By the Same Author
THE JOURNAL OF AN EXPEDITION ACROSS VENEZUELA AND COLOMBIA,
1906-07. With 133 illustrations and a map. Published by the Yale
University Press.
ACROSS SOUTH AMERICA
[Illustration: RIO FROM THE CORCOVADO]
ACROSS
SOUTH AMERICA
AN ACCOUNT OF A JOURNEY FROM BUENOS
AIRES TO LIMA BY WAY OF POTOSÍ
WITH NOTES ON BRAZIL, ARGENTINA,
BOLIVIA, CHILE, AND PERU
BY
HIRAM BINGHAM
YALE UNIVERSITY
WITH EIGHTY ILLUSTRATIONS
AND MAPS
[Illustration: colophon]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HIRAM BINGHAM
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published April 1911_
THIS VOLUME IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
TO
THE MOTHER OF
SIX LITTLE BOYS
PREFACE
In September, 1908, I left New York as a delegate of the United States
Government and of Yale University to the First Pan-American Scientific
Congress, held at Santiago, Chile, in December and January, 1908-09.
Before attending the Congress I touched at Rio de Janeiro and the
principal coast cities of Brazil, crossed the Argentine Republic from
Buenos Aires to the Bolivian frontier, rode on mule-back through
southern Bolivia, visiting both Potosí and Sucre, went by rail from
Oruro to Antofagasta, and thence by steamer to Valparaiso. After the
Congress I retraced my steps into Bolivia by way of the west coast,
Arequipa, and Lake Titicaca. Picking up the overland trail again at
Oruro, I continued my journey across Bolivia and Peru, via La Paz,
Tiahuanaco, and Cuzco, thence by mules over the old Inca road as far as
Huancayo, the present terminus of the Oroya-Lima Railroad. At Abancay I
turned aside to explore Choqquequirau, the ruins of an Inca fortress in
the valley of the Apurimac; an excursion that could not have been
undertaken at all had it not been for the very generous assistance of
Hon. J. J. Nuñez, the Prefect of Apurimac, and his zealous aide,
Lieutenant Caceres of the Peruvian army. I reached Lima in March, 1909.
The chief interest of the trip lay in its being an exploration of the
most historic highway in South America, the old trade route between
Lima, Potosí, and Buenos Aires. The more difficult parts of this road
were used by the Incas and their conqueror Pizarro; by Spanish viceroys,
mine owners, and merchants; by the liberating armies of Argentina; and
finally by Bolivar and Sucre, who marched and countermarched over it in
the last campaigns of the Wars of Independence.
Realizing from previous experience in Venezuela and Colombia that the
privilege of travelling in a semi-official capacity would enable me to
enjoy unusual opportunities for observation, I made it the chief object
of my journey to collect and verify information regarding the South
American people, their history, politics, economics, and physical
environment. The present volume, however, makes no pretence at
containing all I collected or verified. Such a work would be largely a
compilation of statistics. The ordinary facts are readily accessible in
the current publications of the ably organized Pan-American Bureau in
Washington. Nevertheless, I have included some data that seemed likely
to prove serviceable to intending travellers.
Grateful acknowledgment for kind assistance freely rendered in many
different ways is due to President Villazon of Bolivia, the late
President Montt of Chile, and President Leguia of Peru; to Secretary,
now Senator, Root and the officials of the Diplomatic and Consular
Service; to Professor Rowe and my fellow delegates to the Pan-American
Scientific Congress; and particularly to J. Luis Schaefer, Esq., W. S.
Eyre, Esq., and their courteous associates of the house of W. R. Grace &
Co. Although business houses rarely take the trouble to make the path
of the scientist or investigator more comfortable, it would be no easy
task to enumerate all the favors that were shown, not only to me, but
also to the other members of the American delegation, by Messrs. Grace &
Co. and the managers and clerks of their many branches.
