks, getting a cast of
the lead and _no_ bottom.
_September 17._—At 9 a. m., thermometer, 78°; water, 79°; wind
southeast. The banks are thirty feet high, and well wooded. The river
is five hundred yards wide, with a depth of from thirty to sixty feet.
The country on both sides of us appears well adapted for cultivation,
many parts of it being above the rising of the floods. Pedro tells me
we have the "Sinabos" savages on the Brazil side of us, and the equally
uncivilized tribe of "Jibo" on the Bolivia side. Our men work well; with
a one-mile current, we keep on day and night. Large green and black
flies annoy us very much, in addition to which we have sand-flies and
musquitoes at night. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 87°; water, 80°; wind
southeast. As the moon went down, heavy clouds rose up in the east,
and lightning flashed there. The men slept while we drifted along among
snags. Here and there a sawyer bobbed up his head. The only way to keep
clear of them is by listening to the music of the waters playing against
the logs as we pass in the darkness of the night. One man keeps watch
with his paddle in the bow. He watches and talks to us at the same time.
He tells me the Emperor of Brazil pays him sixteen mil reis a month, and
finds him in board and lodging. Mil reis vary in value; at present worth
fifty-five cents. He is not a slave, but was born a free negro, which
is the case with most of those who enter the army. Every man born free
has either to serve the Emperor or pay tax money. As he had no money,
he was obliged to enlist. He did not know how long he was enlisted for,
or when he would be permitted to go home to Cuyaba, where his mother
lived. He had asked a number of times to be paid off and discharged; but
he was answered the Emperor required his services, so he is uncertain
when he will be able to get off; though, when he returns from this trip
faithfully, and reports himself to the commandante, he may be permitted
to go to Matto Grosso with the mail, and then he thinks of detaching
himself by not returning. Slaves are not employed as soldiers, he
tells me; only the free blacks. From his tone, he considers the man who
cultivates the sugar-cane and cotton-plant is degraded, compared with
his own occupation. According to his account, there are a great number
of free-born black people in the province of Matto Grosso. He considers
the town of Matto Grosso a miserable place compared with Cuyaba. The
people in the former place are all very poor—mostly colored folks—and
the country round about is very little cultivated; but in the latter
town there are rich white people, he says, who own slaves and cultivate
corn and beans. He always has plenty of tobacco to smoke in Cuyaba,
but at Fort Beira the men have very little; they are often without it,
as well as pine-apples and plantains. The negroes at Cuyaba have balls
and parties, music and dancing, every night. They don't drink chicha,
nor do they understand how to make it; but they drink great quantities
of aguadiente, which the Emperor don't give them as a part of their
rations. They never get any at the fort except by the mail-boat. When
letters come from the Emperor, then the soldiers get a jug or two of
aguadiente by the mail-carriers, and it is used up at once.
_September 18._—The negroes gathered a quantity of cream or Brazil nuts
from under a large tree on the Bolivia side. The nuts are encased in a
hard shell, which the men broke with our hatchet. The tree was one of
the largest in the forest, and the only one of the kind we saw. Pedro
pointed it out to them, otherwise we probably should have passed it
without knowing such good things were near us. The nuts, with a turkey
and goose, shot on the beach, served us for breakfast. The negroes are
poor fishermen compared with the Indians. There appear fewer fishes
below the juncture of the Itenez with the Mamoré; the water is still
muddy. At 9 a. m., thermometer, 80°; and water of the same temperature,
which is rather warm drinking; clear and calm. At 3 p. m., thermometer,
88°; water, 83°. The river is half a mile wide in some places, and the
channel clear of drift-wood, with from twenty-four to forty-eight feet
depth.
_September 19._—A turn in the river brought us in sight of high land to
the north. The negroes blew two cow's horns, and shouted at the sight
of it. Laying down their horns, they paddled with a will to their own
musical songs, by which they kept time. We met a north wind, which
created a short wave as it met the current of the stream, increasing in
speed. The land has become low on both sides, and is swampy, with signs
of being all flooded in the rainy season.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 82°; water, 81°. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 87°;
water, 80°. We passed an island, rocky and wooded. Flowers bloom and
decorate the richly green foliage on the banks. The current is quite
rapid, and we dash along at a rate we have not been able to do before
on the Mamoré, passing the mouth of a small river—Pacanoba—which flows
from the Brazils and through several islands. We came alongside of one
of them for the night. Within the death-like, mournful sound of the
"Guajará-merim" falls our raw-hides were spread, hair side up, as table
and chairs. While the men made a fire, I was listening to the roaring
waters, and thinking what sensible fellows those Cuyavabos Indians were
to run from it. The night was starlight; but the mist arising from the
foaming waters below us was driven over the island by the north wind,
which prevented my getting the latitude. Small hills stood a very short
way back from the islands, in Brazil. The land appears to be above the
floods on both sides. As we are free from musquitoes at night, and the
savages do not inhabit our little island, we sleep soundly.
_September 20._—By daylight we were up and off, pulling across to the
Bolivian shore to the head of the falls. We were in doubts how our
boat would behave in the rapids. After taking out part of the baggage,
which was passed over a rocky shore below, the boat was pulled through
without any difficulty. The channel was about fifty yards wide, with
very little fall; the whole bed of the river was divided by wooded
islands and black rocks, with large and small channels of water rushing
through at a terrible rate. A steamboat could, however, pass up and down
over this fall without much trouble. We embarked, and found our little
boat, which had been named "Nannie," gliding beautifully over the short
waves formed by the rapid motion of the water. The rocks are worn away
in long strips, and cut up into confused bits by the action of the river
constantly washing over them. On the islands, quantities of drift-wood
and prairie-grasses are heaped on the upper side.
One of these islands occupied the middle of the bed for three-quarters
of a mile in length. We followed the channel down on the Bolivia side
to its lower end at a rapid rate; when we came to the foot of the first
fall we looked back _up-hill_, to see the number of streams rushing
down, each one contributing its mite to the roaring noise that was
constantly kept up. We saw no fish, but last night met large flocks of
cormorants, flying in a line stretching across the river, close to the
surface of the water; this morning they came down again. These birds
spend the night over the warm bed of the Itenez, and return here in the
day to feed.
No sooner had we cleared these falls than we found ourselves at the
head of another rapid, more steep, called "Guajará-assu." Pedro took
us to the upper end of a path in the woods, on the Brazil shore, where
Don Antonio had transported his cargo overland, three hundred and fifty
paces, to the foot of the falls. His large boats were hauled through
the water by means of strong ropes rove through large blocks.
Our cargo was landed, and while Richards, with one man, was engaged
carrying the baggage down, I took the boat over on the Bolivian side,
and we hauled her three hundred yards over the rocks and through the
small channels, down an inclined shelf of about twelve feet fall. The
main channel is in the middle of the river, with waves rolled up five
feet high by the swiftness of the current, through which a steamboat
could pass neither up nor down.
The river cuts its way through an immense mass of rock, stretching
across the country east and west like a great bar of iron. The
navigation of the river Mamoré is completely obstructed here; the
river's gate is closed, and we see no way to transport the productions
of Bolivia towards the Amazon, except by a road through the Brazilian
territory. On the east side of the river, hills are in sight, and among
them a road may be found where a cargo might pass free from inundations.
The navigable distance by the rivers Chaparé and Mamoré, from near
the base of the Andes, at Vinchuta, to Guajará-merim falls, is about
five hundred miles. We anxiously pulled across towards the baggage,
as the division of a party in this wild region is attended with great
risk. This day's work gave us some little experience in the new mode of
navigation. The sun is powerfully hot, but the negroes strip themselves,
and ease the little boat gently down in the torrent between rough
rocks. Don Antonio's advice was of the greatest importance to us in the
choice of a boat and men. The long canoes of Bolivia would have been
broken to pieces in this first day's travel among the rapids. There
are no paths through the wilderness by which we could travel in case
of an accident, and rafts we had seen enough of at the head of the
Madre-de-Dios. Embarking our baggage, we continued under a heavy thunder
storm, which came up from the northeast, and whirled over our heads,
sending down heavy drops of rain. The banks of the river are twenty
feet high. The country on the Bolivian side is level, and there the
lands are overflowed half the year; but the Brazilian side is hilly; the
ridges appear to run at right angles with the river, which passes over
the toes of the foot of them. The whole country is thickly wooded with
moderate-sized forest trees. The river below these falls is occasionally
three-quarters of a mile wide, with a depth of from twelve to thirty-six
feet. The current is rapid as we leave the foot of the falls, gradually
decreasing in speed until the boat enters the backed water, which is
dammed up by the next ridge of rocks which thwart the free passage of
the river.
_September 21._—At 3 p. m., thermometer, 83°; water, 81°. The south
wind blew all last night, accompanied with rain. Early this morning we
arrived at the head of "Bananeira" falls, distance eight miles from the
upper shelf. I find Pedro useful in pointing out the ends of the paths
over the land cut by Don Antonio. His services as pilot, however, are
not to be depended upon. Titto seems to be perfectly at home in the
management of a boat among rocks, and assists me the most of the two.
The cargo was landed on an island near the Bolivian shore. The path led
through bushes and trees, down hill, near four hundred yards. The work
of transporting the boxes, amidst the annoyance of swarms of sand-flies,
was harassing, and with difficulty Richards could make the ill-natured
member of the crew carry as many boxes as he did himself. The river
flowed windingly; the baggage could be sent straight across; but the
boat had to be dragged, towed, lifted, and pushed through the rough
rocks and rushing waters for over a mile. This was trying work. The heat
of the sun was very great; the negroes slipped, and it was with great
difficulty at times they could hold the boat from being carried from
them by the strength of the waters as they heavily passed through the
choked passages. The men stand easing down the boat up to their necks
in water. The rocks are only a few feet above the water level; they are
smoothed by the wearing of the water and drift wood. It is not easy for
the men to keep their feet under water. These negroes are good men for
such service; they crawl among the rocks like black snakes. Bananeira
falls take their name from quantities of wild banana trees formerly
discovered here, but we saw no traces of them. The fall is about twenty
feet. The islands are generally very low, a few feet above the present
surface of the river. All the rocks, and a great part of the islands,
are overflowed in the rainy season. Large heaps of drift wood lodge
against the trees. On the highest rocks we found pot-holes, worn down
to the depth of eight and ten feet by the action of small pebbles, put
in motion by the current as it passes over and whirls down, boring into
the solid mass of coarse granite. These pot-holes are generally half
full of stones, the large stones on top; gradually descending towards
the bottom, they were smaller, until at the very last they were composed
of bright little, transparent, angular-shaped stones, less in size than
a pin's head; among these the diamond hunter looks sharp. Some of these
pot-holes are three feet wide at the mouth, decreasing in edge uniformly
towards the bottom. When we gained the foot of these falls, over which
it is utterly impossible for a steamboat to pass at any season of the
year, we had to ascend a channel on the Bolivia shore for the baggage.
Mamoré lay by a part of it as watch, while the rest of the party were
at the other side of the island. We were nearly exhausted; the men
had nothing to eat half a day, and the dog looked thin and sick. There
were no fish, birds, monkeys, or Indians to be seen, nor were the men
successful in finding castanhas, Brazil nuts, which they very much
needed, as they had nothing to eat but their allowance of farinha. The
negroes were very tired, but I observed the life improved them; they
looked stronger, and were getting fat. This was a great relief, for we
were the worse for wear. I was kept in constant excitement, lest some
accident should happen to our boat, or that an attack would be made upon
our baggage party by the savages. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 85°; water,
81°, and less muddy; dashing over the rocks appears to filter it.
The boat was carried along at a rapid rate by the current, which boiled
up and formed great globular-shaped swells, over which the little boat
gayly danced on her homeward way. The satisfaction we felt, after having
safely passed these terrible cataracts, cheers us on. We were nearly
the whole day getting _two_ miles. We were prevented from the danger in
our path to proceed at night. The boat was fastened to the Brazil bank,
and after supping on a wild goose Titto was fortunate enough to shoot,
we slept soundly until midnight, when we were suddenly aroused by the
report of a gun. The men were lying by a fire on the bank, near a thick
tall growth of grass which skirted the large forest trees. Richards was
close by me. I heard Titto's voice immediately following the report,
saying "the devil"—we were all up in arms; Titto said he had shot at
a tiger, which was approaching the men as they slept; Mamoré had been
faithfully prowling in the woods, keeping close watch over us while we
all slept; because he gave the men some trouble in the boat, they laid
this plan to put our trusty friend to death. Richards found the dog
shot in the heart, close by the heads of the men, four of whom were in
the secret, while Pedro and the Indian were sleeping. We placed great
confidence in the watchfulness of Mamoré; from him we expected a quick
report of savages or wild animals. With him on watch we slept without
fear, as the Indians are more afraid of the bark of a large dog than of
the Brazilian soldiers.
From what we had seen of the men, we were convinced they were a rough,
savage set, who would put us to death quite as unceremoniously as the
dog. They expressed an impudent dissatisfaction when I ordered Titto to
put a man on watch, and keep sentinel all night. We lay till daylight,
with our pistols prepared for an attack from any quarter. The negro
murderers on the highways of Peru are more desperate and unmerciful
than either the Spaniard or Mestizo; so it is with a half-civilized
African negro. At daylight I was particular to let every man of them
see my revolver. We kept a close watch upon them, both by night and by
day. They had for some reason or other unknown to us taken a dislike to
Richards, who never gave them an order except when he was left on shore
to attend the portage of the baggage. They were under an impression we
were ignorant of what they said when speaking their own language, as
Titto and Pedro spoke to me in Spanish. On one occasion, after the loss
of Mamoré, I overheard the ill-natured one, after Richards spoke to him
about tossing water into the boat with his paddle, say to the rest of
the crew, "I don't know whether I won't put a ball through that fellow
yet, by _accident_!" After which I had no confidence in any of them,
and told Richards our only safety remained in constant watchfulness,
and the good condition of our fire-arms.
_September 22._—The river below Bananeira falls is seventy-eight feet
deep and half a mile wide, passing through rocks and islands, where we
found the wild Muscovy duck. With a rapid current, we soon reached the
mouth of the Yata river, a small stream flowing from the territory of
Bolivia, not navigable for a vessel larger than a ship's boat. At "Pau
Grande" rapids, the country is hilly on both sides, and wooded with
large trees, from which fact the rapids derive their name. These rapids
are about five miles from those above, with a fall of fifteen feet in
one hundred yards. The boat was carefully passed through narrow channels
among rocks fourteen feet high. Don Antonio came up over these falls,
when the river was flooded, by keeping close along shore. He fastened
the upper block of his tackle to large trees, or heavy rocks, and by
hard pulling, inch by inch, dragged his boats along. No steamer could
pass up or down "Pau Grande." At 9 a. m., light northerly breezes;
thermometer, 81°; water, 81°. Two miles below brought us to Lajens
rapids. The boat was kept in mid-channel, and paddled with all the might
of the men; we passed through the rocks at such a swift rate, hats had
to be held on. This was a glorious passage; the little boat seemed to
fly through a channel that might be passed by a steamboat.
CHAPTER XII.
Jacares savages—Mouth of Beni river—Obstructions to
steamboat navigation—Madeira river falls—Lighten the boat—Pot
holes—Granite—Pedreneira falls—Caripuna savages—Pedro milks a
savage woman—Bilious fever—Arrive at the foot of San Antonio
falls—The impracticability of navigating by steamboats the
falls of the Mamoré and Madeira rivers—Proposed road through
the territory of Brazil to Bolivia—Physical strength of
the white, black, and red men, compared under a tropical
climate—Tamandua island—Turtle eggs—Oil hunters—Borba—Mouth
of the Madeira river.
