DOWN THE COAST OF PERU--LAKE TITICACA AND LA PAZ--THROUGH THE ANCIENT
INCAN EMPIRE TO COCHABAMBA
The coast of Peru looked decidedly uninviting as day after day the
S. S. _Palena_ of the Chilean Line nosed her way southward through
the placid water of the Pacific. The high, rocky shore stretched on
interminably, it seemed; no graceful palm or speck of green of any kind
gladdened the eye; there were only the barren cliffs, against which the
swell dashed itself into snowy spray and, above them, slopes of hot
brown sand.
This was in sharp contrast with the low Ecuadorian shore-line; that
was bad enough, with its dense, dark jungles growing to the water’s
very edge, its overhanging masses of black clouds, and its breathless
heat and silence that seemed to exude all the fatal maladies of a
tropical clime. Nevertheless, there was a suggestion of life of
some sort--inhospitable though it might be. It was not as if an
outraged divinity had seared the land with withering breaths of hate,
annihilating everything that possessed or gave promise of life, and
leaving only the scorched desert as a fearsome reminder of celestial
vengeance. But if the land appeared forsaken, the ocean teemed with
life. Flocks of gulls always remained in the vicinity of the ship, and
occasionally we saw petrels, shearwaters, and albatrosses; whales were
not particularly plentiful, but porpoises appeared practically every
day. Toward the end of the voyage seals also grew abundant.
There are numbers of ports along the Peruvian coast and the _Palena_
stopped at many of them. The enormous swell coming from the south
and scarcely felt at sea spends its violence along the shore, making
landing very difficult, and often impossible. Steamships dare not
approach close to the jutting rocks. All freight is unloaded into
lighters; passengers are lowered in a chair operated by a steam-winch
and dumped into the huge, flat-bottomed freight-carriers, together with
their belongings. This always causes a good deal of excitement and not
infrequently slight injuries are inflicted, as the boats are low one
instant and come racing up the next on the top of a mountainous swell.
At noon on the eighth day out from Panama we reached Paita. The town
lies on the beach and just below the edge of a high sandy plateau. This
is the centre of Peru’s oil-fields. Tanks were visible in the country
near the town, and a thin film covered the water for several miles
off-shore.
Salavery is a small town with flat, square board houses. In back of
it rise high escarpments of rock and sand. It never rains, so water
is brought from a little valley far distant in the foot-hills. A
narrow-gauge railroad connects the valley with the port, and sugar is
brought out for export.
It seems as if most of the coastal towns are merely ports or outlets
for products from the interior. There are many fertile little spots
between the ridges branching off from the main range; they are well
watered by melting snow on the lofty summits, and a great variety of
fruit, vegetables, cotton, and cane are grown.
After ten days the ship anchored off Callao; it is but a thirty
minutes’ train ride from this port to Lima. The route is flat and
runs through corn, banana, and yucca fields and truck-gardens. We
visited the creditable zoo and then accepted an invitation to inspect
the medical college. The latter is surprisingly well equipped and had
an attendance of over eight hundred students. The great cathedral
next occupied our attention; the massive temple was in itself most
interesting, but curiosity led me to spend the most of our limited time
viewing the remains of Pizarro, which are exhibited in a glass-panelled
marble casket. An inscription informs the viewers that the
_conquistador_ founded Lima in 1535; he died June 26, 1541, and was
buried under the cathedral; in 1891 the bones were exhumed and placed
in their present resting-place. If one may believe the statements of
historians, a monument built of the skeletons of his helpless victims
would be a far more suitable memorial to the bloodthirsty outlaw than
the place of worship which his remains of necessity must defile.
We had heard a great deal about the difficulty of landing at Mollendo.
At times the rollers from the south are so immense that ships do not
attempt an anchorage, but continue the voyage down to Arica. We were
relieved to find the sea perfectly smooth upon our arrival. The town
differed from Paita and Salavery only in that it was somewhat larger.
We found it possible to purchase through tickets to La Paz, and noon
saw us on our way. The railroad started up the barren slope almost
immediately; occasionally the incline was very gentle--so gentle, in
fact, that the country lay like a great brown desert on each side
of the track. These stretches were covered with crescent-shaped
sand-dunes, some of them fifty feet high and several hundred feet from
tip to tip. They creep slowly forward as the wind blows the sand up
their rear slope to the crest, when it topples over into the centre of
the half-moon.
At times the grade was very steep. The deep blue Pacific was visible
several hours, sometimes on our right and then on our left, as the
train wound up the mountainside, but always receding until it resembled
a vast mist-enshrouded amethyst losing itself in the distance.