Acknowledgments are likewise due to the officials of the Buenos Aires
and Rosario Railroad, the Peruvian Corporation, and the Bolivia Railway;
and to Colonel A. de Pederneiras, Sr. Amaral Franco, Don Santiago
Hutcheon, Sr. C. A. Novoa, Sr. Arturo Pino Toranzo, Dr. Alejandro Ayalá,
Captain Louis Merino of the Chilean army, Don Moises Vargas, Sr. Lopez
Chavez, and Messrs. Charles L. Wilson, A. G. Snyder, U. S. Grant Smith,
J. B. Beazley, D. S. Iglehart, John Pierce Hope, Rankin Johnson, Rea
Hanna, and a host of others who helped to make my journey easier and
more profitable.
I desire also to express my gratitude, for unnumbered kindnesses, both
to Huntington Smith, who accompanied me during the first part of my
journey, and to Clarence Hay, who was my faithful companion on the
latter part.
Some parts of the story have already been told in the “American
Anthropologist,” the “American Political Science Review,” the “Popular
Science Monthly,” the “Bulletin of the American Geographical Society,”
the “Records of the Past,” and the “Yale Courant,” to whose editors
acknowledgment is due for permission to use the material in its present
form.
HIRAM BINGHAM.
YALE UNIVERSITY, NEW HAVEN, CONN.
_20 November, 1910_.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. PERNAMBUCO AND BAHIA 3
II. RIO, SANTOS, AND BRAZILIAN TRADE 16
III. BUENOS AIRES 29
IV. ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE AND SPANISH-AMERICAN
SOLIDARITY 46
V. THE TUCUMAN EXPRESS 60
VI. THROUGH THE ARGENTINE HIGHLANDS 69
VII. ACROSS THE BOLIVIAN FRONTIER 81
VIII. TUPIZA TO COTAGAITA 92
IX. ESCARA TO LAJA TAMBO 104
X. POTOSÍ 117
XI. SUCRE, THE _DE JURE_ CAPITAL OF BOLIVIA 133
XII. THE ROAD TO CHALLAPATA 148
XIII. ORURO TO ANTOFAGASTA AND VALPARAISO 164
XIV. SANTIAGO AND THE FIRST PAN-AMERICAN SCIENTIFIC
CONGRESS 180
XV. NORTHERN CHILE 198
XVI. SOUTHERN PERU 211
XVII. LA PAZ, THE _DE FACTO_ CAPITAL OF BOLIVIA 224
XVIII. THE BOLIVIA RAILWAY AND TIAHUANACO 241
XIX. CUZCO 254
XX. SACSAHUAMAN 272
XXI. THE INCA ROAD TO ABANCAY 280
XXII. THE CLIMB TO CHOQQUEQUIRAU 296
XXIII. CHOQQUEQUIRAU 307
XXIV. ABANCAY TO CHINCHEROS 324
XXV. BOMBON TO THE BATTLEFIELD OF AYACUCHO 341
XXVI. AYACUCHO TO LIMA 360
XXVII. CERTAIN SOUTH AMERICAN TRAITS 379
INDEX 393
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
RIO FROM THE CORCOVADO (page 21) _Frontispiece_
LOOKING DOWN INTO THE LOWER CITY, BAHIA 12
THE CORCOVADO FROM RIO 20
THE HARBOR OF SANTOS 24
THE DOCKS OF BUENOS AIRES 30
AVENIDA 25 DE MAYO, BUENOS AIRES 34
THE USPALLATA PASS 50
OUR COACH LEAVING THE HOTEL AT LA QUIACA 82
THE ANGOSTA DE TUPIZA 86
FANTASTIC PINNACLES IN THE VALLEYS NORTH OF TUPIZA 90
A QUICHUA FAMILY GOING TO PLOUGH 94
THE VALLEY THROUGH WHICH WE HAD COME 98
OUR FIRST GLIMPSE OF A SNOW-CLAD BOLIVIAN MOUNTAIN 112
VIEW OF THE CERRO FROM THE ROOF OF THE MINT 120