A bark canoe lay by the Bolivia shore. Our negroes blew their horns,
which brought four savages and a black dog to the bank. Two of them wore
bark frocks, and two were naked—real _red_ men. As we floated along by
the current, the following conversation took place between the savages
and the negroes: Savage—"Oh!" Negro in the bows—"Oh!" Savage—"Venha
ca"—come here—very clearly pronounced. We told them to come to us, and
they ran away, while we paddled slowly on. These Indians are of the
"Jacares" tribe; they were soon paddling after us fast. We waited but
a short time. Their swift canoe was constructed of one piece of bark,
twenty feet long, and four feet beam. The bark was simply rolled up
at each end, and tied with a vine from the woods; between the sides,
several stretchers, four feet long, were fastened to the edge of the
bark by small creepers, and a grating, made of round sticks fastened
together with creepers, served as a flooring, which kept the bottom
of the canoe in shape, when the Indian stepped into her. Two young
men dressed in bark dresses sat in the stern, or one end, with well
made paddles. On the other end sat two naked women, each with a paddle
lying across her lap. As they came alongside, amidships sat an old
chief with a basket of yuca, a bunch of plantains, a large lump of
_pitch_, and several small pieces of a superior quality, called by the
Brazilians "breu." The Indians use it for securing arrowheads, we find
it serviceable in sealing our bottles of fish, or fixing the screw to
our ramrod; besides which, the old man brought one small richly green
parrot for sale. We bought him out with knives and fish-hooks. One
of the women was good looking, the figure of the other was somewhat
out of the usual shape. On being presented with a shaving glass, they
expressed great pleasure, and one after the other looked as far down
their throats as they could possibly see by stretching their mouths
wide open. Their greatest curiosity seemed to be to explore the channel
down which so much of the results of their labor had passed. When they
saw their dirty, half-worn teeth, the holes in their ears, noses, and
under-lips, one of them poked her finger into her mouth through the
lower hole, and brutally laughed. They wore long hair behind, and clipt
it off square over the forehead, which gave them a wild appearance. The
women were very small; their figures, feet, and hands resembled those
of young girls. Their faces proved them to be rather old women. They
appear cheerful, laughing and making their remarks to each other about
us, while the men wore a surly, wicked expression of face. One of the
young men became very much out of temper with Pedro, because he would
not give _all_ the fish-hooks he had for some arrows. The old man seemed
very much excited when he came alongside, as though he half expected
a fight. He was a middle-sized person, and chief of all the Indians in
his tribe who inhabit the Bolivian territory. He represents his tribe
as few in numbers and scattered over the country. Like the women, the
men have great holes in their noses and under-lips, but nothing stuck
in them. We supposed they were in _undress_ on the present occasion.
The chief inquired the names of the different persons, and wanted to
know which was the "captain" of the party. The women begged for beads,
and assumed the most winning smiles when they saw anything they wanted.
We invited the chief to accompany us to the next falls and assist us
over. He shook his head, pointed to his stomach, and made signs with
distressed expression of face that he would be sick. He was then told
we had more fish-hooks and knives; if he brought yuca and plantains
we would trade at the falls. To this he consented, but said his people
and the Indians below were not friendly, and that the enemy generally
whipped his people.
Three miles below Lajens we came to the mouth of the _Beni_ river. This
stream resembles the Mamoré in color and width; but while the latter has
a depth of one hundred and two feet, the former has only fifty-four feet
water. Temperature of Mamoré water, 81°; of Beni, 82°. Near the mouth
of the Beni there are islands. The whole width of the river is about
six hundred yards. The junction of these two streams forms the head of
the great Madeira, which is one mile wide.
In the month of October, 1846, Señor José Augustin Palacios, then
governor of the province of Mojos, explored the falls in the Mamoré
and Madeira by order of the government of Bolivia. We find the map of
Señor Palacios a remarkably correct one. He ascended the Beni for a
short distance, finding a depth of seventy feet water to the foot of
the falls beyond which he did not go, but returned and continued his
course down the Madeira to the foot of its falls, when he retraced his
steps to Mojos by the way he came. We have accounts of many falls on
the Beni river from the province of Yungas down to the town of Reyes,
between which falls the river is navigated by the Indians in wooden
balsas. The Beni has never been explored throughout its length, but
with the falls above Reyes and those seen by Señor Palacios near its
mouth, which appear to have prevented him from ascending this stream
on his return, we have reason for saying the Beni is not navigable
for steamboats. The outlet for the productions of the rich province of
Yungas is to be sought through the country from the gold washings of
Tipuani to the most convenient point on the Mamoré between Trinidad and
Exaltacion. The distance from the latter place to Reyes, on the Beni,
is not very great. From the general conformation of the bottom of the
Madeira Plate, we are of the impression that the road would have to be
cut high up towards the base of the Andes, so as to clear the annual
floods. The Mamoré, therefore, is the only outlet for the eastern part
of the department of La Paz, as well as a great part of the department
of Santa Cruz. The ridge of hills and mountains at the base of which
the Beni flows, stretching from the falls of Madeira to the sources
of the river Madre-de-Dios, or Purus, separates the Madeira Plate from
the Amazon basin, and divides the department of the Beni from the Gran
Paititi district in Brazil, which extends north to the Amazon river.
Paititi, it may be remembered, was the name given by Padre Revello to
our favorite dog, lost on the road from Cuzco to Lake Titicaca.
We are about to pass out of the Madeira Plate, having arrived at the
northeast corner of the territory of Bolivia. The lands about the mouths
of the Beni and Mamoré are now inhabited by wild Indians; some parts of
them are free from inundation. Cacao grows wild in the forests. The head
of the Madeira contains a number of islands. Here we find the outlet of
streams flowing from the Andes and from the Brazils collected together
in one large river. Water from hot springs and cold springs, silvered
and golden streams joining with the clear diamond brooks, mingled at
the temperature of 82° Fahrenheit.
The Madeira river flows through the empire of Brazil, and keeps the
northerly course pointed out for it by the Mamoré. The first falls we
met were close to the junction of the Mamoré and Beni, called "Madeira,"
three-quarters of a mile long. It is difficult to judge the difference
of level between the upper and lower surfaces of the river. As the falls
are shelving, and extend a great distance in length, the distance we
run during the day is not easily estimated. At one time we go at the
rate of fifteen miles an hour, and then not more than one mile in half
a day. This fall is not less than fifteen feet. Large square blocks of
stone stand one upon another in unusual confusion. The boat was paddled
through for a quarter of a mile, and by passing half the baggage out
over the rocks, she was sledded and floated through narrow channels
close along the eastern bank. The whole bed of the river, as we stand
at the foot of the fall and look up, is a mixture of rough rocks laying
in all positions on the solid foundation of granite, surrounded by
foaming streams of muddy water. While we loaded our boat again at the
foot of the falls, Titto discovered some Indians approaching us from
the woods. They came upon us suddenly, from behind a mass of rocks, with
bows and arrows in their hands. Don Antonio had warned me before I left
him to be on my guard when the savages came up in this way. He said
when they send women and children to the boat in advance, then there
is little chance of a difficulty with the men; but when the women and
children are kept in the rear, and the men come with bows and arrows in
hand, the signs are warlike. We were, therefore, prepared. We, however,
recognised our friends, the Jacares. An old chief brought a woman along
loaded with roast pig and yuca. She carried a deep, square willow basket
on her back, suspended by a strap of bark cloth round her breast. The
chief and his two men were dressed in bark cloth frocks and straw-hats,
while the only thing on the woman's back was her basket. One hand bore
an earthen pot, which she also offered for sale. Titto traded with
the party, and they gradually became much more easy in their manners
towards us. For the want of an interpreter, I could not make out what
customs were observed among them. These Indians bear the name among
Brazilians of great thieves. They, however, appeared to be perfectly
satisfied when we left them with the reasonable exchange. The passion
expressed by one at Pedro for not giving him all his fish-hooks for a
few arrows rather leads us to believe that, if they had outnumbered us,
they would have been troublesome. We gave them no opportunity to treat
us unkindly, for we were exceedingly polite, and so well armed with
all, that they very justly acted their part in a spirit of reciprocity.
There is great difficulty in knowing how to meet the savage. Treat him
as a civilized man, and his better feelings are touched. It won't do to
approach him indirectly, letting him see that, while willing to trade,
there is a prudent readiness for a fight. They took a polite leave of us
by shaking hands all round. We introduced the custom, which they seemed
to like, though the stiffness of their elbow joints proved they did not
understand the matter. They sauntered up the rocky bank on the sand to
where they had left their bark canoe at the head of the falls, and we
went dashing on through the rocks in the rushing current.
_September 23._—The river was seven hundred yards wide, and one hundred
and five feet deep. We passed "Misericordia" rapids, or swift current,
but not a ripple was to be seen. The channel was clear of rocks, and we
soon came to the "Ribeirao" falls, which are two miles long. The baggage
was carried five hundred yards over a path on the east bank. Don Antonio
transported his vessels on wooden rollers here. I think he said he was
nearly one month getting up these two miles. The men were anxious to see
whether they could not pass this fall with the boat in the water. They
launched her down one shoot of twenty feet nearly perpendicular by the
rope painters in the bow and stern.
Our boat was beginning to give way to the rough service, and as she
leaked, it became necessary to lighten her load; then, too, the men
began to fag. After they succeeded in getting the boat safely over a
dangerous place, the boxes had to be carried one by one. The heaviest
box was that in which were planted three specimens of Mojos sugar-cane.
I had just cut my first crop, and found the plants were doing well, when
it became necessary to relieve our little boat, and we were unwillingly
obliged to leave behind what might have proved of importance to a
Mississippi sugar-planter. Our baggage was taken out and restowed a
number of times. Once the boat was on top of a rock, at another half
under foam. The sun was scorching hot, and we had the full benefit of
it. When the water is thrown on the bare rocks, it hisses as if poured
upon hot iron.
The sides of the pot-holes are ridged like the inside of a female screw;
some of them are nine feet deep. The water in them is quite hot; one of
the negroes seemed to be fond of lowering himself into the pots of hot
water; his face had rather a distressed expression, and while standing
with his head above the edge of the pot, he looks as though undergoing a
hot-water cure. The river appears to have worn away the rocks less than
above. It flows over a solid mass, in which there are many gutters cut,
from four to six feet deep, of the same width. Our canoe safely passed
through one of these by the ropes, as the crew walked along the level
rock. There were numbers of these gutters cut parallel to each other.
The rock was worn as smooth as glass. After descending some distance
in the middle, we found the channels so large and dangerous, that we
must gain the east side of the river; the only escape for us, besides
retracing our steps, was to cross a wide channel with a furious cataract
above, and another close below. We hugged the foot of the upper as close
as possible, and the men pulled with such force that one of the paddles
broke when we reached half the way. With the remaining three, we made
a hairbreadth escape; the boat could not have lived an instant had we
been carried over the lower fall. The rollers formed by the swiftness of
the current are five feet high; large logs are carried down so fast they
plough straight through the waves, and are out of sight in an instant.
The men came near upsetting the boat in a dangerous pass. They seem to
be giving out through pure exhaustion. They have very little to eat;
farinha adds not much to their strength, and jerked beef spoils. No fish
are to be found, nor birds; a monkey would be a treat. Night overtook us
half way down the falls, and we came to, on a barren rock, where there
were two small sticks of wood, of which we made a fire, boiled water,
and gave the men coffee. I observed a southern star, and turning for
another in the north, was glad to find it had passed the meridian, as
sleep was much more necessary than latitude. On the west side of the
falls stood three small hills; on the east side a large white-trunked
forest tree. This was the largest tree we had yet seen, though not quite
equal to a North American huge oak.
_September 24, 1852._—At daylight we _crawled_ on; it would be a mistake
to grace it with the name of travelling. The country is thickly wooded
with Brazil nuts and cacao trees interspersed. Four miles further down
we came to "Periquitos" rapids, which takes its name from numbers of
parrots inhabiting the woods. These parrots are green, scarlet, and
yellow, with long tails; they fly slowly overhead in pairs, crying an
alarm as we are seen approaching. We paddled through these few rocks
without the least difficulty. Banks of the river thirty feet high;
soundings fifty-four feet. At midday a thunder gust with rain came from
the _north_. As we are passing out of the Madeira Plate, we find the
climate changing; northerly winds bring rain here, while southerly winds
bring them farther south. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 86°; water, 83°.
"Araras" rapids were passed with much toil, easing the boat down by
ropes made of bark, which are best for such work as this; the water
has little effect upon them. The fall is small, and the channel clear.
While the men gathered Brazil nuts from the woods, we bottled a young
turtle, taken from among eggs found in the sand. Amphibia are poorly
represented; we see no alligators, snakes, or frogs. The water has
become much more clear; it has a milky appearance. The banks slope down
regularly; being covered with a light-green coat of grass, they have
the appearance of cultivation.
[Illustration: DESCENDING RIBEIRAO FALLS, MADEIRA RIVER, Brazil.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
_September 25._—At 9 a. m., thermometer, 84°; water, 82°; light north
wind. At 2 p. m., thunder to the northeast. On the east bank were cliffs
of red clay fifty feet high, breaking down perpendicularly. We passed
the mouth of Abuna river, which is fifty yards wide, and flows in from
the southwest. At 3 30 p. m., thermometer, 86°; water, 82°. In the
evening lightning to the southwest. We came to a number of rocky islands
in the river, and took up our quarters on one of them for the night.
We slept under blankets; there is a heavy dew, and the nights are quite
cool. Richards was aroused by a severe pain in his ear; he was suffering
all night long. The men told me it was common among the soldiers at the
fort, caused by exposing the ear to night-air and dew. The only remedy
reported was "woman's milk," which was not at hand.
_September 26._—For the eighteen miles between the "Arares" rapids and
"Pedreneira" falls, we found a current of only one and a half mile per
hour, with a depth of sixty feet water. We have observed between all the
falls passed, that the current becomes slow, and as there is very little
damming up of the water by the falls, that the general inclination
could not be great. We also found the land gradually getting higher, as
though the river was flowing through a country which sloped against the
current. We find at the "Pedreneira" falls the strata perpendicular;
the river does not flow over a flat mass of rock as before, but cuts its
way through a vertically grained rock; so fair and square has the river
worn its passage, that the gap resembles a breach in a stone dam. The
river turns from its northern course at a right angle, and flows east,
inclining a little south, as though it wanted to turn back and flow into
the Madeira Plate again. We suppose this fall to be situated on the top
of that ridge of hills and mountains extending across South America from
the Andes to Brazil. We are now on the chain which fastens Brazil to the
base of the great mountains, and the river is sawing across and cutting
it gradually asunder. Part of our baggage was carried over, and our
boat towed along the east bank with less difficulty than we expected;
we found a rapid current below.
On the south bank of the river we saw two bark canoes; the negroes gave
us music on their cow's horns, and two red women appeared on the bank at
a path in the thicket; they belonged to the "Caripuna" tribe. We pointed
down the river, and called for "_Capitan Tupé_;" they ran away, and we
continued to the Paredao falls. A whale boat might pass through the main
channel with ease, but our boat was too small to attempt it. The baggage
was landed on a sand-beach near the rocks, which were elevated forty
feet above the water level. In the rainy season the floods cover them
all except ten feet. I climbed up to the top for a view of the country,
and to seek a passage for the boat. The men had a short distance to
paddle, and then tow her through a narrow channel by the ropes. The
landing-place was in the rapid current; they missed it, and the boat ran
away with them through the rocks—they were carried at a frightful rate;
Titto shouting to the negroes at the top of his voice to pull for their
lives, so that he might steer them safely, which he fortunately did.
They were all so much frightened that it brought them to their working
powers. The sight was an interesting one for me, as the smallest rock in
their way would have dashed the boat to pieces. As I turned to go down I
found myself surrounded by a party of savage women and children, who had
come up behind me. There were eight women, ten children, and two unarmed
men, all, from external appearances, savages of the purest water. On
taking out my handkerchief, the women and children all laughed! One of
the men stepped before me, and putting his hand into my pocket, took
all the fish-hooks out, and appropriated them to his own use, by handing
them to a homely woman who bore a sucking baby, and then coolly inquired
whether I had a knife to give him. He was a short, thick-framed man,
quite fat and hearty; the women were all ugly; the boys were the most
cheerful, manly-looking Indians we ever met with. At my suggestion, they
walked to the boat with me. Their chief' "Capitan Tupé," as they call
him, was absent on a hunting excursion. Their huts were some distance
from the falls, so that we missed seeing their houses. They were quite
friendly with us. Some of the men who came afterwards, left their bows
and arrows behind the rocks, and walked up unarmed. The women carried
their babies under the arm, seated in bark cloth straps, slung over
the opposite shoulder. The infants appeared terribly frightened at the
sight of a white man; one of them screamed out when Pedro milked the
mother into a tin pot, for the benefit of Richards' ear, which still
troubled him. The woman evidently understood what was wanted with it,
and stood still for Pedro to milk her as much as he chose. The boys are
remarkable for large bellies, as the sketch of "Matuá" and his brother
"Manú" will show. The older ones express a willingness to go away from
their mothers; Manú was asked, by signs, if he would go with me; he
shook his head, no; when he was made to understand that he could get
a pair of trousers and something to eat, he then nodded his head, yes.
Pedro tells me they swell themselves up by eating earth, which Indian
children all do. One of the Caripunas got into the boat and examined the
baggage; he soon found a knife, which he took, and came out with it in
his hand, before everybody. It belonged to one of the negroes, who took
it from the Indian. The savage appeared disappointed; he was then told
if he would bring yuca or other provisions for the men, he should have
a knife. They all declared they had nothing to eat in their houses. We
made them a little present, and bought a bow with arrows from one of the
boys. They were particularly desirous of getting fish-hooks and knives.