Alkali-dust entered the coaches in clouds and threatened to suffocate
the passengers, but the impressiveness of the scenery more than
compensated them for this annoyance.
Not far from Arequipa a deep gorge appeared with a stream threading its
way through the bottom. Its banks were covered with trees and green
vegetation--a veritable oasis amid the desert that hemmed it in on
both sides. The Indians who now came to the car-windows when the train
stopped to get up steam brought grapes, figs, oranges, guavas, and
_empanadas_, or meat pies smelling strongly of onions. They were an
unkempt, wild-looking lot and had apparently come from the green vale
below. At seven o’clock we were up seven thousand feet, having ascended
to that height from sea-level in six hours, and drew in at the station
of Arequipa.
There was no train for Puno the following day, so ample time was at our
disposal in which to see the city and its immediate environs.
We found Arequipa to be a most delightful place. It was cool enough
to permit the wearing of top-coats with comfort. The people were well
dressed and healthy appearing. Electric trains provided adequate
means of journeying from one part of the city to another, and if one
preferred a carriage it also was obtainable. Beautiful plazas, ancient
churches, and wooden buildings are distributed promiscuously among
the rabble of low adobe or stone huts which predominate, and herds of
llamas thread their way through the stone-paved streets. The atmosphere
is so clear the year around that a spot near the city has been chosen
for the site of the Harvard Observatory. One has a good view of the
great snow-capped Mount Misti from every part of the city; the peak is
conical in shape and nineteen thousand two hundred and fifty feet in
height.
Continuing the trip from Arequipa, the first stage of the route passes
over barren, gently rolling country. Small irrigated plots are not
uncommon where some rivulet trickles down from the upper world of snow
and ice; they support a limited population of Indians, which must lead
a forlorn and miserable life among their desolate surroundings. Farther
on, the slopes assumed a friendlier appearance; sparse vegetation in
patches appeared and grew denser toward the snow-line, where there was
naturally more moisture. Life followed closely in the wake of the grass
and bush covered areas. Native hovels became more numerous, and flocks
of llamas, sheep, and goats, with a sprinkling of horses and cattle,
fed on the herbage.
[Illustration: Country around Arequipa, showing Mount Misti.]
[Illustration: The expedition en route via hand-car, Changollo to
Arce.]
The top of the divide is fourteen thousand five hundred feet above
sea-level. As we approached it numbers of passengers became violently
ill of _soroche_, or mountain-sickness. They acted very much like
people aboard a steamship on a stormy voyage, although this illness
seemed far worse than any seasickness I had ever seen. Several of
the stricken ones rolled about on the floor and tried to tear off
their clothing; a feeling of suffocation accompanies the nausea, and
occasionally some one dies.
Beyond the ridge the country is level or gently rolling and there are
numerous clear blue lakes--some of considerable size. Immense flocks of
doves make this upland region their home, and ducks, gulls, and herons
teemed about the water.
Just after dark we reached Puno, and a few minutes later embarked on
the _Coya_ for the trip across Lake Titicaca. The night was so cold and
stormy that it was impossible to spend much time on the upper deck, and
the cabins were so crowded that sleeping in comfort was impossible.
The ship was small and overcrowded with people of many colors and
nationalities; most of them spent the night in the dining-saloon
drinking and gaming.
Dawn came at last, and shortly afterward the _Coya_ slowly wended her
way through the reed-grown marshes bordering the lake and tied up
at the pier at Guaqui, on the Bolivian side. Indians in reed rafts
with sails made of rushes dashed past and disappeared among the
cattails, and water-fowl of several species--mostly ducks, coots, and
grebes--paddled out into the ruffled water left in the wake of the boat.
It is unfortunate that this passage of the lake is made at night.
Nearly every one visiting the vast body of water for the first time is
eager to see as much of it as possible, both on account of its being
the highest great lake in the world (twelve thousand five hundred feet
above sea-level) and by reason of its associations with the nation of
the Incas.
Guaqui is a garrison town. There were numerous soldiers in evidence
on the streets, and a troop of lancers, under the command of a German
officer, were giving a skilful display of their prowess on the lake
front. Their mounts were not much to look at and the uniforms of the
men were rather shabby, but both were well drilled.
The train for La Paz left at noon. It moved at a good rate of speed
across the high, level upland. The scenery is impressive. We were
always in sight of snow-covered peaks, although there was little snow
on the plateau itself. Indian huts built of stone, some very ancient,
are scattered about abundantly, but it requires some experience in
locating them before they can be readily distinguished from their
immediate surroundings. There were numerous fields of wheat and oats,
and llamas without number nibbled the scant vegetation on the slope.