THE CERRO OF POTOSÍ FROM THE SPANISH RESERVOIRS 124
AN ANCIENT QUICHUA ORE CRUSHER 124
THE MARKET-PLACE OF POTOSÍ 128
GREENER AND MORE POPULOUS VALLEYS 132
THE PICTURESQUE OLD CHURCH OF BARTOLO 134
A PASTURE FOR SHEEP AND ALPACAS 138
A QUICHUA WOMAN WEAVING AT QUEBRADA HONDA 138
THE GREAT RIVER PILCOMAYO 142
OUR HOTEL IN SUCRE 142
AN ABANDONED TAMBO 150
OUR FIRST VIEW OF THE GREAT TABLE-LAND OF BOLIVIA 150
A FRIENDLY LLAMA BABY 160
MY MULE ON THE LAST DAY’S RIDE 160
THE PREFECTURA AND PLAZA OF ORURO 166
A QUAINT OLD BALCONY IN ORURO 170
A CORNER IN ORURO 170
BATTLEFIELD OF MAIPO NEAR SANTIAGO 186
MOLLENDO 212
THE CATHEDRAL OF AREQUIPA AND MT. CHACHANI 216
AN OLD DOORWAY IN AREQUIPA 216
CHACHANI AND MISTI 216
MONOLITHIC IMAGE AT TIAHUANACO 228
THE MARKET-PLACE OF LA PAZ 232
A REMARKABLE STAIRWAY AT TIAHUANACO 232
BALSAS NEAR GUAQUI ON LAKE TITICACA 240
AN OLD CHURCH NEAR THE BOLIVIA RAILWAY 240
GREAT PLATFORMS OF STONE WEIGHING MANY TONS 250
PART OF THE GREAT MONOLITHIC DOORWAY 250
LLAMAS OF CUZCO 258
CUZCO FROM SACSAHUAMAN 258
SACSAHUAMAN 266
THE PLAZA, CUZCO, WITH CATHEDRAL AND JESUIT CHURCH 266
A SECTION OF THE LOWER TERRACE, SACSAHUAMAN 274
AN INCA VASE FROM CUZCO 278
ARTICLES OF DRESS AND A DECORATED MULE HALTER
FROM CUZCO 278
THE GOBERNADOR OF CURAHUASI AND HIS FAMILY 288
A CHASM DOWN WHICH PLUNGED A SMALL CATARACT 298
THE WONDERFUL CAÑON OF THE APURIMAC 298
SUNRISE AT CHOQQUEQUIRAU 302
THE FRAIL LITTLE BRIDGE OVER THE APURIMAC 302
A STORY AND A HALF HIGH, BUILT OF STONES LAID IN CLAY 308
THE PARTY WALL RISES TO THE PEAK 308
THE INTERIOR OF THE BUILDINGS NEAR THE OUTER PRECIPICE 312
THE UPPER SIX STEPS OF THE GIANT STAIRWAY 312
SKULLS, ETC., FROM CHOQQUEQUIRAU 316
INTERIOR OF A BUILDING AT CHOQQUEQUIRAU 316
OUR CAVALCADE ON THE BRIDGE OF PACHACHACA 324
SOME OF THE SHEEP HAD VERY LONG CURLY HORNS 334
THE CLUB AT CHINCHEROS 338
THE LARGE PLAZA OF AYACUCHO 342
THE BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER PAMPAS 342
AYACUCHO 346
THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL 346
A PICTURESQUE CORNER IN AYACUCHO 350
CROSSING THE PONGORA RIVER ON THE SHAKY SUSPENSION
BRIDGE 350
THE BATTLEFIELD OF AYACUCHO 354
THE BATTLEFIELD AS IT APPEARED TO THE SPANIARDS 354
THE BRIDGE OVER THE HUARPA 362
URUMYOSI 366
THE HUT NEAR PAUCARA 366
THE TOLL-BRIDGE OF TABLACHACA 368
SUNDAY MORNING IN HUANCAYO 372
MAPS
THE AUTHOR’S ROUTE ACROSS SOUTH AMERICA 3
SOUTHERN PERU 81
SOUTHERN BOLIVIA 281
CHOQQUEQUIRAU AND VICINITY 307
LOWER PLAZA CHOQQUEQUIRAU 310
UPPER PLAZA CHOQQUEQUIRAU 314
CUZCO AND NEIGHBORING FORTRESSES 318
The frontispiece and the illustration at page 20 are from
photographs by Marc Ferrez. Those at pages 50, 216, 226, 232, 258,
298, 302, 324, 342, 346, 350, 354, and 362 are from photographs by
Mr. C. L. Hay; and those at pages 150, 160, 170 from photographs by
Mr. H. Smith.