[Illustration: MATUÁ AND HIS BROTHER MANÚ, CARIPUNA BOYS AND THEIR
BARK CANOE.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
Matuá is in the full dress of the men, who wear beads of hard wood round
their necks, with bands bound tight round the arms above the elbow and
round the ankles. The foreskin is tied up to a band of cotton twine,
which is wound tight round the hips and under part of the belly. All
wear their hair long, and cut square off in front. In large holes in
their ears, they carry pieces of bone, or a stick of wood. Through the
hole in the nose a quill is pushed, the cavity being filled up with
different colored feathers, gives them a moustached appearance. These
people are nearly all of the same height and figure, but differ very
much in the features of the face. Some have thick lips, flat noses,
and round faces; others are just the reverse. The former very ugly,
and a few of the latter tolerably good looking. The women are larger
than those we saw near the mouth of the Beni. There are not many of
them; they live about in small bands, and said they found few fish in
the river. They promised to plant yuca and corn, so that the crew might
have something to eat on their return to the fort. As we embarked, they
said "_shuma_," which Pedro informed us meant "good man;" but probably
referred to more presents.
The lands on the south side of the river are inhabited by the Caripunas.
It is flat, and a beautiful spot for cultivation. Small mountains and
hills are in sight on the north side, as we descend by a rapid current.
The river seems to be creeping along on a ridge, seeking an outlet to
the north. At 3 30 p. m., thermometer, 90°; water, 83°; light northerly
airs; thunder to the north, and a rainbow to the northeast.
_September 27._—At "Trez Irmaós" rapids we found no difficulty. A large
island in the middle of the river chokes it, and the water rapidly
flows through two channels. As we dashed by, the men blew their horns
for "Capitan Macini," another Caripuna chief, who lives on the south
side of the river, with a small band of his tribe. Pedro speaks of
"Capitan" in complimentary terms. He is represented as being exceedingly
obliging; we wanted his services as pilot, but missed him. After passing
"Trez Irmaós" rapids, the river turns north. A rapid current carries
us through a chain of hills on each side, tending east and west. The
foliage is unusually green and thick; forest trees have been broken
by the action of violent winds. We scarcely are fairly launched out of
the Madeira Plate into the Amazon basin, before we meet, at midday, a
storm of wind and rain from the northeast, accompanied with thunder.
We find the sea-way in mid-channel much too high for our little boat,
and bring to. While the storm passes, the wind carries a cloud of dry
sand before it. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 85°; water, 84°. We are now
being avalanched down an inclined plane. Arriving at the head of "Giráu"
falls, we find the true falls of the Madeira. They are short, but the
rush of waters through a confined space, between immense masses of rock,
baffles large sized vessels, and prevents their passing either up or
down the river. Don Antonio transported his boats over the land here.
Richards was suffering very much from his ear; his under eye-lid hung
down, the corner of his mouth became drawn up on one side, while he
seemed to lose control of the muscles of his face; the pain was beyond
endurance. All the men began to feel the effects of the change of
climate; the nights cold, and midday sun very hot. They complained of
headaches and pains in their backs; the strongest of them were jaded.
Before they went to sleep, I dosed the party with raw brandy all round,
which cheered them up. They have been much more respectful lately, and
work with a will.
_September 28._—The men are all in better health this morning. They
carried the baggage through the woods on the east side of the river,
and with the greatest difficulty got the canoe through the rocks. The
river has been turned to the eastward by hills on the north side. The
fall cannot be estimated with any degree of certainty; the descent is
more precipitous, and the roaring of the foaming waters much greater
than any we before met. We were from daylight until 3 p. m., making the
passage from the upper to the lower side, before we got breakfast, which
we took under the shade of trees, where the thermometer stood at 99°;
wind northeast.
Pedro shot a few fish with his arrows, and a negro caught one with a
line. As the vegetable kingdom appears fresh and vigorous, under the
strong breezes filled with moisture from the North Atlantic, so again do
we find animal life in abundance. The trade-winds from the ocean cross
the land from Cayenne, in French Guiana, and strike this side of the
Amazon basin. The clouds roll up, and the waters are wrung out in drops
of rain.
The Paititi district of country which we have on our west, and the
Tapajos district on the east, are watered by the northeast trade-winds.
They get their moisture from the north Atlantic, and here we find on the
side of these hills the boisterous region again, and the trees are torn
up by the roots. These acts of the northeast trade-winds are written
upon this slope of the Amazon basin exactly as we met the southeast
trade-winds as they struck the Andes on their way from Rio Janeiro. The
Caripuna Indians we have just left told us they came _down_ the Madeira
for fish. They find little game and no fish, even in these mighty
waters, above the boisterous region. The two Yuracares Indians we met on
the side of the Andes said they would catch us fish when we got further
down the rapid Paracti. Fish are just as particular in their choice of
waters and _climate_ as those animals which inhabit the dry land.
The foam that is produced by the water dashing over the rocks floats
aloft in the shape of mist; and in the calm, clear, starlight nights,
the gentle northeast breezes cast a thin gauze-like veil around us and
affects the glasses of our instruments. All observations of the stars
seem to be forbidden. Early in the morning, as the sun's rays strike
upon the river, they gradually absorb the mist, and first that portion
which has been scattered by the night winds, and looking just then, up
or down the river from an eminence, the traveller may see the position
of each cataract, like the smoke of a line of steamers. The powerful
sun soon evaporates this mist, which speedily disappears as it rises.
One of the crew caught a small electrical eel, which opened its galvanic
battery and shocked the whole party. A rapid current, and no bottom at
twenty-five fathoms water.
_September 29._—We get our baggage stowed and all on board ready for
a long pull, but soon fetch up among the rocks again. "Caldeiráo do
Inferno" rapids are caused by three rocky and somewhat wooded islands in
the river. We pulled part of the way through on the west side without
discharging baggage; the boat was gently eased down by the ropes. At
the foot of these falls, which could not be passed by a steamboat, we
discovered a bark canoe, manned with savages, paddling with all their
might away from us; they seemed to be very much alarmed, and were
soon out of sight. As we came to a place rather too rapid for safety
among rocks, the men got out and towed us along the north bank; while
doing so, three savage men, three women, three children, and five most
miserably thin skeleton dogs, came to see us. The men laid their bows
and arrows behind the rocks, and approached us without fear, but the
slim dogs were disposed to show fight. They were weak and slab-sided
animals; quite unsuccessful in their endeavors to raise a bark at us,
but coughed out a sickly sort of noise, as they hung around their
masters' legs. One had his ears boxed by a tiger, which gave him a
perpetual stiff neck. They all looked as though they had been vainly
struggling with the beasts of the forest. An unsightly old woman brought
us a fried fish fresh from the river. One of the men had bilious fever,
but was attended by a pretty girl, who took her paddle in one of the
canoes which kept company with us. The parrots swarm along the banks
of the river, but there are few other birds. The current runs at the
rate of six miles per hour. River three quarters of a mile wide, with
sand-banks and islands in the stream. We landed on the north bank with
the Caripuna savages; men, women, and children, all seated themselves
in a friendly way round our cow-hide, which was spread on the ground
for breakfast.
Richards was left in charge of the boat, while I, with one of the
negroes armed with a musket, followed a path through the woods single
file for a quarter of a mile from the river. As we came in sight of huts
the men and boys gathered under an open house at the end of the path;
the women all seized their babies and ran into two enclosed buildings
in the rear. The savages did not take up their bows and arrows, which
however lay at hand, but several of them held knives, and others picked
theirs up. Thomas, the tall negro soldier, came to a stand just outside
of the shed, while I walked under and took a seat in one of the grass
hamacs slung between the posts on which the roof was supported. The boys
all laughed, and gathered round me. One man came up and leaned against
a post close by me with his arm elevated. He held a knife in his hand;
my hand was concealed under my jacket, where Colt's revolver rested in
a belt. The Indian wanted to test me, as is their custom. A fine large
rooster passed by. Savage was asked to sell it by signs of hunger. He at
once took down his hand, and called out to the houses, when the women
came out with their babies. One of them, a good-looking squaw, came to
him, and they had a consultation about the chicken. She nodded her head,
and the boys gave chase to catch it for me.
There were thirty savages living in this wild, out-of-the-way place.
One of the men was chipping off the outside of a hollow piece of log
with his knife for a _drum_, two of which already hung up under the
shed. They expressed no pleasure at seeing us. They looked as though
they preferred we would go away. The roof of the wooden house under
which the men were collected was beautifully thatched with a species
of wild palm-leaf. The frame-work was made of poles stripped of their
bark, fastened together by vines or creepers. The whole rested upon
forked posts set in the ground, between which there were slung a number
of grass hamacs. Bows and arrows were their only home-made arms. The
knives were imported. After making friends with them, they all came
up, shook hands, and took a good look at me. The floor of the guard or
men's house was swept clean. It seemed to be kept in military order,
clear of all household or kitchen furniture. One of the men and several
women went with me to examine the dwelling-houses of the women. The
roof extended within two feet of the ground. The sides and gable ends
were also thatched in, with a doorway at each corner, and one in the
centre next the guard-house; five entrances in all. The inside presented
a confused appearance. Piles of ashes were scattered about the ground
floor as though each woman had her separate fireplace. The inside
measured about forty feet by fifteen. Earthen pots and plates were lying
about in confusion; dirty, greasy hamacs hung up; tamed parrots were
helping themselves to plantains. An ugly monkey looked dissatisfied at
being fastened by the hinder part of the body to a post. The unpleasant
variety of odors drove us out. In the third house there were but two
doors. Here the miserable dogs kept up a terrible noise. The women took
me to the hamac of an old sick Indian, who they made signs was dying by
laying their heads on the palms of their hands and shutting their eyes.
He was covered with a bark cloth blanket, which was cast off by him
so that I might see his thin legs and body. He was very much reduced.
By the whiteness of his hair, I judged he was dying of old age, or
suffocated inside this damp, filthy house, where he seemed to have been
turned to the dogs. There was one house in which the women slept. The
open house was the sleeping apartment of the men and boys. There was
great order among the men; the grounds round about were swept. Where
the women were seemed all confusion and want of cleanliness. Their faces
were covered with dirt. As to their clothing, we could better describe
what they did not wear.
We saw no signs of a _place_ of worship, nor of what was worshipped,
though the Brazilians say they have seen among them "wooden images,"
figures of head and shoulders in shape like a man. A Catholic priest
once visited these people, but found no encouragement. They looked on
indifferently, taking more interest in the music of a violin and the
singing than in anything else. The lofty forest trees shade the little
huts; a path leads farther inland, where they cultivate patches of yuca
and corn, though they have little to eat from the land at present, and
take to the river for food. The children of these Indians strike us as
being remarkably intelligent, compared with those on the tops of the
Andes. All Indian children seem to be in much brighter spirits than
the older ones. They have yet to be taught the art of using chicha,
which the women are said to give their husbands here in the woods.
We gave the multitude an invitation to join us at breakfast. A little
boy walked by me with the rooster under his arm, and they all followed
single file, with the music of crying babies, to the bank of the river,
where they seated themselves round. Some presents were made to them
in exchange for the offer of several chickens and a large partridge.
To the little girls we gave earrings, to supply the place of fish or
beast-bones; to the boys fish-hooks; and to the men knives. The elderly
women particularly fancied looking-glasses for themselves, and glass
beads for their babies. One very unattractive woman requested me to make
her an additional present of a looking-glass. A knife had been offered,
which she particularly requested. She received the refusal with such a
savage side-glance, that the damage was repaired at once, and the men
ordered into the boat. Her sister used paint. Her forehead was besmeared
with a red color, and her lips blackened. We presented her with a large
looking-glass, which she used for examining as far down her throat as
possible. Pedro had a slight difficulty with one of the savages, who
he said had stolen his knife from the boat. I replaced it, and we went
on without being disturbed, though, as we afterwards learnt, these
fellows not long since robbed two Brazilians on the river, who escaped
down stream in one of the bark canoes of the savages, leaving their own
boat behind. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 91°; water, 85°; river one mile
wide, interspersed with islands and rocks, twenty-five fathoms depth.
On the east side a small stream of clear water flows in. The water of
these small side-streams are often 6° Fahrenheit cooler than the main
river water. We bottle it, as the river water is unpleasantly warm for
drinking. A man fully comprehends the blessing of ice by gliding down
this river. The current is fast one hour and slow the next few minutes.
The men pull when they feel like it, and rest when they wish. We are
moving along, more or less, all the time during the day. The river is
not very winding.
_September 30._—About twenty-five miles on a northeasterly course
brought us to "Doz Morrinhos" rapids. The difference of level here is
slight, though the passes are difficult. A part of the baggage was
handed over the rocks, which proved a prudent plan, as the boat was
nearly swamped. The country is quite uneven and thickly wooded. At
midday we had a light shower of rain, accompanied by thunder, without
wind. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 87°; water, 85°; with a strong southwest
wind. At the foot of these falls we sounded with five hundred and ten
feet, and no bottom.
At a late hour in the afternoon we arrived at the head of "Teotoni"
falls, the most terrific of them all. Here I was attacked with a severe
bilious fever, which brought me at once on my back. The pain in my left
breast was somewhat like that described by those who have suffered with
the "Chagres fever." We were all worn out, thin, and haggard. I had been
kept going by excitement, as the men were careless, brutal negroes, and
Richards suffering still with the pain in his ear.
_October 1._—This fall is over fifteen feet, ten of which is at an
angle of 45 degrees. The roaring made at intervals by the rushing of
the waters over and through the rocks, sounds like distant thunder.
Our little canoe is driven for safety out of the water to the land.
The baggage was carried by a path on the south side to the foot of
the falls. Richards went along with the first load, and remained below
looking out, while I rested to see every thing sent over. The men idled
their time between us, until we were caught in a heavy rain and thunder
storm from northeast. The boat was put upon rollers and transported four
hundred yards over a hill, and launched into the river below. We were
from daylight until dark at the work. I should not complain, however,
because men never had a more harassing time than these have had. If
alone, they would not have come half the distance in the same length of
time. They have pushed on for me, when I least expected they would keep
on.
We noticed that at nearly all the falls in the Madeira the river turns
as it cuts its way through the rocks, forming nearly a semi-circle
towards the eastward; after gaining the base of the declivity, the
stream returns again to its original course. Here the path over the
land describes a diameter. The storm continued all night in squalls. The
negroes took off their clothes and laid down upon the bare rocks under
a heavy rain, with cold wind, where they actually slept, while those of
the crew, with Indian blood, built a fire and slept on the sand close by
it in their clothes. The baggage was left on the sand bank until morning
covered with raw hides. We were well drenched, certainly a poor remedy
for bilious fever, particularly when followed by the heat of a tropical
sun.
_October 2._—Five miles below are "San Antonio" falls, which we passed
by tow-lines without disembarking our baggage. The difference of level
is very small; the bed of the river much choked with rocks. The stream
is divided into a great number of rapid and narrow channels. We took
breakfast on the west side, at the foot of these falls, with feelings
of gratitude we had safely passed the perils of _seventeen_ cataracts.
Those parts of the rivers Madeira and Mamoré, between the foot of
"San Antonio" and the head of "Guajará-merim" falls, are not navigable
for any class of vessels whatever; nor can a road be travelled at all
seasons of the year, on either bank, to follow the course of the river,
for the land bordering on the stream is semi-annually flooded. By
referring to the map it will be seen, we travelled from Guajará-merim,
on the Mamoré, in a due north course, to the Pedreneira falls, on the
Madeira. By the windings of the river, we estimate the distance not less
than one hundred miles. From the Pedreneira falls to the foot of San
Antonio, our direction was about east-northeast, a distance by the river
of one hundred and forty miles, which makes the space not navigable
two hundred and forty miles. A road cut straight through the territory
of Brazil, from San Antonio falls, in a southwest direction, to the
navigable point on the Mamoré, would not exceed one hundred and eighty
miles. This road would pass among the hills, seen, from time to time, to
the eastward, where the lands, in all probability, are not overflowed.
On a common mule road, such as we find in Bolivia, a cargo could be
transported in about seven days from one point to the other. Don Antonio
Cordoza was _five_ months struggling against these numerous rapids and
rocks to make the same distance, with his cargo in small boats. We have
been twelve days descending the falls, which is considered by Brazilian
navigators fast travelling. The wild woods that cover the lands are
unknown to the white man. Topographically considered, the lands on the
east side of the Madeira are the most valuable.