In a few isolated spots small herds of cattle, horses, and pigs were
visible. Indians came to the coach-windows to sell fruits when the
train stopped; they were doubtless brought from the deep, sheltered
fissures that have been cut into the range by snow-water from high
peaks.
Within a short time we had reached the ruins of an enormous city called
Tiahuanaco, which is said to date back many centuries before the Incan
era. When discovered it was buried in the sand level with the surface
of the plateau, but archæologists have excavated many of the larger
buildings and brought to light ancient treasures of rare beauty. Later,
in La Paz, we met a man named Poznaski who had done a great deal of
work in this region. He had a remarkable collection of hundreds of
skulls, pieces of pottery, gold ornaments, and well-preserved cloth.
Among the ceramics was a “death’s head” of exquisite workmanship, life
size, and painted in gorgeous colors. He considered it the finest bit
of pottery ever discovered in Bolivia and stated that a North American
museum was negotiating for its purchase at a price that ran into five
figures. This, however, did not seem probable. As we neared La Paz,
the great mountains of Illimani, Murarata, and Huana Potosi loomed
constantly more lofty and forbidding before us. They are the patriarchs
of the Bolivian Andes, and are twenty-two thousand five hundred and
eighty-one, twenty-one thousand, and twenty thousand two hundred and
eighty-nine feet high respectively. The summits of all three have been
reached by venturesome exploration-parties, but the task of climbing
the steep, slippery slopes perpetually covered with deep snow and swept
by frigid gales is a trying one that is not often attempted. Huana
Potosi, the more distant of the group has a flat top, contrasting
conspicuously with the sharp, pointed summits of the other two. The
Indians tell a legend that explains this peculiar formation. In the
days of long ago, when the world was young, vapors enveloped all the
earth; suddenly the sun-god appeared and, beaming down from heaven,
caused the mists to become dissipated and vanish. Illimani awoke to
life and from his dizzy height beheld the queenly Huana Potosi smiling
up at him. At the same time, however, Murarata emerged from the clouds
and beholding the beautiful Huana Potosi fell violently in love with
her. Illimani became insanely jealous and in a blind fury hurled forth
fire, smoke, and stones of great size at his rival’s head; the latter
promptly replied in kind and fought valiantly. For days the earth
quaked and trembled with the thunderous roar of the death-struggle,
while heavy clouds covered the terrifying spectacle with a mantle
of darkness. After a seemingly endless time the combat stopped;
daylight returned, revealing an appalling state of affairs. Finding it
impossible to vanquish the rival suitor, Illimani had beheaded his fair
lady-love to prevent her from falling into the other’s hands. The many
streams of water rushing down the steep sides of Illimani are but the
tears of grief and remorse over his hasty action; thus he is doomed to
mourn and weep until the end of time. The legend has doubtless been
handed down through many generations and obviously refers to one of the
many volcanic disturbances that must have occurred when the Andes were
young.
Shortly before sundown we came suddenly to the brink of a crater-like
rent in the plateau and, on the bottom of the huge gash, thirteen
hundred feet below, we could see the compactly built mass of edifices
and green gardens of La Paz. The situation of the city is unique. One
has no intimation of its nearness while speeding over the high, cold
_plano alto_ (which has an elevation of thirteen thousand three hundred
feet) until the very edge of the fissure is reached. The sides are
precipitous, but numerous footpaths make their way up or down the steep
declivity. The far slopes of the Andes are checkered with cultivated
fields; a roaring stream, the Choqueyapu, tears its way through the
floor of the amphitheatre, and the series of snow-covered summits form
a magnificent background for the unusual spectacle.
The steam-locomotive was taken off and an electric one substituted, and
then the train slowly backed down along the face of the incline to the
station below.
The impression of La Paz, gained from the first brief view above, is
soon dispersed upon nearer and more intimate acquaintance. The streets
are narrow, crooked, paved with small stones from the river-bed,
and very steep. Walking any length of time entails a great amount
of exertion on account of the high altitude; fortunately, carriages
are not lacking, and a tramway also provides a ready means of
locomotion, or I am afraid few travellers would ever see very much
of the inner life of the city. With the exception of a few churches
and government buildings that are worthy of note on account of their
size and architecture, the buildings are low and of a primitive type,
whitewashed and covered with tiles or thatched.