ACROSS SOUTH AMERICA
[Illustration:
Sketch Map
to illustrate
=ACROSS SOUTH AMERICA=
by
HIRAM BINGHAM
]
ACROSS SOUTH AMERICA
CHAPTER I
PERNAMBUCO AND BAHIA
There are two ways of going to the east coast of South America. The
traveller can sail from New York in the monthly boats of the direct line
or, if he misses that boat, as I did, and is pressed for time, he can go
to Southampton or Cherbourg and be sure of an excellent steamer every
week. The old story that one was obliged to go by way of Europe to get
to Brazil is no longer true, although this pleasing fiction is still
maintained by a few officials when they are ordered to go from Lima on
the Pacific to the Peruvian port of Iquitos on the Amazon. If they
succeed in avoiding the very unpleasant overland journey via Cerro de
Pasco, they are apt to find that the “only feasible” alternative route
is by way of Panama, New York, and Paris!
Personally I was glad of the excuse to go the longer way, for I knew
that the exceedingly comfortable new steamers of the Royal Mail Line
were likely to carry many Brazilians and Argentinos, from whom I could
learn much that I wanted to know. They proved to be most kind and
communicative, and gave me an excellent introduction to the point of
view of the modern denizen of the east coast whose lands have received
the “golden touch” that comes from foreign capital, healthy
immigration, and rapidly expanding railway systems. I was also fortunate
in finding on board the Aragon a large number of those energetic
English, Scots, and French, whose well-directed efforts have built up
the industries of their adopted homes, until the Spanish-Americans can
hardly recognize the land of their birth, and the average North
American, who visits the east coast for the first time, rubs his eyes in
despair and wonders where he has been while all this railroad building
and bank merging has been going on. If there were few Germans and
Italians on board, it was not because they were not crossing the ocean
at the same time, but because they preferred the new steamers of their
own lines. I could have travelled a little faster by sailing under the
German or the Italian flag, but in that case I should not have seen
Pernambuco and Bahia, which the more speedy steamers now omit from their
itinerary.
The Brazilians call the easternmost port of South America, Recife, “The
Reef,” but to the average person it will always be known as Pernambuco.
Most travellers who touch here on their way from Europe to Buenos Aires,
prefer to see what they can of this quaint old city from the deck of the
steamer, anchored a mile out in the open roadstead. The great ocean
swell, rolling in from the eastward, makes the tight little surf boats
bob up and down in a dangerous fashion. It seems hardly worth while to
venture down the slippery gangway and take one’s chances at leaping into
the strong arms of swarthy boatmen, whom the waves bring upward toward
you with startling suddenness, and who fall away again so
exasperatingly just as you have made up your mind to jump.
Out of three hundred first-cabin passengers on the Aragon, there were
only five of us who ventured ashore,--three Americans, a Frenchman, and
a Scotchman. The other passengers, including several representatives of
the English army--but I will say no more, for they afterwards wrote me
that, on their return journey to England, the charms of Pernambuco
overcame their fear of the “white horses of the sea,” and they felt well
repaid.
Pernambuco is unquestionably one of the most interesting places on the
East Coast. From the steamer one can see little more than a long low
line of coast, dotted here and there with white buildings and a
lighthouse or two. To the north several miles away, on a little rise of
ground, is the ancient town of Olinda, founded by the Portuguese in the
sixteenth century, a hundred years before Henry Hudson stepped ashore on
Manhattan Island. By the time that our ancestors were beginning to
consider establishing a colony in Massachusetts, the Portuguese had
already built dozens of sugar factories in this vicinity. Then the Dutch
came and conquered, built Pernambuco and, during their twenty-five years
on this coast, made it the administrative centre for their colony in
northeast Brazil. Their capital, four miles north of the present
commercial centre, is now a village of ruined palaces and ancient
convents. The Dutch had large interests on the Brazilian seaboard and
carried away quantities of sugar and other precious commodities, as is
set forth in many of their quaint old books. The drawings which old
Nieuhof put in his sumptuous folio two centuries ago are still vivid and
lifelike, even if they serve only to emphasize the great change that has
come over this part of the world in that time.
