POTOSÍ
We had not been in Potosí many hours before we realized that it was a
most fascinating place with an atmosphere all its own. By the time we
had been here a week we were ready to agree with those who call it the
most interesting city in South America.
The prestige of its former wealth, the evidence on every side of former
Spanish magnificence, the picturesquely clad Indians and the troops of
graceful, inquisitive llamas in the streets, aroused to the utmost our
curiosity and interest.
Our first duty was to call on the Prefect who had been expecting our
arrival and was most kind during our entire stay. A Bolivian prefect has
almost unlimited power in his department and is directly responsible to
the President. His orders are carried out by the sub-prefect who is also
chief of police and has a small body of soldiers under his immediate
control.
We found the Government House, or _Prefectura_, to be a fine old
building dating back to colonial days. Probably the most interesting
person that has ever occupied it was General William Miller, that
picturesque British veteran who fought valiantly through all the
Peruvian Wars of Independence, receiving so many wounds that he was
said to have been “honeycombed with bullets.” At the end of the wars he
was appointed Prefect of Potosí, and it was during his incumbency that
the great liberator Simon Bolivar made his visit. There is a vivid
description of it in Miller’s “Memoirs.” When Bolivar arrived in sight
of the far-famed mountain, the flags of Peru, Buenos Aires, Chile, and
Colombia were unfurled on its summit. As he entered the town, twenty-one
petards were exploded on the peak, an aërial salute “that had a very
singular and imposing effect.” “Upon alighting at the Government House,
under a grand triumphal arch, decorated with flags, the reception of His
Excellency was according to the Hispanic-American taste. Two children,
dressed as angels, were let down from the arch as he approached, and
each pronounced a short oration! Upon entering the grand saloon, six
handsome women, representing the fair sex of Potosí, hailed the arrival
of His Excellency, crowned him with a wreath of laurel, and strewed
flowers, which had been brought from a great distance for the occasion.”
This was followed by seven weeks of bull-fights, grand dinners, balls,
fireworks, illuminations, and other signs of public rejoicing, which
would seem to have surfeited even a person so fond of pomp and adulation
as the great liberator.
Opposite the Government House, on the east side of the plaza, is a
curious many-arched arcade which incloses a new plaza, the work of an
ambitious prefect. The tall column surmounted by a statue, that stands
as the only ornament in the new plaza, once stood in the centre of the
old, but was moved to its new position by the Prefect who decided that
his work would be incomplete unless properly graced by a monument.
On a corner of the new plaza is Potosí’s only bookshop. Judging by the
stock in trade, the principal customers are school children and lawyers.
The book trade was dull when we were there, but considerable interest
was shown in other departments of the store where toys and picture post
cards were on sale.
Near by is the “University” where second-rate secondary instruction is
given to poor little boys who sit on damp adobe seats in badly-lighted,
foul-smelling rooms. It was once a convent, but the church connected
with it has long since been transformed into a theatre. The only
attractive thing about the “University” is the charming old convent
garden where rare old flowers still try to bloom.
Opposite the “University” is the club. Here there are billiard tables
(it is really remarkable how many billiard tables one finds scattered
all over South America, even in the most inaccessible places) and a bar.
The custom of serving a little felt mat with each drink is resorted to,
and when a member chooses to stand treat, he goes about and gathers up
all the mats in sight and takes them to the bar where he cashes them
with his own money, or some that he has recently won. The bar was well
patronized. And no one is to blame but the climate, which is the worst
in South America.
Although Potosí is in the Tropics, the highest recorded temperature
here in the shade on the hottest day ever known, was 59° F. The city is
nearly thirteen thousand five hundred feet above the sea, almost as high
as Pike’s Peak. Every afternoon cold winds sweep down through the
streets striking a chill into one’s very marrow. A temperature of 22° F.
is not unknown, yet none of the houses have stoves or any appliances
(except soup) for warming their shivering inhabitants. As the prevailing
temperature indoors is below 50° F., almost every one wears coats and
hats in the house as much as outdoors, or even more so, for a brisk walk
of a block or two at this altitude makes one quite warm, and in the
middle of the day the sun is hot.
Wherever we wandered in this fascinating city, our eyes continually
turned southward to the Cerro, the beautifully colored cone that raises
itself fifteen hundred feet above the city. It is impossible to describe
adequately the beauty of its colors and the marvellous way in which they
change as the sun sinks behind the western Andes. I hope that some day a
great painter will come here and put on canvas the marvellous hues of
this world-renowned hill. Pink, purple, lavender, brown, gray, and
yellow streaks make it look as though the gods, having finished painting
the universe, had used this as a dumping-ground for their surplus
pigments. In reality, the hand of man has had much to do with its
present variegated aspect, for he has been busily engaged during the
past three hundred years in turning the hill inside out. Much of the
most beautifully colored material has been painfully brought out from
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE CERRO FROM THE ROOF OF THE MINT]
the very heart of the hill through long tunnels, in man’s effort to get
at the rich veins of silver and tin which lie within.