Ordinarily the streets are all but deserted, but on Sundays and
fête-days a motley crowd throngs the winding thoroughfares. There are
full-blooded Indians of the Aymará race, clothed in picturesque though
not beautiful garments; half-breeds or Cholos are far more gayly clad
in very full skirts and shawls of bright colors, round, flat-brimmed
straw or felt hats, and imported shoes with high heels and tops that
reach almost to the knees; the number of townspeople, creoles and
foreigners, seems negligible compared to the throngs of Indians and
Cholos; in fact, some authorities state that there are one hundred of
the latter to one of the former. On market-days long lines of llamas,
burros, and mules thread their way through the crowded streets, bearing
fire-wood, charcoal, meat, and vegetables for the sustenance of the
city.
About the most interesting place in La Paz to us, and at the same time
the most repellent, was the Museo Nacional. It contained several dark,
cavernous rooms crowded with a wealth of specimens, mostly in the form
of ceramics, minerals, and mummies. They were piled promiscuously
everywhere in the most slovenly and disgusting manner. Naturally, this
treatment did not tend toward their preservation; rats had undermined
the mounds of human remains, gnawed holes into the bodies, and made
their nests in the interior; pottery had crashed from unstable shelves,
and bird and mammal skins were badly moth-eaten. I trust that a more
efficient management may rescue these treasures.
The plazas, of which there are four or five, are small and not
particularly attractive. The cold climate prevents the growing of
tropical decorative plants that are always so conspicuous in cities and
towns of the lower country. The _gente decente_, or upper class, meet
in the Plaza de Armas on Sundays for a chat with friends, a stroll to
exhibit their finery, and to listen to the music.
The Aymarás who inhabit the entire highlands are of a treacherous
disposition and have several times organized their forces preparatory
to making war on the Bolivians. As their number is very great they are
a menace that is very real and serious. When an uprising is threatened,
the chiefs are arrested and punished, and then the rebellion dies down
for want of leaders. These Indians still retain the _despeñadora_, or
death-doctor, in the more remote and inaccessible regions. This person
is a woman who possesses the knack of doing away with the aged and
infirm of her district, and the office is handed down from mother to
daughter. When any one within her jurisdiction becomes too old to work,
or is ill with a malady thought to be incurable, the _despeñadora_ is
called in; she straddles the poor unfortunate and ends his existence
by deftly dislocating the vertebræ of the neck. Whenever government
officials learn of the operation of one of these women, they are taken
into custody and punished.
One of the favorite sports of the _Paceños_ is to hunt wild cattle
in the high valleys between the peaks. Numerous herds are still in
existence and it is said that they are of a savage disposition and
furnish good sport. I met an American who had been thrown from his
horse and gored by a wild bull that charged him from a distance of
several hundred yards.
The country between La Paz and Oruro is very similar to that we had
crossed coming from Guaqui. There are the same vistas of barren plains,
green fields, llamas, and asses on the slopes, and dazzling snow-fields
in the background. The plateau is strewn with marine fossils, mostly
_trilobites_, reminders of the days when Lake Titicaca was many times
its present size. We covered the one hundred and twenty-seven miles
to Oruro in six hours, and spent the night there. This city owes its
existence to the many mines located near by--some within the city’s
limits--and to the wealth they yield in tin, silver, and other metals.
Next morning the journey was continued toward Cochabamba. Shortly
before noon the level country was left behind and we started down the
eastern slope of a ridge that leads into the lower country. This part
of the road-bed is new; the greater part of it is laid on a narrow
shelf of rock carved and blasted out of the mountainside. Perpendicular
walls of granite tower above to a height of hundreds of feet on one
side; in places the top of the huge masses seems to hang over the track
in a tottering position and one expects the rumble of the train to set
it in motion and bring an avalanche of destruction down upon one’s head.
A small stream flows through the bottom of the gorge. During the
greater part of the year it is a mere rivulet that trickles harmlessly
over the shallow, pebbly bottom of its course; but when the torrential
rains of winter fall it rises rapidly to the proportions of a mighty
river and sweeps away sections of the railroad. Long rows of breakwater
have been placed alongside the base of the road-bed to protect it from
the ravages of the flood; they consist of loaf-shaped piles of stone
bound together with wire netting; these would be effective against the
water alone, but they cannot resist the demolishing force of the huge
boulders that are rolled down from the mountains by the strong current.
A number of breaks in the line had been made by landslides just
before our visit, so the train could not proceed beyond Changollo,
a settlement of half a dozen Quechua Indian huts and a good-sized
station, the elevation of which is ten thousand feet. We were met by a
representative of the railway company and given quarters in the station
buildings; the other passengers immediately engaged mules and llamas
and started for Cochabamba. The reason for our delay was that we had
just received a shipment of ammunition and supplies from New York, and
some time would be required to repack them in parcels of equal weight
suitable for transportation by pack-train.