Now, three trans-Atlantic cables touch here, and it is a port of call
for half a dozen lines of steamers. The old Dutch caravels used to find
excellent shelter behind the great natural breakwater, the reef that
made the port of Recife possible. No part of the east coast of Brazil
possesses more strategical importance, and modern improvements have
deepened the entrance so that vessels drawing less than fifteen feet may
enter and lie in quiet water, although the great ocean liners are
obliged to ride at anchor outside. Tugs bring out lighters for the
cargo, but the passengers have to trust to the mercy of the surf boats.
It took six dusky oarsmen to pull us through the surf and around the
lighthouse that marks the northern extremity of the reef, into the calm
waters of the harbor. On the black reef a few rods south of the
lighthouse stands an antiquated castle, which modern guns would make
short work of, but which served its purpose admirably by defending the
port against the sea rovers of the seventeenth century. Opposite this
breakwater, on two or three “sea islands” whose tidal rivers cut them
off from the mainland, the older part of Pernambuco is built.
It was with a feeling of having miraculously escaped from the dangers of
a very stormy voyage, that we clambered up the slippery stone stairs of
the landing stage and entered the little two-storied octagonal structure
which serves the custom house as a place in which to examine incoming
passengers. This took but a moment, and then we went out into the
glaring white sunlight of this ancient tropical city and began our tour
of inspection.
Immediately in front of us was a line of warehouses three or four
stories high and attractively built of stone. They give the water-front
an air of permanency and good breeding. Between them and the sea-wall
there was a tree-planted, stone-paved area, the Rialto of Recife, where
all classes, from talkative half-tipsy pieces of foreign driftwood to
well-dressed local merchants, clad in immaculate white suits, congregate
and gossip. Beyond the sea-wall a dozen small ocean steamers lay inside
the harbor, moored to the breakwater; while numbers of smaller vessels,
sloops, schooners, and brigantines were anchored near the custom house
docks or in the sluggish Rio Beberibe, which separates Recife from the
mainland.
As we wandered through the streets past the Stock Exchange, the naval
station, and the principal business houses, we saw various sights: a
poorly dressed Brazilian, of mixed African and Portuguese descent,
carrying a small coffin on his head; barefooted children standing in
pools of water left in the paved sidewalks by the showers of the
morning; bareheaded women, with gayly colored shawls over their
shoulders; neat German clerks dressed in glistening white duck suits;
lounging boatmen in nondescript apparel; and everywhere long, low drays
loaded with bags of sugar, each vehicle drawn by a single patient ox
whose horns are lashed to a cross-piece that connects the front end of
the thills. Those who moved at all moved as if there were abundant time
in which to do everything, and as though the hustle and bustle of lower
New York never existed at all. The scene was distinctively
Latin-American. One must be careful not to say “Spanish-American” here,
for if there is one thing more than another that the Brazilian is proud
of, it is that he is not a Spaniard and does not speak Spanish. However,
the difference between the two languages is not so great and the local
pride not so strong but that the obliging natives will understand you,
even if you have the bad taste to address them in Spanish. They will
reply, however, in Portuguese, and then it is your turn to be obliging
and understand them, if you can.
West of Recife, on another island and on the mainland, are the other
public buildings, parks, and the finest residences. A primitive
tram-car, pulled by mules, crosses the bridge and jangles along toward
the suburbs, which are quite pretty, although some of the houses strive
after bizarre color-effects which would not be appropriate in the
Temperate Zone. There are fairly good hotels here, and there is quite a
little English colony. But it is not a place where the white man
thrives. The daily range of temperature is very small, and it is claimed
that the average difference between the wet and dry season is only three
degrees.