Our experience with a black crew gives reason to believe the climate
is more congenial to them than the white or red races. Among the
half-civilized and savage aborigines, we notice very few men live to an
old age; they generally pass away early; tribes are composed usually of
men under forty years. The moment we landed at Principe, there appeared
before us a number of active, gray-headed old negro women and men,
grinning and bowing, with as much life in their expression of face and
activity of manner as the youngest. Long after the savage has become
hamac-ridden with age, the negro, born before him, is found actively
employed. The physical strength of the negro is not equalled by the red
man here. The Indian enjoys the _shade_ of the forest trees, while our
negroes rejoice in the heat of the sun.
The India rubber is found in these woods, with quantities of Brazil nuts
and cacao trees. The whole forest is as constantly green as the snows
on the peaks of the Andes are everlastingly white, although the leaves
fall and the snow melts away. In the month of April, or thereabouts, the
sap which flows through the veins of these forest trees, begins to fall,
not suddenly, as the sap of the sugar-maple in our northern States, but
gradually and slowly, as the live-oak, magnolia, or other evergreens of
Florida. The sap descends from the topmost branches first; the leaves
begin to sicken for want of nourishment; they wilt, and the first that
falls to the ground is from the end of the branch which first lost its
sustenance. The _tide_ of sap ebbs a shorter time than is usual in a
climate where half the year is wintry. The _flood_ tide of sap goes up
in time to send out new leaves at the top of the tree before the last
on the lower limbs have fallen. During this rise and fall of the sap
in the trees tropical forests shed their leaves. The work is performed
in such a secret way, that it would not be observed, did we not find
the ground covered with dead leaves, while the trees are perfectly
green. On the Andes the llama, grazing near the snow line, had its back
thickly clothed with wool, while the ground was strewed with its last
year's crop. When the sun stands vertically over the llama, it sheds
its wool; when the sun passes far off on its northern tour, the leaves
fall from the forests at the base of those great mountains. Daring
the season of the year when the sap is in upward motion, the "rubber"
man taps the trees and gathers the milk, converting it into shoes by
smearing it over a last, and poking it into the smoke of a small fire
near by him. The guava and banana fall to the ground to fatten the wild
pecary; the oriole nestles in the tree-tops, and feeds its young in the
stocking-like nest which hangs from the tip ends of the limbs. Toucans
appear astonished at the songs of our negroes as we paddle down, leaving
the cataracts behind us.
At 3 p. m., thermometer, 86°; water, 84°; we bottled drinking water from
a small stream on the west side, having a temperature of 76°; width of
the river six hundred yards; sounded with two hundred and ten feet of
line without finding bottom; current two miles per hour. The channel
is perfectly clear of all obstructions; few logs are enabled to pass
safely through all the falls in the dry season, but when the river rises
they come down at a terrible rate, and in great numbers, though the
channel of the Madeira is seldom as much obstructed by drift-wood as
the Mississippi.
In the evening we arrived at Tamandua island; one hundred Brazilians
were engaged gathering turtle-eggs, of which they manufactured oil.
These men came up from the Amazon; the sight of them gladdened our
spirits; we had passed the savage race, and reached civilized man, on
the Atlantic side of the wilderness; we were out of the woods, though
the trees are larger here than on the southern side of the ridge of
hills through which the Madeira flows. The forests here resemble those
on the side and base of the Andes. The negroes supped on turtle-eggs,
while they drew comparisons between the people of the Amazon and those
of "_their_ country," as they called Cuyaba, on the other great South
American river. One of the oil merchants kindly invited us to take up
our quarters in his hut, but the fever kept me in bed in the canoe, with
pains that forbade sleep at night. He sent us two turtles, measuring
nearly three feet long, with one foot and a half of thickness. One of
them was a load for a man.
The turtle deposits its eggs in the sand on these river islands at the
beginning of the dry season, commencing in July and August. The heat of
the sun hatches the young; they dig holes four feet deep, by throwing
the sand on each side with the hind-flippers. The motion is quick and
sudden, casting the sand a distance of six and eight feet from them.
After reaching the depth required, the female drops eggs in the hole and
covers up the top with sand drawn in by her fore-flippers. There is an
equal distribution of labor; the hind legs dig the hole, and the fore
ones fill it up. The hole is gradually filled with from one hundred and
fifty to two hundred eggs. There is some difference of time between the
first deposit and the last; yet, so nearly does the turtle calculate
the depth of sand, and power of the sun, that all the eggs are said
to hatch exactly at the same time. The young turtle rises four feet
from the bottom of its birth place, to meet his little brother at the
surface. They trot to the river's edge side by side, where they practice
swimming, to be ready for the floods that come down from the distant
Andes soon after they are born.
The oil man ascends the river, with a fleet of canoes in company, manned
with workmen, loaded with provisions, copper boilers, spades, &c. They
know the time the turtle has laid its last egg, and while the eggs are
fresh, they dig them from the sand, beginning on one side of the island,
and turning up the soil to the proper depth. They throw out the eggs
like potatoes, while others gather them up in baskets. A canoe is washed
out, and the eggs thrown in and thoroughly broken by means of forked
sticks. The soft shell or skin, is pitched out; a quantity of water
poured in and left to stand in the sun. The oil rises on the surface;
this is skimmed off and heated in copper boilers. Being put up in large
earthen jars or pots, containing four or five gallons, it is sold in the
markets of the Amazon. In Pará, the price per pound varies from five to
ten mil reis. One silver dollar of Bolivia money is now worth eighteen
hundred reis. While the "manteca"—butter or oil—is fresh, it is used for
culinary purposes. The cook, of course, knows nothing of the number of
young turtles which may have been boiled in it during the late period of
digging. Its general use, however, is for lamp oil. The annual supply
from all the rivers in the Amazon basin is consumed within the mouths
of these rivers.
Turtle are now said to be scarce. We see millions of eggs destroyed by
the oil-hunters, who search all the islands, and drive the turtles from
one to the other. The men tell me there are no eggs to be found on the
island they worked at last year. The mother turtle was disappointed;
the little ones never made their appearance from out of the sand where
eggs were deposited, although they are not wise enough to understand the
boiling process their eggs had undergone, yet, something was known to
be wrong, and placing no faith in _that_ sand bank, every one deserted
it, and made use of an island they would not have chosen had they been
let alone. There the oil man continues to follow them. These turtle are
called by the Brazilians "Tortaruga Grande." There are said to be four
other kinds in the Madeira river, viz., "Cabecudá," "Trocajá," "Pitehú"
and "Matá-matá." The Tortaruga Grande is the best for eating and for
oil; they are also in greater abundance than the others.
Huts are built in the sand for the protection of the hunters against the
great heats of the sun in the day, and the rains. The men, who are of
Amazon Indian blood, have their wives with them. There are few negroes
at this business. Brazilians, of Portuguese descent, gather a band of
adventurers, or fishermen, who are willing to leave their homes for this
wild country, and seek their fortunes among the sands, where no diamonds
have yet been found. The life is a hard one; the exposure on the voyage,
and after they arrive on the ground, is great. Many of them have fevers,
their provisions get short, the water is warm, and unless the work is
carried on at a rapid rate, the young turtles begin to form in the egg,
which impairs the quality of the oil—to say nothing of the butter. Great
quantities of rum are consumed on these expeditions. The Portuguese set
up shop where rum is sold, and a debtor and credit account is opened
with the Indian workmen; in the same way the creole miner does with
those of the Andes, making profit, while he pays the workmen's monthly
wages—from three to five dollars—with provisions.
The workmen soon get tired and want to return. The employer takes out
a passport for them all at the last military post as he ascends; they
are forbidden to travel about the country without one. The workman
is held to his promise to remain during the season, good treatment or
bad, by retaining his passport. Our crew became intoxicated among their
countrymen, and danced part of the night with Amazonian girls, to the
tune of violins, in the huts, while heavy rain poured down in large
drops, accompanied with thunder and sharp lightning. Wind blowing fresh
from northeast.
_October 3._—The crew wished to remain among these greasy people, but as
we preferred floating on by the current, to laying by the side of the
oil canoes and hot sand bank, we pushed off with a _mail_ on board. As
we descend, the river stretches out in long bends towards the northeast.
Twenty-five fathoms sounding and no bottom. The width varies from six
hundred to a thousand yards. The country is level; the growth of trees
decreasing in size the lower we go.
_October 4._—At 9 a. m., thermometer, 88°; water, 87°. The small
streams which flow in from the eastern side are of a deep green color,
at 87° temperature. The banks are twelve feet high, and break down
perpendicularly.
_October 5._—This morning we met four "Muras" Indians fishing with
bows and arrows mid-channel, in small canoes, hewn from one log. One
canoe contained a woman and two children, under the thatched roof of
a little cabin. These people were all dressed in decent fashion. The
women wore a calico frock! The men were larger than the Caripunas, and
more reserved; it was with difficulty we could get them to stop and sell
us a paddle; we wanted to replace a broken one. A knife was paid for
it, when they desired to push off from us. Probably they were ashamed
of being fishermen without any fish; or had, at some time, met with
ill treatment. Sounded with twenty-three fathoms, no bottom. A short
distance further down, got bottom at thirty-six feet, and lost both lead
and line. There are a few snags in the channel, among which our line
was entangled.
My bilious has now turned to ague and fever. The stench from the muddy
banks, and stagnant pools of water, has become exceedingly offensive,
and at night we have musquitoes, which we were not troubled with among
the falls. The current varies in its speed from an half to two miles
per hour, showing an uneven surface. The ground over which it flows is
sloping in steps, or shelving, which gives the outward motion of the
water a jerking impetus. Islands, long and narrow, divide the stream
into two channels; yet the depth of water, and width of the passages,
are sufficient for all commercial purposes. Pedro tells me the "Toras"
tribe of Indians inhabit the east side of the river; we, however, saw
nothing of them.
_October 6._—We landed on the west bank, at "Roscenia de Crato,"
which is a frontier post of the Brazilians, on the Madeira. The entire
country between this settlement and the town of Exaltacion, in Bolivia,
is inhabited by savages. The Portuguese have ascended the Amazon and
Madeira thus far on their southwestward emigration. The Spaniards, who
crossed the Isthmus of Panama and the mountains of Bolivia, are now on
their northeast descent, to meet the Brazilians. The movement, on both
sides, is slow, but the white man is crowding close upon each flank
of the savage, who now occupies but a narrow strip of land between
the emigrants from Spain and Portugal—gradually working through the
wilderness towards each other.
Crato belongs, partly, to my friend Don Antonio Cordoza. A few years
ago, his father established a trading station here, where the Indians
come in from the wild woods with sarsaparilla, Brazil nuts, chocolate,
pitch, and guaraná, prepared from the seed of a fruit found in the
woods, represented to be somewhat like the wild cherry. The Indians
mash the seed between stones, and make a paste by adding water; after
being dried in the sun, it is rolled in one pound weights, and is sold
at the station at fifty cents per pound. Don Antonio sold guaraná in
Trinidad at four dollars. The Spaniards are exceedingly fond of it; the
price has been as high as eight dollars a pound, in the mountains of
Bolivia. Guaraná resembles prepared chocolate; a small quantity grated
in a tumbler of water with sugar, makes not only a very refreshing, but
a strengthening drink. The Indians use it when hunting or marching,
thinking it enables them to undergo a great amount of fatigue. The
trader pays the Indian in rum, hatchets, knives, fish-hooks, beads, &c.
We find four or five houses, inhabited by squatters, surrounded by a
beautiful pampa country; here and there clusters of forest trees. On the
plains the pasture proves excellent for the few cattle and horses that
have been brought up the river. Quantities of chickens flourish about
the house, with dogs and fat hogs.
The families are of Portuguese descent. A hamac was slung for me in a
house with a parlor on one side and a small sugar-mill on the other.
While the olive colored women sat sewing, the man was employed putting
sugar-cane between the vertical wooden cylinders, as our men turned the
beam by hand to get some sugar juice to refresh themselves. The people
were extremely kind and attentive. Mrs. Santa Ana, the wife of the man
to whom we brought letters, doctored us with chicken tea, declaring
"people died with the fever in this country who would not eat."
The soil is well adapted to the growth of the sugar-cane. We are told
the country far west is a prairie for a long distance, covered with fine
pasture. The Indians are called "Muras;" they are fond of trading, and
less warlike than some others, of whom little is known. They seem to be
pleased with the difference between rum and sarsaparilla.
We remained here all night to give the men a rest, and try to get _one_
night's sleep ourselves, but there was no rest with a high fever. The
river water cooled in an earthen monkey was refreshing.
Our boat was well washed out, and the baggage restowed; a large hog
killed for the men, and our chicken basket filled with fowls. We were
requested to take charge of the mail, a handful of letters, and embarked
with many thanks to our friends on the frontier.
Soundings vary from seven to twenty-one and a half fathoms. At 3 p. m.,
thermometer, 92°; water, 86°; calm.
_October 8._—During the night we had heavy rain, sharp lightning, and
thunder from northeast. At 9 a. m., thermometer, 83°; water, 85°. At 3
p. m., thermometer, 88°; water, 86°. The rest at Crato has refreshed us
all; the men pull stoutly; they are now civil and attentive, showing a
desire to behave themselves well, though we find a free negro the most
difficult character to control. The Indian attends to his duty without
being told to do so. The negroes begin to fear a difficulty with us,
and are coming round, not only to their daily work, with more spirit,
but are particular to show us respect. We would decline an offer of a
boat's crew of free negroes on another such expedition. We have felt
that had these men not been aware we were well on our guard since they
shot our dog, they would have murdered us without the least hesitation.
They disputed our authority and wanted to let us know it.
In the afternoon, as a black cloud comes from the northeast, the wind
turns up the sand on the beach and islands above the deep green foliage.
As the thunder roars and lightning flashes, we leave the troubled waters
of mid-channel and seek a safe little inlet in the bank, and secure the
boat till the raging storm passes. On the west bank was a small town of
the Muras Indians, built of palmetto wood, and thatched with the wild
palm leaf; it appeared to be deserted. The banks were forty feet high,
of red clay, and perpendicular. On the east side of the river there were
patches of maize. The forest trees are of less height as we descend;
long islands stretch from three to five miles, dividing the river in
twain. At the mouth of a small, clear, green water stream, we met a
party of Indians fishing in a log canoe. The men were naked, and the
women dressed in frocks. On one of the sand islands was their temporary
hut.
_October 12._—At 9 a. m., thermometer, 83°; water, 86°. For the last
three days we have passed through an uninhabited region, without
meeting with obstructions to steamboat navigation. The current one
mile per hour, and river in some places one mile wide. We met with
a fishing "cuberta," at anchor. This vessel is an Amazon craft, used
for trading up and down these rivers under sail, or polled, or towed
along the bank when the river is low. We went alongside and purchased
a dried "pirarucu" fish, which we all fancied the taste of at once; it
was new both to us and to the Cuyaba negroes. Pirarucus are taken by
the arrow, as they swim near the surface of the water; it has a small
head and thick body, covered with scales; they are found here from six
to eight feet long. After it is salted and dried in the sun, the meat
keeps well twelve months; boatmen toast or boil it without smothering
it in potatoes; it has no offensive smell, like boiled dried cod-fish.
We are told the fish called "peixe boi," (bull-fish,) of the Madeira,
is the same as the "vaca-marina," (sea-cow,) of the Ucayali, though
comparatively there are few taken. The captain of the "cuberta" was
lounging about the vessel with his coat off, while one or two men were
up the river in a small canoe fishing. The cable, by which the vessel
swung to her anchor, was made of a black grass like stuff, taken from
a species of palm-trees found on the Rio Negro, called "piassába,"
said to last longer in the water than out of it. Different-sized ropes
are made of the piassába, but the cordage of the vessel was generally
of Kentucky hemp. Her measurement was not over sixteen tons, rigged
schooner fashion. On deck, between the cabin and the forward house,
was a large box filled with earth, on which the crew built a fire and
cooked fish and turtle. We handed the captain a Bolivian silver dollar
in payment for fish, which he seemed pleased to take, and gave us large
copper coins in change. Titto, our negro sergeant, had to explain the
value of Bolivian silver in Brazil money.
At Porto de Mataurá a guard-house is situated on the east bank. Richards
climbed up the steep bank, and presented passports to the commander,
who was kind enough to send an officer to offer us a house if we
would remain. The officer returned again with a present of a couple of
watermelons, said to be an uncertain remedy for fever and ague. They
were small, only half ripe, but soon devoured, as they were the only
refreshing thing we had seen, except a little sugar-cane, since leaving
the fort. The suffering from fever was increased to agony when the same
dose had been imprudently repeated. Drinking water was 87°, and the
temperature of the air, in the shade, 89°. Under such circumstances
fruits and melons are luxurious. The temptation is great, but the sick
should be particularly guarded against using such injurious articles,
however pleasant to the taste.