Changollo was headquarters for the construction-gangs working on the
line. About half a dozen Englishmen and Scotchmen were in charge of the
work, and they showed us every possible courtesy and attention during
our brief stay there. I regret constantly that it is not possible to
give detailed credit to all the people, South Americans and foreigners
alike, who treated us with such unfailing courtesy throughout our
years of travel in the southern continent, and to whose assistance we
are so heavily indebted for the success that attended our efforts; but
to do so would fill the pages of a volume several times the size of
this one without leaving space for my narrative.
All of the railroad men boarded with an Englishman named Cole and
his wife. The Coles were a middle-aged couple who had spent the
greater part of their lives together travelling around the world.
Among other places, they had lived in India and in Africa. They had
a score of parrots, cockatoos, and dogs that accompanied them in all
their wanderings; caring for this miniature menagerie must have been
a troublesome job while moving from place to place, but they took the
place of children and were looked after just as tenderly. Cole claimed
that he was the only man on earth who had been bitten by a black
mamba--a species of giant cobra--and lived to tell the tale. He was
following a path through the silent jungle one day at dusk when a black
form lunged down upon him from some branches that overhung the trail;
at the same time he felt a dull, throbbing pain in his left arm, and
realized what had occurred. His first impulse was to flee in terror;
however, better judgment prevailed and he opened and sucked the wound
and applied a tourniquet above it. Then he hurried home and drank large
quantities of ammonia and also applied some to his arm. He stated
that he was very ill for several weeks but that persistent use of the
ammonia overcame the effects of the poison and he gradually recovered.
Through the kindness of our new friends we secured hand-cars on which
to resume the journey to the end of the line--about ten miles distant.
The baggage was placed on some of them while we occupied another.
The way lay down-hill and we dashed along at a great pace, taking
curves without diminished speed. There were several short tunnels, the
entrances of which loomed up like the black openings in a grotto; in a
flash we were plunged into absolute darkness; a moment later we raced
back into bright sunshine. Whenever an obstruction in the track ahead
was sighted the brakes were applied and then everything was carried
around and the trip continued. We met a good many Indians on the
road-bed; they preferred its use to the rocky trail along the river,
and even drove their burros and llamas on it. All employees of the
company had orders to punish any one found on the track, in order that
they might learn to keep off it, as there would otherwise be a great
loss of life when trains begin their runs over the line. The favorite
form of chastisement consisted of pouncing on the Indians and taking
their hats away from them. The head-gear was taken several miles down
the track and thrown into the top of a cactus or thorny tree. If the
offender resisted the seizure of his hat he was told that he might have
it by calling on the foreman of the nearest construction-camp; when he
arrived a good lecture was given him and in some instances a fine was
imposed.
It took several hours to reach the end of the line, as landslides and
the attendant portages around them had been numerous. We spent the
remainder of the day and the night at Arce, an Indian village. Several
hundred Quechuas had gathered, as it was market-day; they brought a
good deal of cloth and beautiful blankets to sell, but their prices
were several times those asked in more remote regions. At night the
assembly played on reed flutes and native guitars, sang, danced, and
drank _chicha_; the revelry lasted until the first gray streaks of dawn
appeared over the mountain-top, and then the mob dispersed to their
distant homes in the high valleys.
Our journey was continued the morning after reaching Arce. We had
secured a train of good, strong mules and expert Indian _arrieros_.
The trail lay along the river-bed, which was very wide and paved with
small pebbles. At numerous points Quechua women had put up small shacks
of stones and reeds; they squatted within the makeshift shelters all
day long. A white rag floating above from a tall bamboo announced
to the weary wayfarer that _chicha_ was for sale within, and all the
travellers we saw religiously stopped at each of these road-houses to
slake their thirst. At one point a wall of rock rises from the stream
to a height of three thousand feet; two condors were perched upon the
very tip, their black forms clearly outlined against the sky, while two
others circled swiftly above. We passed through the towns of Yberta and
Sacamolla without stopping to rest, and after fifteen and a half hours’
continuous riding reached the home of the manager of the railroad, a
Mr. Taylor, with whom we spent the night. The place is called Parotani,
and we subsequently spent some time there investigating its interesting
fauna. At noon on the following day we reached Vinto, which marks
the beginning of an electric tram-line to Cochabamba. We did not
take advantage of this easy means of transportation, but continued
the journey on mule-back, and two hours later found ourselves at our
destination.