From Pernambuco there radiate three or four railways, north, west, and
south. None of them are more than two hundred miles long, but all serve
to gather up the rich crops of sugar and cotton for which the
surrounding region is noted, and bring them to the cargo steamers that
offer in exchange the manufactured products of Europe and America. If
one may judge from the size of the custom house and the busy scene
there, where half a dozen steam cranes were actively engaged in
unloading goods destined to pay the annoyingly complex Brazilian tariff,
the business of the port is very considerable. It seemed quite strange
to see such mechanical activity and such a modern customs warehouse so
closely associated with the narrow, foul-smelling streets of the old
town. But it gives promise of a larger and more important city in the
years to come, when the new docks shall have been built and still more
modern methods introduced.
Yet even now there are over one hundred and fifty thousand people in the
city, and the mercantile houses do a good business. The clerks move
slowly, and there is little appearance of enterprise; but one must
always remember, when inclined to criticise the business methods of the
tropics, that this is not a climate where one can safely hurry. Things
must be done slowly if the doer is to last any length of time. The
commercial traveller who comes here full of brusque and zealous
activity, will soon chafe himself into a fever if he is not careful.
These are easy-going folk, and political and commercial changes do not
affect them seriously. They are willing to stand governmental conditions
that would be almost intolerable to us, and their haphazard methods of
business are well suited to their environment. The European, although
proverbially less adaptable than the American, is forced by keener
competition at home to adjust himself as best he may to the local
conditions here and elsewhere in South America. His American colleague,
on the other hand, has as yet not felt the necessity of learning to meet
what seems to him ridiculous prejudice.
Emblematic of this Brazilian trade are the primitive little catamarans
in which the fishermen of Recife venture far out into the great ocean.
The frail little craft are only moderately safe, and at best can bring
back but a small quantity of fish. They are most uncomfortable, and
their occupants are kept wet most of the time by the waves that dash
over them. Furthermore, a glimpse of them is as much of Pernambuco as
most steamship passengers get. It is only by venturing and taking the
trouble to go ashore that one can see the modern custom house dock on
the other side of Recife, and learn the lesson of the possibilities of
commerce here.
We left Pernambuco in the afternoon and reached the green hills of the
coast near Bahia the next morning. The steamers pass near enough to the
shore to enable one to make out, with the glasses, watering-places and
pretty little villas that have been built on the ocean side of the
peninsula by the wealthier citizens of Bahia. At the end of the
promontory, just above the rocks and the breakers, is the picturesque
white tower of a lighthouse. Unfortunately, it did not avail to save a
fine German steamer that was lying wrecked on the dangerous shoals near
the entrance to the harbor when we passed in.
As we steamed slowly around the southern end of the low promontory, the
city of Bahia gradually came into view, its large stone warehouses
lining the water-front, its lower town separated by a steep hill,
covered with gardens and graceful palms, from the upper city,
conspicuous with the towers and cupolas of numerous churches and public
buildings.
On the left, as one enters the harbor, rises the interesting island of
Itaparica, which England once offered to take in payment of a debt due
her by Portugal. It bears a resemblance to Gibraltar in more ways than
one, but it was not destined to become a British stronghold. A favorite
resort of the citizens of Bahia, it is called “the Europe of the poor,”
because it has a genial climate and is frequented by those who cannot
afford to cross the Atlantic.
As we leave it on our left, in front of us, and to the north, lies the
magnificent bay that has given the city its name. It lacks the romantic
mountains that make Rio so famous, yet its beautiful blue waters are
most alluring, dotted as they are here and there with the white sails of
fishing-boats and catamarans.
We have to anchor a mile from the shore, and a steam launch carrying the
port officials soon comes alongside. The local boatmen, whose little
craft, suited only to the quiet waters of the bay, bear no resemblance
to the seaworthy surf boats of Pernambuco, line up at a distance of half
a mile, awaiting the signal which permits them to hoist sail and race
for the steamer. It is a pretty sight, enlivened by the shouts of the
boat crews. Some boats are loaded with delicious tropical fruits that
are eagerly bargained for by our steerage passengers, most of whom are
Spanish peasants on their way to harvest the crops of Argentina. Others
are anxious to take us ashore. And after the usual delay, we make a deal
with a boatman, a lazy fellow who wastes a lot of time trying to sail in
against the wind while his more energetic competitors are rowing. On the
way we pass half a dozen steamers and a few sailing vessels, and steer
carefully between scores of huge lighters and dozens of smaller craft.