As we move on the lands become more elevated, and are better adapted for
cultivation than others below Crato. The forest trees are small where
the lands are free from inundation, corresponding to observations made
as we floated into the middle of Madeira Plate, near Exaltacion. Small
streams of water flow in from the east, while, on the west, "madres," or
large pools, have an outlet through the bank. The rule is, high banks on
the east side of the Madeira, and low to the west, with few exceptions.
Springs are scarce. The water trickling down the blue, red, or yellow
banks is the coolest, even after being bottled and stowed under our
seats. The air is 96° Fahrenheit; the heat is very oppressive. Under
us there are twenty-four feet water; in some places no bottom at one
hundred and fifty-six feet. As the river rolls along straighter, we find
more irregularity in the channel, and width, in some places, full one
mile. On both banks we see small houses, with a few plantain and orange
trees about them. These are the settlements of the descendants of the
Portuguese. A canoe or two lay by the bank opposite each house. As we
swiftly passed along, by the force of paddles—for the current was only
one mile per hour—the bright moon rose up over the sea of foliage and
lit our way to the town of Borba, on the 14th of October, 1852.
With a bundle of letters, I crawled up the steep bank to the house
of Capitan Diogo, father of my friend Don Antonio. He ran his fingers
through grey locks of hair, and laughed at the idea of a man's getting
sick on such a voyage; gave me a horrible cup of tea made from the
leaves of a bush found in the woods, which put me to sleep, as he was
boasting of his extraordinary long travels up and down the rivers, and
how he used to doctor himself. He was very cheerful until he counted
the money brought from his son and partner, when he wanted to know "if
that was all Antonio had made on his trip to Bolivia."
In the morning our baggage was brought up, and the soldiers turned over
to the commander of police. Borba is a small town of three hundred
inhabitants. Two rows of miserable wooden huts stand parallel with
a most distressingly dilapidated church; bells, old and cracked, are
hung under a small shed near the door. On the soil, whence the forest
trees had been cleared, was a thick sod of small bladed grass, on which
a few poor, slim-looking cows were pasturing. Large and fat hogs came
grunting at the door. The hot sun had deadened the wool on the backs
of a few sheep, and in its place, a fleece of straight, grey hair came
out as a substitute. When man forces the animal intended by God for a
cold climate into a hot one, a new nature comes to the poor, panting
creature's relief, and puts upon it a coat of cool hair, instead of the
hot woollen one.
The Spaniards have forced the hog so high up on the Andes that he
suffers every time he raises his bristles, and dies out of place; while
the Portuguese find it impossible to produce good mutton or wool on
the hot plains of the Amazon. Indians, in a warm climate, grease or
oil their naked skins as a protection from the sun, or that the rains
may slide off the more easy; while those we saw on the frozen mountain
tops, clothed themselves in wool, and greased their insides with mutton.
_They_ appear to understand perfectly why the earth was provided with
meat and clothing.
The inhabitants of Borba are principally negroes, who are very noisy,
both in-doors and out; one-half of them are slaves. Those of Portuguese
descent are extremely indolent. We observed few children of any color.
The women wear their hair put up behind with large tortoise-shell combs,
fancifully carved. Their dresses are very short-waisted, which gives
them a more awkward appearance than they really deserve. The men wear
trousers, and a shirt with the tail outside, which looks cool. Neither
sex walk out except to church, when they dress in deep black cloth and
silks, with gold ornaments and diamonds in profusion, brought from the
head-waters of the Tapajos—or to the river to bathe, when they leave
almost all wearing apparel at home.
The houses are of one-story and long; there are no doors hinged between
the rooms, only those opening to the street. Curtains are hung from the
upper part of the doorways to within a few inches of the brick floor.
One day a fresh breeze blew into the windows, and the draft through the
doors raised up all the curtains, when we discovered the family seated
on a rug, spread on the floor, sewing. The girls were pretty, with large
deep black eyes and hair; they quickly pulled their little bare feet
under their dresses, and laughed heartily at the sudden surprise. Their
hair was all down; hooks and eyes not fastened. The lady of the house
was very kind on her side of the curtain, handed Quinine and Port wine
on our side to the Capitan, who declared he could cure the fever in a
short time. He insisted upon my joining him every night at ten in a hot
supper; at the same hour in the morning at breakfast, and disapproved
of sleeping—which was all we wanted, except to get out of the country
as soon as possible. Our bread was made of Richmond flour, which is
said to keep better in this climate than more northern flour from the
United States. Whether this is owing to the mode of grinding the grain,
or a difference in the character of the wheat itself, is to be tested.
Turtle and chicken were the principal meats, with coffee and Portuguese
red wine. The tobacco, which is produced on the banks of the Madeira,
is said to be superior in quality to any in Brazil. It is made up in
rolls, seven feet long and three inches in diameter, carefully wrapped
up in a strip of rattan closely wound round it. Each staff contains two
pounds; bundles of them are exported, with cacao, Brazil nuts, coffee,
and sarsaparilla, to the Atlantic coast.
The trade of Borba is insignificant. According to Capitan Diogo's
account, there are not more than two thousand people, Indians and all,
inhabiting the banks of the Madeira, principally found near the stream;
the country in the interior being a wilderness, tangled, matted, and
in places swampy, where alligators bask in the sun on the beaten-down
grass, and tigers roam freely after tapir tracks. At the small farms,
near Borba, sugar-canes are raised and rum is manufactured—a greater
quantity of the latter article being consumed in Brazil, the trade in
it seems to be the most extensive of _all_ others. A few watermelons,
oranges, and limes are raised, but less than are required for home
consumption.
There were no men belonging to Borba to take us on. The authorities
ordered the soldiers who came with us to go on. I regretted this for two
reasons. One, that we were in hopes of getting rid of these impudent,
half-savage free negroes, who refused positively to obey the authorities
of the town. Another, that the commander of Beira wished me to send
them back as soon as possible after we arrived here, as it would take
them five months to regain their posts. But I found they were obliged
to go as far as Barra do rio Negro, to purchase a little iron, which,
with some guaraná, they had been ordered to carry to the fort, and to
our surprise, the men wanted to go with us in preference to remaining
in Borba, or returning to their usual duties. A larger boat was fitted
out. Pedro, our pilot, was paid off, as his services were needed as
boat-builder by the Capitan, who filled our basket with chickens,
and gave us a water-cooler. Two large cakes, with a jar of preserved
oranges, were sent to the boat by the wife of our friend Don Antonio,
whose little child came to thank us for bringing letters from the
father and husband. The kind old Capitan gave me particular instructions
about the fever, which he had partly cured, while he nearly killed the
patient. We pushed off with three Portuguese passengers.
The river was thirty feet above its present level, in the rainy season,
and has now thirty feet depth off Borba. A vessel may lay moored to
the bank of the river. There is stone at hand for building wharves if
needed. The northeast trade-winds blow fresh, and we find a difficulty
in making head-way; the current of the river has slackened to half
a mile per hour. The winds blow directly in opposition to it, which
baffles us considerably. In the evening, the wind falls away, and we
push off from the bank where the boat is fastened, to hold what we have
gained.
At some small huts we find Muras Indians sleeping, who seem very
indifferent about selling a few thick-skinned, insipid oranges.
Among the heavy night dews are intermingled an equal portion of hungry
musquitoes. The nights and mornings are beautifully clear.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE MOUTH OF THE MADEIRA RIVER, Brazil.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
On the afternoon of the 29th of October, we crossed the river from
the east to the west bank, being forced to do so, as the wind created
a sea, and we lay uncomfortably moored to a snag; when half way over,
our little craft struggled and dipped in the water. Richards bailed out
manfully, while the men became frightened; we kept her bow angling the
sea till she reached in safety the opposite shore, where the negroes,
hearts returned to their places, but their eyes stretched wide open,
as they looked back at the troubled stream, saying they never saw water
behave so furious before.
During the 21st of October we lay all day by a sand island, unable
to proceed until evening. When the wind died away, we paddled on by
the light of the moon. As the negroes lifted their paddles out of the
water, we dipped the thermometer in the Madeira for the last time, 88°
Fahrenheit. Suddenly, the bow of our little canoe touched the deep
waters of the mighty Amazon. A beautiful, apple-shaded island, with
deep green foliage, and sandy beach encircling it, lies in the mouth of
the great serpentine Madeira. The mouth opens by two channels. We find
seventy-eight feet depth, near the western side, which is six hundred
yards wide, with high banks, well wooded, but no marks or traces of
civilization. A long sand-spit hung out over the lower mouth, like a
great tongue, on which lay turtles and bird's eggs. The east side of the
mouth was about three-quarters of a mile wide. A few houses stood on the
back ground, where the country was more elevated towards the southeast.
Now that we are at the mouth of this magnificent stream, we find no
deeply loaded vessels enter it. The value of the present foreign trade
of South Peru and Bolivia may be worth ten millions of dollars per
annum.
The distance from the foot of San Antonio falls to the mouth of the
Madeira, is five hundred miles by the river. A vessel drawing six feet
water may navigate this distance at any season of the year. A cargo from
the United States could reach the foot of the falls, on the Madeira,
within thirty days. By a common mule road, through the territory of
Brazil, the goods might be passed from the lower to the upper falls on
the Mamoré, in less than seven days, a distance of about one hundred
and eighty miles; thence by steamboat, on that river and the Chaparé,
a distance of five hundred miles to Vinchuta, in four days. Ten days
more from the base of the Andes, over the road we travelled, would make
fifty-one days passage from Baltimore to Cochabamba, or fifty-nine days
to La Paz, the commercial emporium of Bolivia, where cargoes arrive
generally from Baltimore in one hundred and eighteen days, by Cape
Horn—often delayed on their way through the territory of Peru from the
seaport of Arica. Goods by the Madeira route, sent over the Cordillera
range to the Pacific coast, might get there one month before a ship
could arrive from Europe on the eastern coast of the United States, by
two oceans or the old route.
APPENDIX.
OBSERVATIONS WITH SEXTANT AND ARTIFICIAL HORIZON.
-------------+-------+---------------+----------+---------+--------+------+-----------
Locality. | Date. | Star. | Meridian | Sun's |Magnetic|Index | Remarks.
| | | altitude.|altitude.|azimuth.|error.|
-------------+-------+---------------+----------+---------+--------+------+-----------
SOUTH PERU. | | | | | | |
| 1851 | | ° ´ ´´| ° ´ ´´| ° ´ | ° ´ |
Juaja |July 10|Alpha Centauri | -83 07 40| | | |Hazy over
| | | | | | |the
| | | | | | |northern
| | | | | | |mountains.
| | | | | | |
Huancayo | 13|Alpha Centauri | -83 44 20| | | |Northern
| | | | | | |sky cloudy.
| | | | | | |
Huancavelica | 18|Alpha Centauri | -85 07 40| | | +1 30|Misty over
| | | | | | |the
| | | | | | |northern
| | | | | | |Cordilleras.
| | | | | | |
Ayacucho | 30|Alpha Lyrae | +76 25 10| | | -1 00|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 31|Alpha Trianguli| -68 52 40| | | -1 00|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 31|Alpha Lyrae | +76 27 00| | | -1 00|
| | | | | | |
Camp | Aug. 6|Alpha Trianguli| -69 24 20| | | -1 00|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 6|Alpha Lyrae | +75 53 20| | | -1 00|
| | | | | | |
Andahuailas | 11|Alpha Lyrae | +75 26 10| | | -0 45|Missed a
| | | | | | |southern
| | | | | | |star.
| | | | | | |
Do. | 12| | | 76 24 10| 41 40 | -0 45|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 12| | | 78 19 20| 40 10 | -0 45|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 12| | | 79 31 50| 39 50 | -0 45|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 12| | | 80 21 30| 39 20 | -0 45|
| | | | | | |
Abancay | 15|Alpha Lyrae | +75 30 00| | | -0 45|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 15|Alpha Pavonis | -92 54 20| | | -0 45|
| | | | | | |
Cuzco | 27| | | 37 35 10| 273 50 | -0 25|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 27| | | 31 32 30| 273 45 | -0 25|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 27| | | 30 40 50| 273 30 | -0 25|
| | | | | | |
Do. |Sept. 4|Alpha Lyrae | +75 43 20| | | -0 25|
| | | | | | |
Do. | 4|Alpha Pavonis | -92 39 50| | | -0 25|
| | | | | | |
BOLIVIA. | | | | | | |
| | | | | | |
Cochabamba |Dec. 22|Alpha Aurigae | +53 35 30| | | |Señor
| | | | | | |Bridoux's
| | | | | | |pateo.
| | | | | | |
Do. | 22|Alpha Aurigae |-109 36 00| | | |Do.
| | | | | | |
| 1852 | | | | | |
Trinidad de | June 2|Gamma Crucis | -97 09 40| | | |
Mojos | | | | | | |
| | | | | | |
Do. | 2|Zeta Ursae | +39 02 10| | | |
| | Majoris | | | | |
| | | | | | |
Do. | 2| | | 41 32 20| 48 30 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. | 3| | | 45 35 40| 47 00 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. | 3| | | 46 44 00| 46 45 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. | 3| | | 48 14 10| 46 15 | |
| | | | | | |
Exaltacion |Aug. 24|Alpha Lyrae | +76 05 30| | | |On the bank
| | | | | | |of the river
| | | | | | |Mamoré,
| | | | | | |near the
| | | | | | |sugar-mill.
| | | | | | |
Do. | 25| | | 47 35 10| 277 45 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. | 25| | | 46 21 10| 277 15 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. | 25| | | 45 04 10| 277 00 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. | 29|Alpha Lyrae | +76 07 10| | | |
| | | | | | |
BRAZIL. | | | | | | |
| Sept. | | | | | |
Forté do | 11|Alpha Lyrae | +77 55 40| | | |
Principe | | | | | | |
da Beira | | | | | | |
| | | | | | |
Do. do. | 12|Alpha Lyrae | +77 52 40| 65 21 00| 68 00 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. do. | 12| | | 67 20 10| 67 45 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. do. | 12| | | 68 27 50| 67 15 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. do. | 12| | | 69 16 50| 67 10 | |
| | | | | | |
Do. do. | 13|Alpha Lyrae | +77 50 30| | | |
| | | | | | |
Near the | 16|Alpha Lyrae | +78 45 20| | | |
mouth of | | | | | | |
Itenez | | | | | | |
river | | | | | | |
| | | | | | |
Ribeirao | 23|Alpha Pavonis | -86 01 30| | | | Missed the
falls, | | | | | | | Northern
Madeira | | | | | | | star.
river | | | | | | |
-------------+-------+---------------+----------+---------+--------+------+-----------
METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.
Wind-force.|
Wet bulb.| |
Fah. Therm.| | |
Boiling Point.| | | |
Fah. Therm.| | | | |
Barometer.| | | | | |
Locality. | Date.| Hour. | | | | | | | Remarks.
-----------+------+----------+------+---+-------+---+---+-----+--------------------
SOUTH PERU.| 1851 | | | ° | | ° | ° | |
| | | | | | | | |
Tarma |July 4| 3 p.m.|21.048| 55| ... |...| 52| SW. |Squally, cloudy, and
| | | | | | | | |thundering.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 p.m.|21.098| 55| ... |...| 54| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 9 a.m.|21.110| 53| ... |...| 51| ... |Calm and cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 1 p.m.| ...|...|193.852| 56|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 4 p.m.|21.056| 56| ... |...| 53| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 9.30 p.m.|21.100| 55| ... |...| 54| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 9.30 a.m.|21.108| 54| ... |...| 52| ... |Clear and pleasant.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 3.30 p.m.|21.046| 58| ... |...| 53| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 8 a.m.|21.134| 54| ... |...| 50| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
On the road| 9|12.30 p.m.| ...| 68| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a
| | | | | | | | | mountain stream, 55°.
| | | | | | | | |
Inca road | 9| 5 p.m.| ...| 44| ... |...|...| ... |Clear blue sky.
| | | | | | | | |
U. S. tent | 10| 6.30 a.m.|18.582| 24| ... |...| 30| ... |Frost and ice.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 9.30 a.m.| ...|...|187.000| 27|...| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 10 a.m.| ...| 46| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature on a
| | | | | | | | | spring, 48°.
| | | | | | | | |
Juaja | 10| 4 p.m.|20.248| 65| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 4.45 p.m.| ...| 73| ... |...| 50| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 6.15 p.m.| ...|...|191.250| 44|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 8 a.m.|20.312| 46| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Concepcion | 11| 3.30 p.m.|20.454| 62| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 7 a.m.|20.560| 49|190.500| 49| 46| ... |Cumulus strata, 9.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12|12.25 p.m.| ...| 63| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a spring,
| | | | | | | | | 54°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12|12.45 p.m.| ...| 60| ... |...|...| ... |Light shower of rain
| | | | | | | | | from the eastward—
| | | | | | | | | small drops.
| | | | | | | | |
Huancayo | 12| 2.30 p.m.|20.628| 62| ... |...|...| ... |Calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 7 a.m.|20.732| 48| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 6.15 p.m.|20.652| 55| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 7 a.m.|20.706| 33| ... |...| 30| ... |Cumulus strata; frost.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 8.48 a.m.| ...| 48| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a spring,
| | | | | | | | | 54°.
| | | | | | | | |
Nahuinpucyo| 14| 5 p.m.|19.626| 50| ... |...|...| NW. |Thunder, lightning,
| | | | | | | | | hail, and rain storm.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 5.45 p.m.| ...| 46| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 7 a.m.|19.718| 42| ... |...| 46| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Escuchaca | 15| 3 p.m.|21.492| 63| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 5 p.m.| ...|...| ... |...|...| N. |Heavy rain squalls—
| | | | | | | | | large drops, (unusual.)
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 8.30 a.m.|21.648| 60|192.500| 60| 54| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 9.20 a.m.| ...| 65| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a stream,
| | | | | | | | | 50°.
| | | | | | | | |
On the road| 16| Noon|20.058| 69| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Top of the | 16| 3.25 p.m.|19.160| 55| ... |...|...| ... |Andes chain in sight to
mountains | | | | | | | | | the northeast; no snow.
| | | | | | | | |
Indian hut | 16| 4.20 p.m.|19.764| 57| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 6 a.m.|19.748| 35| ... |...| 30| ... |Frost; cold night.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17|11.30 a.m.| ...| 54| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a spring,
| | | | | | | | | 44°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 1 p.m.|17.684| 49| ... |...|...| N. |Snow in all directions
| | | | | | | | | —wild country.
| | | | | | | | |
Huancave- | 17| 6 p.m.|19.588| 50| ... |...|...| ... |
lica | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 7.45 a.m.|19.632| 46| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Mouth of | 19|12.30 p.m.| ...| 49| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a small
quicksilver| | | | | | | | | stream flowing out of
mine | | | | | | | | | the mine, 34°.
| | | | | | | | |
Huancave- | 22| 7 a.m.|19.584| 48| ... |...|...| ... |
lica | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
On the road| 22|11.30 a.m.| ...| 54| ... |...|...| ... |Cloudy and calm;
| | | | | | | | | temperature of a
| | | | | | | | | spring, 48°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 2.30 p.m.| ...| 44| ... |...|...| NE. |Light snow storm from
| | | | | | | | and | the northeast— small
| | | | | | | | SW. | fleecy flakes; wind
| | | | | | | | | hauled round by south
| | | | | | | | | to southwest; storm
| | | | | | | | | increased to
| | | | | | | | | hail-stones.
| | | | | | | | |
Molina | 22| 4.45 p.m.|19.160| 50| ... |...|...| ... |
Posta | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 7 p.m.| ...| 39| ... |...|...| SW. |Hail-stones half the
| | | | | | | | | size of peas.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 7 a.m.|19.222| 37| ... |...|...|SE., |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | |light|
| | | | | | | | |
Pancra | 23| 5 p.m.| ...|...| ... |...|...| SW. |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 6 p.m.| ...|...| ... |...|...| ... |Rain; thick clouds
| | | | | | | | | thunder and lightning
| | | | | | | | | in the north.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 6.30 a.m.|19.282| 35| ... |...| 32| ... |Cloudy, and thick frost.
| | | | | | | | |
Parcos | 24| 1.45 p.m.|19.490| 56| ... |...|...| ... |Thermometer in the shade
Posta | | | | | | | | | stands at 76°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 5 p.m.| ...| 43| ... |...| 39| SW. |Squalls of rain, with
| | | | | | | | | thunder and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 6 a.m.|19.468| 36| ... |...|...| ... |Calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 9.20 a.m.| ...| 48| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a spring,
| | | | | | | | | 52°.
| | | | | | | | |
Marcos | 25| 2.30 p.m.|20.238| 57| ... |...|...| NE. |Clear.
Posta | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 6 p.m.| ...|...| ... |...|...| SW. |Lightning, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | light rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 6.30 a.m.|20.258| 38| ... |...|...| ... |Clear; very little dew
| | | | | | | | | during the night.
| | | | | | | | |
Huanta | 26| 3 p.m.|22.068| 65| ... |...|...| ... |Light breezes.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 9.15 a.m.|22.286| 60| ... |...| 55| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 4 p.m.|22.092| 63| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 9 a.m.|22.224| 59| ... |...| 58| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 10 a.m.| ...|...|195.250| 59|...| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 5.30 p.m.|22.118| 62| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28|11.45 p.m.| ...|...| ... |...|...| ... |Clear night; the whole
| | | | | | | | | heavens are lighted
| | | | | | | | | up by lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9.20 a.m.|22.258| 60| ... |...| 56| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 3 p.m.|21.162| 62| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 7 a.m.|22.210| 59| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
On the road| 30| 3.40 p.m.|21.976| 75| ... |...|...| ... |These observations were
| | | | | | | | | taken at the bottom and
| | | | | | | | | top of a deep gully
| | | | | | | | | washed by the rains.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 4 p.m.|21.674| 71| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Ayacucho | 30|10.40 p.m.|21.976| 61| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 9 a.m.|22.006| 58| ... |...| 54| ... |Clear and calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. |Aug. 1| 9 a.m.|22.008| 59|194.250|...| 53| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 8.30 a.m.|21.936| 59| ... |...| 54| ... |Cumulus strata.
| | | | | | | | |
On the road| 4| 3.30 p.m.|21.246| 67| ... |...|...| NE. |Cumulus, 5; near
| | | | | | | | | Precervilca.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 6 a.m.|21.368| 43| ... |...|...| ... |Cumulus strata, 10.
| | | | | | | | |
Matara | 5| 3 p.m.|20.304| 60| ... |...|...| NE. |Cumulus clouds.
Posta | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 6.20 a.m.|20.338| 33| ... |...| 33| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Gorge in | 6| 10 a.m.|18.550| 46| ... |...|...| ... |
the Andes | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Near Rio | 6| 3.15 p.m.|22.780| 73| ... |...|...| ... |
Pampas | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 7.30 p.m.| ...| .| ... |...|...| ... |Lightning towards the
| | | | | | | | | east.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 7 a.m.|22.868| 52| ... |...|...| ... |Cumulus strata, 3.
| | | | | | | | |
Bombon | 7| 3 p.m.|21.534| 71| ... |...|...| ... |
Posta | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 7 a.m.|21.616| 52| ... |...| 51| ... |Cumulus strata, 10;
| | | | | | | | | calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Camp Ladron| 8| 2 p.m.|19.648| 50| ... |...|...| ... |Heavy fog clearing away.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 6.15 a.m.|19.692| 39| ... |...| 37| SE. |Snowing during the
| | | | | | | | | night.
| | | | | | | | |
Camp Corn | 9| 1 p.m.|20.598| 55| ... |...|...| ... |
Stalks | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 6.30 a.m.|20.528| 41| ... |...|...| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Andahuialas| 10|12.30 p.m.|21.468| 59| ... |...|...| ... |Cumulus cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 9 a.m.|21.536| 53| ... |...| 51| ... |Cumulus cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 9.45 a.m.| ...|...|192.500| 53|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 3.15 p.m.|21.478| 58| ... |...| 55| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 10 a.m.|21.592| 55| ... |...| 54| ... |Calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 3 p.m.|21.532| 59| ... |...| 55| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 7.15 a.m.|21.604| 53| ... |...| 51| ... |Cumulus clouds; calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Pincor | 13| 3.30 p.m.|22.364| 65| ... |...|...| ... |
Posta | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 6 a.m.|22.416| 38| ... |...| 36| ... |Cool morning; bright
| | | | | | | | | moonlight night, with
| | | | | | | | | dew.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 9 a.m.| ...| 60| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a spring,
| | | | | | | | | 46°.
| | | | | | | | |
Inca Fort | 14|10.30 a.m.|19.500| 59| ... |...|...| ... |
Quaramba | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Carquacahua| 15| 6.15 a.m.|21.932| 44| ... |...|...| ... |No water to take wet
Posta | | | | | | | | | bulb.
| | | | | | | | |
Abancay | 15| 1 p.m.|22.740| 77| ... |...|...| ... |Snow on the mountains in
| | | | | | | | | sight.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 7 a.m.|22.826| 57| ... |...| 49| E. |Cumulus, 8.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 5.30 p.m.| ...|...|196.250| 56|...| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 6 a.m.|22.840| 44| ... |...|...| ... |Warm sun and clear sky.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 9 a.m.| ...| 54| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a
| | | | | | | | | mountain stream, 46°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 11 a.m.| ...| 55| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of a spring,
| | | | | | | | | 54°; sun, 60°.
| | | | | | | | |
Hacienda | 17| 3.15 p.m.|22.224| 72| ... |...|...| NE. |Clear.
Lucmoj | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 5.45 a.m.|22.360| 53| ... |...| 47| ... |Cumulus strata, 9.
| | | | | | | | |
Apurimac | 18| 11 a.m.|24.578| 82| ... |...|...| ... |
river | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Banca Posta| 18| 2.10 p.m.|21.708| 78| ... |...|...| W. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 6.30 a.m.|21.816| 53| ... |...|...| ... |Cumulus strata.
| | | | | | | | |
Mollepata | 19|11.30 a.m.|21.776| 70| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 6 a.m.|21.776| 51| ... |...| 48| ... |Cumulus strata.
| | | | | | | | |
Lima-Tambo | 20|11.30 a.m.|22.000| 67| ... |...|...| ... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 5.45 a.m.|22.500| 52| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Near Sureti| 21|12.30 p.m.|20.388| 65| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 1.15 p.m.| ...| 41| ... |...|...| SE. |Heavy hail storm; stones
| | | | | | | | | soft, the size of peas.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 6.15 a.m.|20.450| 44| ... |...|...| ... |Cumulus strata.
| | | | | | | | |
Cuzco | 23| 8 a.m.|20.338| 57| ... |...| 55| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 9.30 a.m.|20.330| 56| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Near |Sept. | 6 a.m.|20.836| 50| ... |...|...| SE. |Cumulus, 9.
Urubamba | 17| | | | | | | |
river | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Paurcar- | 17| 6.30 p.m.|21.544| 56| ... |...|...| ... |
tambo | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 8 a.m.|21.546| 52| ... |...|...| ... |Cumulus.
| | | | | | | | |
Totora farm| 19| 5 p.m.|21.842| 68| ... |...|...| ... |Calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 5.45 a.m.|21.884| 45| ... |...|...| ... |Calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Top of | 20| 10 a.m.|20.170| 54| ... |...|...| E. |Thick fog passing over
eastern | | | | | | | | | the tops of the Andes;
ridge of | | | | | | | | | rain, and
Andes | | | | | | | | | thunder-claps.
| | | | | | | | |
Cherimayo | 20| 4 p.m.|24.044| 61| ... |...|...| ... |
creek | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 5.45 a.m.|24.088| 49| ... |...|...| ... |Dew falls heavy during
| | | | | | | | | the night.
| | | | | | | | |
Cueba farm | 21|12.40 p.m.|26.698| 74| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 6 a.m.|26.698| 62| ... |...|...| ... |Foggy and calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 9.45 a.m.| ...| 74| ... |...|...| ... |Temperature of Rio Tono
| | | | | | | | | water 63°.
| | | | | | | | |
St. Miguel | 22|12.45 p.m.|27.918| 81| ... |...|...| ... |Cumulus.
farm | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 7.30 a.m.|28.038| 68| ... |...|...| ... |Cumulus, calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Chuncho's | 25| 9 a.m.| ...| 77| ... |...|...| ... |
Territory | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 10 a.m.| ...|...| ... |...|...| ... |Thermometer in the sun,
| | | | | | | | | 92°; temperature of
| | | | | | | | | Tono river water, 72°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 4.30 p.m.|28.338| 74| ... |...|...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 1 p.m.| ...|...| ... |...|...| ... |Thermometer in the sun,
| | | | | | | | | 100°; temperature of
| | | | | | | | | Cotnipata river water,
| | | | | | | | | 70°; cumulus, 3.
| | | | | | | | |
River |Oct. 1| Sundown|28.372| 72| ... |...|...| ... |
Piffipiffi| | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Head of | 2| 9 a.m.|28.594| 74| ... |...|...| ... |Cloudy.
river | | | | | | | | |
Madre de | | | | | | | | |
Dios, or | | | | | | | | |
Purus | | | | | | | | |
-----------+------+----------+------+---+-------+---+---+-----+------------------------
Extract from Padre Revello's journal at San Maguil farm.
Wind-force.|
Wet bulb.| |
Fah. Therm.| | |
Boiling Point.| | | |
Fah. Therm.| | | | |
Barometer.| | | | | |
Locality. | Date. | Hour. | | | | | | | Remarks.
-----------+-------+----------+---+---+-------+---+---+-------+---------------------
| 1850 | | | ° | | ° | ° | |
San Maguil | Jan. 1| 2 p.m.|...| 86| ...|...|...|... |
farm | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 9 a.m.|...| 72| ...|...|...|... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 2 p.m.|...| 86| ...|...|...|... |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...| 72| ...|...|...|... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 2 p.m.|...| 86| ...|...|...|... |At mid-day raining
| | | | | | | | | in the Cerros to
| | | | | | | | | northwest.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | Feb. 1| ...|...|...| ...|...|...|... |Cloudy and sunshine.
| | | | | | | | |
| 1851 | | | | | | | |
Do. |Mar. 24| ...|...|...| ...|...|...|E. |Heavy rain and gale.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | May| ...|...|...| ...|...|...|... |At night, thermometer°;
| | | | | | | | | 68°; morning, 72°;
| | | | | | | | | afternoon, 80°;
| | | | | | | | | sundown, 72°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | June 8| ...|...|...| ...|...|...|SE. |Gale, with thunder,
| | | | | | | | | lightning, and rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| ...|...| 68| ...|...|...|E. |Raining all day.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | July 1| Daylight|...| 66| ...|...|...|... |Sundown, 74°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 1| 2 p.m.|...| 81| ...|...|...|... |
| | | | | | | | |
Cuzco | Oct.25| 6.15 a.m.|...|...|191.500| 59|...|... |
| | | | | | | | |
Santa Rosa | Nov. 2| 6 p.m.|...|...|187.750| 50|...|E. |Fresh; cumulus clouds.
| | | | | | | | |
Ayavire | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...|188.250| 57| 52|... |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Pucará | 5| 5 p.m.|...|...|188.250| 58| 50|... |Thunder in the north.
| | | | | | | | |
Lampa | 6| 6.30 p.m.|...|...|188.250| 53| 45|E. |Cold and cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Caracota | 8| 4.30 p.m.|...|...|188.500| 59| 44|... |
| | | | | | | | |
Puno, near | 10|12.30 p.m.|...|...|188.500| 54|...|E. |Cumulus strata.
Lake | | | | | | | | |
Titicaca | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 54| 50|E. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 56| 50|E. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 48|E. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 59| 49|E. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 56| 48|E. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 65| 51|E. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 56| 49|E. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 59| 51|E. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Chueinto | 15| 5.15 p.m.|...|...|188.250| 56| 49|E., |Temperature of Titicaca
| | | | | | | | fresh | lake water, 64°;
| | | | | | | | | thunder in the north,
| | | | | | | | | with heavy rain-storm
| | | | | | | | | there.
| | | | | | | | |
Ylave | 16| 6.30 p.m.|...|...|188.750| 60| 48|NW. |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | chain-lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 7.30 a.m.|...|...| ...| 50| 43|... |Clear and calm: no dew
| | | | | | | | | or frost.
| | | | | | | | |
Juli | 17| 5.30 p.m.|...|...|188.500| 56| 46|... |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 7 a.m.|...|...| ...| 45| 38|E. |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 9.15 a.m.|...|...| ...| 56|...|... |Temperature of water of
| | | | | | | | | a stream flowing into
| | | | | | | | | Lake Titicaca, 50°.
| | | | | | | | |
Tambillo | 18| 5 p.m.|...|...|188.750| 58| 45|N. |Cumulus.
Posta | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Zepita | 19| 6 p.m.|...|...|189.000| 57| 50|E. |Cumulus.
Posta | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
BOLIVIA. | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Huaqui | 20| 3.30 p.m.|...|...|188.750| 56| 45|E. |Cumulus, 5.
| | | | | | | | |
Tambillo | 21| 4.20 p.m.|...|...|188.500| 58| 46|W., |Appearances of rain.