In place of the steel steam cranes which we saw at Pernambuco, on the
wharves are numerous wooden cranes worked by hand.
We land on slippery wooden stairs, and hurry across the blistering hot
pavements of the street to rest for a few moments in the shade of the
large warehouses and wholesale shops that crowd the lower town. Some of
the signs are decidedly bizarre and scream as loudly for patronage as
the limits of modern Frenchified Portuguese art will permit. There is
none of the picturesqueness of Pernambuco, and we soon betake ourselves
to one of the cog railways where, for a few cents, we are allowed to
scramble into a bare little wooden passenger coach and be yanked up the
steep incline by a cable that looks none too strong for its purpose.
Once in the upper city, the narrow streets of commerce seem to be left
behind, and we are in broader thoroughfares, with here and there a green
park full of palms and other tropical plants. There are churches on
every side,
[Illustration: LOOKING DOWN INTO THE LOWER CITY, BAHIA]
some of them wonderfully decorated and most attractive. Bahia is not
quite so old as Pernambuco, its foundation dating only from the middle
of the sixteenth century; but it early became the religious and
intellectual centre of Portuguese-America, and it is still noted for its
literature and culture, although long ago passed in the race by Rio.
The glaring white sunlight throws everything into bold relief and makes
the shadows seem unusually dark and cool. On the corners of the streets
are little folding stands bearing a heavy load of toothsome
confectionery. Their barefooted coal-black owners, clad generally in
white, lean against the iron posts of the American Trolley Car System
and watch patiently for the trade that seems sure to come to him who
waits. On every side one sees black faces.
In fact, Bahia is sometimes popularly spoken of as the “Old Mulattress,”
in affectionate reference to the fact that more than ninety per cent of
its two hundred thousand people are of African descent. For over two
centuries Bahia monopolized the slave trade of Brazil. Her traders
continued to be the chief importers of negroes down to the middle of the
nineteenth century. It is said that as many as sixty thousand slaves
were brought in within a single year.
We took one of the American-made trolleys and soon went whizzing along
through well-paved streets and out into the suburbs. Here villas,
fearfully and wonderfully made, like the baker’s best wedding cake in
his shop window, attest to the local fondness for rococo extravagance.
In general, however, the principal buildings appear to be well built,
and are frequently four or five stories in height.
The architecture of Bahia is decidedly Portuguese, much more so than
that of Pernambuco, which still bears traces of its Dutch origin and
even reminds one of Curaçao. Some of the villas in Bahia are strikingly
like those in Lisbon. And there are other likenesses between the
Portuguese capital and this ecclesiastical metropolis of Brazil. Both
are situated on magnificent estuaries, and present a fine spectacle to
the traveller coming by sea. Both have upper and lower towns, with hills
so steep as to require the services of elevators and cog or cable
railways to connect them. The upper town of each commands an extensive
view of the shipping, the roadstead, and the surrounding country. But
here the similarity ends; for Lisbon is built on several hills, while
Bahia occupies but a single headland, the verdure-clad promontory which
shelters the magnificent bay.
Bahia is the centre for a considerable commerce in sugar and cotton,
cocoa and tobacco. These are brought to the port by land and water, but
chiefly by the railroads that go north to the great river San Francisco
and west into the heart of the state. There are many evidences of wealth
in the city, and there is certainly an excellent opportunity for
developing foreign trade. One looks in vain, however, for great American
commercial houses like those which mark the presence of English, French,
and German enterprise. Nevertheless the electric car line, with its
American equipment, gives a promise of things hoped for. And there is a
decided air of friendliness toward Americans on the part of the
Brazilians whom one meets on the streets and in the shops. There is none
of that “chip on the shoulder” attitude which the Argentino likes to
exhibit toward the citizens of the “United States of North America.” The
Brazilian appears to realize that Americans are his best customers, and
he is desirous of maintaining the most friendly relations with us.