Posta | | | | | | | | fresh |
| | | | | | | | |
La Paz | 27| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 52| 48|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 52|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 10 a.m.|...|...|188.800| 56| 51|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 59| 54|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 52| 48|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 56| 48|NW. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 54| 50|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 53|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | Dec. 1| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 53| 48|SE. |Light rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 1| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 55| 51|SE. |Cumulus.
| | | | | | | | |
Ventilla | 2| 3.30 p.m.|...|...|188.000| 52| 42|SE. |Cumulus strata.
Posta | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Calamarca | 3| 3.45 p.m.|...|...|187.500| 49| 40|SE. |Rain-storm; thunder and
| | | | | | | | | lightning; wind hauls
| | | | | | | | | by south to west.
| | | | | | | | |
Chicta | 4| 5 p.m.|...|...|188.750| 58| 42|SE. |
Posta | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Aroma | 5| 4 p.m.|...|...|189.400| 57| 46|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Caracollo | 6| 5 p.m.|...|...|189.000| 60| 42|... |Cumulus.
| | | | | | | | |
Condor- | 7| 4 p.m.|...|...|188.800| 59| 46|... |
chenoca | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
On the road| 8| 10 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60|...|... |Temperature of a
| | | | | | | | | spring, 68°.
| | | | | | | | |
Challa | 8| 5.30 p.m.|...|...|188.000| 59| 46|... |Cumulus.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 7 a.m.|...|...| ...| 41| 36|... |Clear, with heavy
| | | | | | | | | frost, and calm.
| | | | | | | | |
Edge of | 9| 11 a.m.|...|...| ...|...| 66|... |Temperature of a
Madeira | | | | | | | | | mountain stream, 107°;
Plate | | | | | | | | | another flowing into
| | | | | | | | | it, 70°, and the
| | | | | | | | | mingled waters, 104°.
| | | | | | | | |
Tapacari | 9| 2.30 p.m.|...|...|194.400| 72| 60|... |Cumulus, 6.
| | | | | | | | |
On the road| 9| 3.30 p.m.|...|...| ...|...|...|... |Rain; hailstones as
| | | | | | | | | large as peas; heavy
| | | | | | | | | claps of thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | chain-lightning close
| | | | | | | | | about the expedition.
| | | | | | | | |
Zizque | 10| 8 a.m.|...|...|196.750| 70| 61|... |Clear and calm,
| | | | | | | | | moonlight night.
| | | | | | | | |
Cochabamba | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 60|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 60|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 58|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 56|SE. |Raining at mid-day.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 62|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 61|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 61|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 69| 61|NE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 64|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 60|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 62|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 58|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 60|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 60|SE. |Cloudy; for the last
| | | | | | | | | eight days lightning
| | | | | | | | | has been flashing at
| | | | | | | | | night towards the
| | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 64|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 61|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 64|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21|11.45 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72|...|SE. |One heavy shock of an
| | | | | | | | | earthquake; atmosphere
| | | | | | | | | impregnated with
| | | | | | | | | sulphur.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 56|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 62|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 64|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 5.30 p.m.|...|...| ...|...|...|SE., |Rain-storm.
| | | | | | | |fresh |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 66|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 64|SW. |Foggy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25|12.45 p.m.|...|...| ...|...|...|SE. |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 60|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|SW. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 63|NE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 60|NE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 60|NE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 60|NE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 11 a.m.|...|...|196.250| 72|...|... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 63|... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 60|NE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 60|NE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 58|NE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 60|... |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 60|SE. |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 58|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
| 1852 | | | | | | | |
Do. | Jan. 1| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 58|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 1| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 71| 63|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 59| 54|SE. |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 62|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 58|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 71| 63|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 59|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 62|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 71| 62|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 59|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 58|SE. |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 61|SW. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 60|SE. |Rain during the night.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 61|NW. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|NW. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 65| 60|NW. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 73| 60|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 55|SE. |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 58|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 58|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 62|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 68|SE., 5 |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 64|SW., 5 |Passing temporary
| | | | | | | | | showers.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 55| 55|SE., 5 |Lightning; small drops
| | | | | | | | | of rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 66|SW., 1 |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 60|SE., 1 |Continued rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 64|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 60|Calm |Lightning, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 64|SE., 1 |Lightning, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | passing showers.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 64|SE., 1 |Thunder and rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 64|SE., 1 |Cloudy and thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 61|SE., 2 |Lightning, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | passing clouds.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 59|SE., 4 |Gloomy; thunder,
| | | | | | | | | lightning, and rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 59|SW., 1 |Misty; thunder and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 64|SE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|SW., 1 |Thunder, lightning, and
| | | | | | | | | cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 63|Calm |Thunder and cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 58|SW. |Thunder and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 64|SE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 59|SW., 1 |Lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 64|SW., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 57| 56|SW., 1 |Lightning and thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 60|SW., 1 |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 59|SE., 1 |Rain, lightning, and
| | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|NE., 1 |Drizzling rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 58|SW., 1 |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 60|SW., 1 |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 60|SW., 1 |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 71| 67|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 58|Calm |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 62|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 55| 60|SW. |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 59| 57|Calm |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 59| 57|SW., 2 |Passing showers.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 69| 62|NE., 1 |Misty.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 56|Calm |Blue sky, with hazy
| | | | | | | | | atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 69| 59|SW. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | Feb. 1| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 58|NE., 1 |Passing clouds, with
| | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 1| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 63|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 65| 61|Calm |Cloudy, with thunder;
| | | | | | | | | rain and hail— large
| | | | | | | | | stones.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 69| 63|SE., 6 |Large drops of rain,
| | | | | | | | | and thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 54| 54|SW., 5 |Rain, hail, thunder,
| | | | | | | | | and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 61| 59|Calm |Continued rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 58|SE., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 61|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 56|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 59|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|E., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 71| 63|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 62|SE., 1 |Cloudy; shower from
| | | | | | | | | northeast.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 64|NW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 60|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 63|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|SE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 68|SW., 2 |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|SW., 2 |Cloudy; lightning and
| | | | | | | | | thunder, and shower of
| | | | | | | | | rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|SE., 3 |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 60|SW., 1 |Cloudy; thunder and
| | | | | | | | | chain lightning;
| | | | | | | | | snowing on the
| | | | | | | | | mountains.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|SE., 4 |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 60|Calm |Cloudy; thunder and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 63|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 61|SE., 3 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 63|NE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 61|SE., 5 |Rain; large drops.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 73| 64|SE., 3 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 58|Calm |Cloudy; lightning to
| | | | | | | | | the northward and
| | | | | | | | | eastward, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 73| 63|SW., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 58|Calm |Cloudy; thunder and
| | | | | | | | | lightning; rain on the
| | | | | | | | | mountains.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 61|SE., 4 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 59| 59|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 63|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 56| 57|Calm |Rain, lightning, and
| | | | | | | | | foggy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 69| 61|SE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 60|SW., 1 |Cloudy; lightning, with
| | | | | | | | | rain on the mountains.
| | | | | | | | |Cloudy; lightning, with
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 64|SW., 5 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|Calm |Cloudy; rain, thunder,
| | | | | | | | | and chain lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 64|SE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 59|Calm |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 69| 62|SE., 6 |Squally and gloomy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 59|Calm |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 60|SE., 6 |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 60|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 63|SE., 3 |Rain and thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 60|SE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 63|SW., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 57|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 62|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 59|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 64|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 61| 60|NE., 1 |Rain and thunder on the
| | | | | | | | | mountains.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 65| 61|NE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 61| 59|SE., 1 |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 63|NE., 1 |Cloudy; rain on the
| | | | | | | | | mountains to the
| | | | | | | | | northwest.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 61|SE., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 66|SW., 3 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | Mar. 1| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 63|Calm |Rain, lightning, and
| | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 1| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 77| 67|SW., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 62|Calm |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 63|NW., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 56| 56|Calm |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 62|NW., 1 |Cloudy; lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|SE., 1 |Cloudy at 8.45; slight
| | | | | | | | | shock of an earthquake.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 64|SE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 62|SE., 1 |Cloudy; lightning and
| | | | | | | | | thunder—passing
| | | | | | | | | showers.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 65|SW., 2 |Cloudy; thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 59|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 63|NE., 1 |Cloudy at 7 p.m.;
| | | | | | | | | bright meteor in the
| | | | | | | | | north
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 60|NE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 63|Calm |Cloudy; heavy gale from
| | | | | | | | | southeast during the
| | | | | | | | | night, accompanied with
| | | | | | | | | thunder and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 65| 60|SE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 64|W., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 64|NE., 1 |Foggy; during the night
| | | | | | | | | a heavy gale of wind
| | | | | | | | | from southeast, but no
| | | | | | | | | rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 68|NW., 1 |Foggy; during the night
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 61|Calm |Cloudy; snowing on the
| | | | | | | | | mountains.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 64|SW., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 59|NE. |Cloudy and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 64|NE., 3 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 65| 60|Calm |Cloudy; slight shower of
| | | | | | | | |rain from northwest.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 67| 66|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 62|SE., 2 |Cloudy; rain and
| | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 75| 64|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 61|Calm |Lightning, with light
| | | | | | | | | rain showers.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 63|SW., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 59|NE., 1 |Cloudy, with rain storm
| | | | | | | | | on the mountains.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 66|SE., 3 |Thunder and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 61|Calm |Thunder and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 64|NE., 2 |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 65| 62|SE., 2 |Thunder— passing
| | | | | | | | | showers.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 66|NW., 1 |Lightning, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | passing showers.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 65| 62|SW., 1 |Cloudy; lightning and
| | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 66|NE., 2 |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 56|NE., 1 |Rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 60|SW., 1 |Cloudy; heavy rain
| | | | | | | | | during the night.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 54| 56|NE., 1 |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 58|Calm |Overcast.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 56| 58|Calm |Cloudy; rain during the
| | | | | | | | | night.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 58|Calm |Cloudy; much snow on
| | | | | | | | | the mountains.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 56| 54|NE., 1 |Overcast.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 56|SE. 3 |Rain and thunder during
| | | | | | | | | the whole night.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 50| 50|SE., 1 |Rain and gloomy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 55|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 57|SE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 59|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 11 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 62|SE., 3 |Cloudy; rain and snow
| | | | | | | | | storms on the
| | | | | | | | | mountains.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 60|SE., 6 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 58|SE., 1 |Cloudy, with passing
| | | | | | | | | showers —small drops.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 60|NE., 1 |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|NE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 61|Calm |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 55| 57|SE., 2 |Rain and gloomy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 66| 60|Calm |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 62|Calm |Cloudy, with lightning
| | | | | | | | | and rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 57| 58|Calm |Foggy, rain and
| | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 59| 57|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 59|SE., 1 |Cloudy round the
| | | | | | | | | mountain tops.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 62|Calm |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | Apr. 1| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 54| 54|NW., 3 |Rain; a heavy fall of
| | | | | | | | | snow on the mountains
| | | | | | | | | to the NW.; snow line a
| | | | | | | | | third below the summit.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 1| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 60|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 58|SW., 1 |Cloudy round the
| | | | | | | | | mountain tops; blue sky
| | | | | | | | | ove the city.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 73| 60|SW., 1 |Cloudy round the
| | | | | | | | | mountain tops, and
| | | | | | | | | clear in the valley.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 56|Calm |Blue sky, with misty
| | | | | | | | | atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 61|SW., 1 |Blue sky, with hazy
| | | | | | | | | atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|Calm |Blue sky, with hazy
| | | | | | | | | atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 77| 67|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 56|SE., 1 |Rain, lightning, and
| | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 64|NW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|SW., 1 |Lightning, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | wet dew.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 66|NE., 1 |Misty.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 61|Calm |Wet dew during the
| | | | | | | | | night; gale of wind,
| | | | | | | | | with rain, thunder, and
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 68|NE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 60|Calm |Rain, lightning, and
| | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 64|SW., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 59|NE., 1 |Blue sky during the
| | | | | | | | | day, and wet dew at
| | | | | | | | | night.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 66|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 61| 60|Calm |Cloudy, with hail
| | | | | | | | | storm— stones as large
| | | | | | | | | as peas.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 62|SE., 4 |Rain, lightning, and
| | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 56|SE., 1 |Wet dew.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 79| 67|NE., 1 |Lightning and thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 61| 62|NE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|NE., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 58|NE., 1 |Lightning; wet dew.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 61|SW., 1 |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 58|NE., 1 |Wet dew, and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 63|Calm |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|SW., 2 |Wet dew and lightning;
| | | | | | | | | very little snow on the
| | | | | | | | | mountains.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 64|SW., 3 |Cloudy; lightning
| | | | | | | | | towards the NE.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 58|NE., 1 |Wet dew and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 62|Calm |Cloudy. Blue sky, not a
| | | | | | | | | cloud to be seen.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 82| 64|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 61|SW., 2 |Cloudy; rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 78|NW., 3 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 60|SW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 62|SW., 2 |Cloudy; slight showers;
| | | | | | | | | lightning and thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 61|NW., 1 |Passing clouds.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 61|SW., 1 |Blue sky and wet dew.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 84| 61|NW., 1 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 59|SW., 1 |Cloudy; heavy dew
| | | | | | | | | during the night.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78| 61|SW., 2 |Cloudy; lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64| 62|SW., 1 |Cloudy, with lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 66|NE., 1 |Cloudy, with thunder;
| | | | | | | | | no dew during the
| | | | | | | | | night.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 61|Calm |Cloudy, with lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 62|SE., 2 |Rain and thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 58|SW., 3 |Wet dew and lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 60|SE., 2 |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 60| 59|SE., 1 |Cloudy, with lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 62|SE., 1 |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 58| 56|Calm |Wet dew, with lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 58|Calm |Cloudy, with thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Lake Uara- | 28|10.30 a.m.|...|...|187.800| 54|...|... |
Uara | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Cochabamba | 28| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 72| 62|SE., 1 |Cloudy and misty.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62| 60|SE., 1 |Wet dew; cloudy, with
| | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70| 60|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63| 60|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 64|SW., 2 |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Hacienda | May 13| 5.30 p.m.|...|...|191.500| 55| 53|NE., 6 |Cold, frosty weather.
Colomi | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Peach | 14| 5.30 p.m.|...|...|197.000| 58| 57|Calm |Cloudy; heavy dew falls
Orchard | | | | | | | | | at night.
| | | | | | | | |
Liactahuasi| 15| 4 p.m.|...|...|201.500| 70| 71|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
On the road| 16| 5 p.m.|...|...|201.750| 72| 66|Calm |
down the | | | | | | | | |
eastern | | | | | | | | |
side of | | | | | | | | |
the Andes | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Indian hut,| 17| 5 p.m.|...|...|205.750| 70| 65|Light |Foggy.
near | | | | | | | | airs |
Espiritu | | | | | | | | |
Santo | | | | | | | | |
Creek | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Espiritu | 18| 3 p.m.|...|...|206.500| 73| 71|Light |Cloudy.
Santo | | | | | | | | airs |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 68| 66|Calm |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
In the | 20| 5 p.m.|...|...|208.250| 74| 74|Calm |Cloudy.
woods, | | | | | | | | |
near | | | | | | | | |
Paracti | | | | | | | | |
river | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
St. Antonio| 21| 5 p.m.|...|...|208.500| 74| 75|Calm |Cloudy; temperature of
| | | | | | | | | river water, 70°.
| | | | | | | | |
Chaparé | 27| 9.30 a.m.|...|...|209.500| 75| 74|Vari- |Temperature of river
river | | | | | | | | able | water, 74°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 9.30 a.m.|...|...|209.600| 76| 74|... |Temperature of river
| | | | | | | | | water, 71°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9.30 a.m.|...|...|209.750| 82| 74|N. |Cloudy; temperature of
| | | | | | | | | river water, 73°.
| | | | | | | | |
Mamoré | 30| 9 a.m.|...|...|209.750| 73| 70|E. |Rain; temperature of
river | | | | | | | | | river water, 75°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76| 73|Calm |Cloudy; rain and rainbow
| | | | | | | | | to the eastward.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 74| 69|E. |Temperature of river
| | | | | | | | | water, 76°.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80| 74|E. |Cumulus.
| | | | | | | | |
-----------+-------+----------+---+---+-------+---+---+-------+---------------------
METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.—Continued.
Wind-force.|
Wet bulb.| |
Fah. Therm.| | |
Boiling Point.| | | |
Fah. Therm.| | | | |
Barometer.| | | | | |
Locality. | Date. | Hour. | | | | | | | Remarks.
-----------+-------+----------+---+---+-------+---+---+----------+---------------------
Therm. broken.
Trinidad |June 2 | 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|84 |...|NE., light|Clear
de Mojos | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|87 |...|NE., light|Cumulus, 5.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|84 |...|NE., light|Cumulus, 2.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|88 |...|NE., light|Cumulus, 7.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|83 |...|NE., fresh|Cumulus, strata, 9.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|89 |...|NW., fresh|Cumulus strata, 4;
| | | | | | | | | cloudy night.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|83 |...|NW., fresh|Cumulus strata, 4.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 2 p.m.|...|...| ...|83 |...|NW. |Rain.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|86 |...|NW. |Cumulus, 9; first
| | | | | | | | | part of the night
| | | | | | | | | clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|82 |...|NW., fresh|
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|90 |...|NW. |Cloudy; first part of
| | | | | | | | | the night clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|82 |...|NW., fresh|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|84 |...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 3.30 p.m.|...|...| ...|77 |...|SE. |Rain and thunder.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| ... |...|...| ...|...|...|S. |First part of the day
| | | | | | | | | clear and calm;
| | | | | | | | | latter part cool.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 9 a.m.|...|...|209.850|74 |...|S. |Cumulus clouds.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|81 |...|N. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|91 |...|Calm |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 1 p.m.|...|...| ...|...|...| ... |Shower from
| | | | | | | | | southeast.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|88 |...|SE. |Misty atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|81 |...|SE., light|Cumulus clouds; night
| | | | | | | | | clear and pleasant.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|84 |...|NE., light|Clear blue sky.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 11 a.m.|...|...| ...|...|...|NW., fresh|
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|89 |...|NW., fresh|Cumulus, 4.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|80 |...|SE. |At daylight a thick
| | | | | | | | | fog.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|85 |...|SE., fresh|Hazy atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|71 |...|S. |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|85 |...|S., light |Night clear and cool.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|73 |...|S. |Overcast.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|86 |...|S. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|71 |...|SE., light|At daylight foggy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|82 |...|SE. |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|69 |...|SE. |Overcast.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|70 |...|SE. |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|66 |...|SE. |Overcast.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|78 |...|SE. |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|67 |...|Calm |Misty.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 12 p.m.|...|...| ...|...|...|NW. |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|86 |...|NW., fresh|
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|73 |...|SE., fresh|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|79 |...|SE., fresh|First part of the
| | | | | | | | | night calm and
| | | | | | | | | clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|76 |...|SE. |Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 3 p.m |...|...| ...|88 |...|SE., light|
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|82 |...|SE., light|Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|87 |...| ... |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|76 |...|NW., light|
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|82 |...|NW., light|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|75 |...|N., light |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|82 |...|NE., light|Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|76 |...|SE., light|Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|81 |...|SE., light|Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|76 |...|SE., light|Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|82 |...|NE., fresh|Hazy atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|80 |...|NE., light|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|81 |...|Calm |
| | | | | | | | |
Do. |July 1 | 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|76 |...|SE., light|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 1| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|84 |...|NW., fresh|Hazy atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|76 |...|NW. |Hazy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|82 |...|NW. |Hazy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|77 |...|NW., fresh|Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|85 |...|NW., fresh|Clear.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|76 |...|NE., fresh|Cumulus clouds.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|85 |...|NE., fresh|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|77 |...|NW., fresh|
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|88 |...|NW., fresh|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|80 |...|NW., fresh|
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|74 |...|SE. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|62 |...|SW. |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|64 |...|SW. |Overcast.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...|66 |...|Calm |Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...|72 |...|SW. |
| | | | | | | | |
METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.—Continued.
Temp. of river water.|
Wind-force.| |
| | |
Wet bulb.| | |
| | | |
Fah. Therm.| | | |
| | | | |
Boiling Point| | | | |
| | | | | |
Fah. Therm.| | | | | |
| | | | | | |
Barometer.| | | | | | |
| | | | | | |
Locality. Date.| Hour. | | | | | | | | Remarks.
------------+------+---------+---+---+-------+---+---+----------+---+----------------
| 1852 | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Trinidad |July 9| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 65|...|SW., light|...|Cloudy.
de Mojos | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 68|...|SW. |...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64|...|SE. |...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 67|...|SE., fresh|...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62|...|SE. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 67|...|SE. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 63|...|SE. |...|Pleasant.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 73|...|SE. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 67|...|SE. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76|...|NW. |...|Heavy dew during
| | | | | | | | | | the night.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72|...|NE. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 82|...|NW. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 73|...|NW. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 15| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 84|...|Calm |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 87|...|NW. |...|Cumulus clouds.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 16| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 81|...|NW. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 74|...|NW. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 84|...|NW. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 78|...|NW. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 18| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|NW., fresh|...|Hazy atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72|...|SE., fresh|...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78|...|SE. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72|...|Calm |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 85|...|NW. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 79|...|NW. |...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 84|...|NW. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 79|...|NW. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|NW. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 69|...|SE. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 77|...|SE., fresh|...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 66|...|SE., fresh|...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 70|...|SE. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 66|...|SE., fresh|...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76|...|SE. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 67|...|NW. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 82|...|NW. |...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 74|...|SE. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 27| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 83|...|NE. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 72|...|SE., fresh|...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 28| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76|...|SE., fresh|...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 70|...|SE. |...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 29| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 78|...|SE. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 74|...|SE. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 30| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 84|...|NW. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 79|...|SW. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 31| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|NW. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. |Aug. 1| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 79|...|Calm |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 1| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 88|...|Calm |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 80|...|NW. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 90|...|NW. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 80|...|W. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 89|...|NW. |...|Hazy atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 82|...|NW., fresh|...|Clear sky.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 88|...|NW., fresh|...|Clear sky.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 73|...|SE. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 81|...|SE. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 73|...|SE. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 82|...|SE., fresh|...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 75|...|SE. |...|Hazy atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 87|...|NE. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 80|...|SE., fresh|...|Clear sky.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 85|...|SE. |...|Heavy dew during
| | | | | | | | | | the night.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 75|...|SE., fresh|...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 81|...|SE. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 76|...|SE. |...|Hazy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 84|...|SE. |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 74|...|SE., fresh|...|Hazy atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 81|...|SE., fresh|...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 73|...|SE., fresh|...|Hazy atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 82|...|SE. |...|Hazy atmosphere.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 74|...|SW. |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 85|...|NW. |...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Mouth of | 18| 6 a.m.|...|...|210.120| 74|...|Calm | 76|
the Yvaré | | | | | | | | | |
river | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Mamoré river| 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 80|...|SE. | 78|Thunder, and light
| | | | | | | | | | shower of rain.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 88|...|NW. | 78|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 82|...|NW. | 78|Lightning to the
| | | | | | | | | |southeast.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 20| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 91|...|N. | 79|Thunder to the
| | | | | | | | | | south.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 9 a.m.|...|...|210,250| 89|...|N. | 79|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 77|...|SE. | 78|Heavy showers of
| | | | | | | | | | rain.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 22| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 69|...|SE. | 74|Gale of wind.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 62|...|SE. | 74|Heavy "pampero;"
| | | | | | | | | | rain and
| | | | | | | | | | lightning.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 23| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 61|...|SE. | 73|Cloudy; rain
| | | | | | | | | | during the
| | | | | | | | | | night.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 9 a.m.|...|...|210.250| 64|...|SE. | 72|
| | | | | | | | | |
Exaltacion | 25| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 93|...|SW. | 78|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 26| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 78|...|SE., light| 76|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Mamoré river|Sept 1| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 88|...|S., light | 79|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 1| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 88|...|Calm. | 79|Thunder to the
| | | | | | | | | | north.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 78|...|SE. | 78|Rain, thunder,
| | | | | | | | | | and lightning.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 2| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 73|...|SE. | 77|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 3| 8 a.m.|...|...|210.250| 72|...|E. | 78|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 78|...|SE., light| 77|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 80|...|N. | 78|Lightning in the
| | | | | | | | | | north.
| | | | | | | | | |
Itenez river| 5| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 80|...|N. | 81|Heavy dew during
| | | | | | | | | | the night.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 5| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|Calm. | 81|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6|8.30 a.m.|...|...|210.370| 85|...|Calm. | 81|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 6| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 89|...|NW. | 88|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 7| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 82|...|NW. | 82|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
BRAZIL. | | ...|...|...| ...|...|...|... |...|
| | | | | | | | | |
Forte do | 8| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 89|...|SE., fresh|...|Cloudy.
Principe | | | | | | | | | |
da Beira | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. do. | 9| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 64|...|SE., fresh|...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. do. | 9| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 64|...|SE. |...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. do. | 10| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 68|...|SE., fresh|...|Rain during the
| | | | | | | | | | morning.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. do. | 10| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 76|...|SE., light|...|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. do. | 11| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 73|...|SE., light|...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. do. | 11| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 84|...|... |...|
Do. do. | 12| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 78|...|SE., light|...|
Do. do. | 12| 2 p.m.|...|...|210.120| 91|...|N., light |...|
Do. do. | 12| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 92|...|NE. |...|
Do. do. | 13| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 84|...|N., fresh |...|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Mamoré river| 17| 9 a.m.|...|...|210.370| 78|...|SE. | 79|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 17| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 87|...|SE. | 80|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 82|...|Calm | 81|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 87|...|N., fresh | 80|Thunder-gust
| | | | | | | | | | passed to south
| | | | | | | | | | of the party.
| | | | | | | | | |
Guajará-assú| 20| 3 p.m.|...|...|210.500| 83|...|NE. | 81|Heavy rain and
falls—foot | | | | | | | | | | thunder-gust
| | | | | | | | | | passed over head.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 21| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 85|...|S. | 81|
| | | | | | | | | |
Foot of | 22| 9 a.m.|...|...|210.500| 81|...|N. | 81|
Pau-Grande | | | | | | | | | |
rapids | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Mouth of | | ...|...|...| ...|...|...|... | 83|
Mamoré | | | | | | | | | |
river | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Mouth of | | ...|...|...| ...|...|...|... | 82|
Beni river | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Madeira | 22| 4 p.m.|...|...| ...| 91|...|Calm | 82|Heavy dew at
river—foot | | | | | | | | | | night.
of Madeira | | | | | | | | | |
falls | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Ribeirao | 24| 1 p.m.|...|...| ...|...|...|N. |...|Rain and thunder.
falls | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 24| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|Calm | 83|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 84|...|N. | 82|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25| 2 p.m.|...|...| ...|...|...|N. |...|Thunder to the
| | | | | | | | | | northeast. Passed
| | | | | | | | | | Abuna creek.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 25|3.30 p.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|North'ly | 82|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | airs. | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Foot of | 26| 9 a.m.|...|...|210.750| 82|...|NE. airs | 82|Clear.
Pedreneira | | | | | | | | | |
falls | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Trez Irmaós | 27| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 85|...|Calm | 84|Cloudy.
rapids | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Foot of | 28| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 99|...|NE. | 86|Cloudy.
Giran falls| | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Below | 29| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 85|...|Calm | 84|Clear.
Caldeiráo | | | | | | | | | |
do Inferno | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Salto do | 30| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 87|...|SW., | 85|Cloudy.
Teotoni | | | | | | | | strong | |
falls | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Madeira |Oct. 2| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|... | 84|
river, | | | | | | | | | |
below all | | | | | | | | | |
the falls | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | |
Tamandua | 3| 9 a.m.|...|...|210.870| 82|...|NE., fresh|...|Big drops of heavy
island | | | | | | | | | | rain; sharp
| | | | | | | | | | lightning and
| | | | | | | | | | thunder.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 88|...|NE., light| 87|Cloudy;
| | | | | | | | | | temperature of a
| | | | | | | | | | green water
| | | | | | | | | | stream entering
| | | | | | | | | | on the east side,
| | | | | | | | | | 87°.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 4| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|NE. | 84|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Crato | 7| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 92|...|Calm | 86|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 83|...|Calm | 85|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 8| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 88|...|NE. | 86|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 9| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 85|...|NE. | 86|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 84|...|NE. | 86|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 10| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 90|...|NE. | 86|
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 11| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 89|...|NE. | 86|Thunder to the
| | | | | | | | | | northeast.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 83|...|NE. | 86|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 12| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 89|...|NE. | 87|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Madeira | 13|7.30 a.m.|...|...|210.870| 83|...|Calm | 86|Clear.
river | | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 13| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 96|...|Calm | 86|Cloudy.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 14| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 95|...|NE., light| 88|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 88|...|N., light | 87|Clear.
| | | | | | | | | |
Do. | 19| 3 p.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|NE. | 88|Heavy gust of
| | | | | | | | | | wind; thunder
| | | | | | | | | | to northeast.
| | | | | | | | | |
Mouth of | 20| 9 a.m.|...|...| ...| 86|...|NE., fresh| 88|Heavy dew during
Madeira | | | | | | | | | | the night.
river | | | | | | | | | |
------------+------+---------+---+---+-------+---+---+----------+---+----------------
Table of distances in South Peru, by government measurement.
Leagues.
From _Cuzco_[2] to Isco-chaca 4
Surite 3
Lima-Tambo 6
Mollepata 4
La Banca 4
Curahuasi 5
Abancay 6
Carhuacahua 5
Huancarama 3
Pincos 4
Argama 3
Andahuailas 3
Moyobamba 4
Uripa 6
Bombon 3
Ocros 9
Matará 3
Pucuvilca 5
_Ayacucho_ 4
---
84
Huanta 6
Marcas 6
Parcos 6
Paucará 4
_Huancavelica_ 10
---
116
Cotay 10
Turpo 6
Viñac 8
Lunahuana 13
Asia 15
Chilca 8
Lurin 7
_Lima_ 6
---
189
---
Oropesa 4
San Rogue 3
Quiquijana 5
Checcacupe 5
Cacha 4
Sicuani 3
Agua Caliente 5
Santa Rosa 8
Ayavire 8
Pucará 6
Lampa 9
Juliaca 7
Caracoto 2
Paucarcolla 5
_Puno_ 3
---
77
From _Puno_ to Chucuito 4
Acora 3
Ylave 5
Juli 5
Pomata 4
Tambillo 3
Zepita 4
Desaguedere 2
---
30
---
From _Cuzco_ to Oropesa 4
San Rogue 3
Quiguijana 5
Checcapue 5
Cacha 4
Sicuani 3
Langui 5
Laurayani 6
Huichuma 6
Ocoruro 9
Rinconada 3
Ruminuasi 7
Ayavirine 5
Colca 4
Huallata 8
Apo 6
Cangallo 7
_Arequipa_ 5
---
95
From _Arequipa_ to Tambo 24
Morro 10
Puquina 14
Moquegua 2
Sitana 12
Sama 9
Tacna 9
Arica 12
Chaca 10
Camarones 9
Chesa 7
Aroma 21
Trapacá 6
---
145
---
From _Puno_ to Paucarcolla 3
Caracoto 5
Lampa 9
Azángaro 15
_Crucero_—capital
of Carabaya 16
---
48
---
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Williams's edition of the Life and Actions of Alexander
the Great.
[2] Capitals of Departments in _italics_.
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
The following lists possible misspellings, different names for the
same person/place/thing, or people/places/things with close spelling
differences in their names.
Arares, Araras
broad cloth, broadcloth, broad-cloth
cacique, casique
Canichanas, Canichanos
canoe-men, canoemen
Caracoto, Caracota
Carhuacahua, Carquacahua
Checcacappa, Checcacupe, Checcapue
Chucuito, Chueinnto, Chuiento
cinnibar, cinnebar, cinnabar
Condorchenoca, Condorchinoca
Cornelio, Cornello
Cosnipata, Cotnipata
Cuayaba, Cuyaba
Cuyavabos, Cayavabos
Desaguedero, Desaguedere
door-way, doorway
earthern, earthen
Ecuador, Equador
Escuchaca, Iscuchaca
glass-ware, glassware
granadillos, granadillas
Guajará-assu, Guajaréa-assú, Guajará-assú
guanacos, huanacos
Guaporé, Guapore
horse-shoes, horseshoes
Lima-Tambo, Limatambo
Llactahuasi, Liactahuasi
Mallepata, Mollepata
Marcos, Marcas
Matara, Matará
Nacopearh, Nacopearu
Nahuinpacyo, Nahuinpucyo
Pancra, Pancara
Parcas, Parcos
Paucarcolla, Pancarcolla
Paucará, Pacará, Pucará
Pincor, Pincos
Porcotambo, Porcatambo
Puerto, Puerte
Quaramba, Quramba
Quiquijana, Quiguijana
small pox, smallpox, small-pox
stair-way, stairway
sun-set, sunset
Surati, Surite, Suriti, Sureti
Tambillo, Tambilla
tamborine, tambourine
trowsers, trousers
Uara-Uara, Uarauara
Urubamba, Urabamba
viscachas, biscachas
The production calculations on page 15 may be in error.
On page 134, "drummajor" may be a printer's error.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Exploration of the Valley of the Amazon, Part II (of 2)" ***
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