The discovery of silver at Potosí was made by a llama driver about the
middle of the sixteenth century. It was soon found that the mountain was
traversed by veins of extremely rich ore. After the gold of the Incas
had been gathered up and disposed of, Potosí became the most important
part of all the Spanish possessions in America. At the beginning of the
seventeenth century, when New York and Boston were still undreamed of,
Potosí was already a large and extremely wealthy city. It attracted the
presence of hundreds of Spanish adventurers including many grandees. In
short it had taken on all the signs of luxury that are common to big
mining camps. Grandees in sumptuous apparel rode gayly caparisoned
horses up and down the stony streets, bowing graciously to charming
ladies dressed in the most costly attire that newly-gotten wealth could
procure. On feast days, and particularly on great national holidays,
like the King’s birthday, elaborate and expensive entertainments were
given.
If it were not for the great expanse of ruins and the very large number
of churches, it would be difficult to realize to-day that for over a
century this was the largest city in the Western Hemisphere. The routes
which led to the Bolivian plateau became the greatest thoroughfares in
America. Money flowed more freely than water. In fact, the Spaniards
found great difficulty during the dry season in supplying the city with
sufficient water to use in washing the ore and in meeting the ordinary
needs of a large population. Consequently, they went up into the hills
above the city and built, at great expense, a score of dams to hold back
the water that fell during the rainy season and preserve it for the dry.
Immediately following the Wars of Independence and the consequent
opening of the country to foreign capital, a wild mining fever set in
among London capitalists. Greedy and ignorant directors took advantage
of the cupidity of the British public to enrich themselves, while
incidentally working the mines of Potosí with disproportionately
expensive establishments. So eager was the public to take stock in
Potosí that shares which at the outset were quoted at 75 or 80, rose
incredibly in the short space of six weeks. Some of them went up above
5000. As was to be expected, this speculative fever was followed by a
panic which ruined not only the stockholders but those unfortunates like
Edmund Temple, who had gone to Potosí in the employ of one of the
wildcat companies, and those South Americans that had honored their
drafts on London.
Then followed a long period of stagnation. But as railroads came nearer
and cart-roads began to multiply, transportation became cheaper and new
enterprises sprang up.
Any one is at liberty to secure a license from the proper authorities to
dig a mine in the side of the mountain, provided he does not interfere
with the property of someone else. The records show that since the Cerro
was first discovered licenses have been issued for over five thousand
mines. It is easy to imagine what a vast underground labyrinth exists
beneath those many-colored slopes. Most of the openings, however, have
been closed by avalanches of refuse from mines higher up the hill.
One day I was invited to visit several new mines that had recently been
opened by a Chilean Company. In one mine, at an altitude of about
fifteen thousand feet, I undertook to crawl into the depths for five
hundred yards in order to see a new vein of silver ore that had recently
been encountered. The exertion of getting in and out again at that
altitude was terrific, yet the miners did not appear to feel it. They
wear thick knitted caps which save their heads from the bumps and shield
them from falling rocks. Their knees are protected by strong leather
caps. Their feet they bind in huge moccasins. Those that carry out the
ore frequently wear leather aprons tied on their backs. The workmen are
a sordid, rough-looking lot who earn and deserve very good wages.
Sometime ago when tin was higher than it is now, a large number of new
mines were opened and unheard-of prices were paid for labor. Now that
the price of tin has fallen, it is extremely difficult to get the
Indians to accept a lower scale of wages. Consequently, most of the new
mines have had to be closed.
In the old days, the tin was discarded as the eager Spanish miners
thought only of the silver. But now the richer veins of silver have
become exhausted, and although some are being worked, most of the
activity is confined to the tin ore. At the top of the cone there is an
immense quantity of it; the only difficulty is how to get it down to
the smelters in the valley between the hill and the city.
In this valley runs a small stream of water that comes from the hill
reservoirs. Attracted by its presence, most of the smelters have located
themselves on one side or the other of the little gorge. There are
innumerable small _ingenios_ worked by the Indians in a very primitive
fashion. Some of them are scarcely more than a family affair. Besides
these there are twenty-eight large smelters, and all of them devoted
more to tin than to silver. Not one of these is owned by a Bolivian. A
few belong to English capitalists, more to Chileans, and the largest of
all to a Frenchman who has constructed an aërial railway to bring the
ore from high up on the mountainside to his furnaces. The never ending
line of iron buckets adds a curiously modern note to the ruins over
which they pass. Ore is also brought down on the backs of donkeys and
llamas. The workmen are mostly Quichuas. Some of them are evidently not
city bred, for they dress with the same pigtails and small clothes that
they wore when Spanish _conquistadores_ forced them to take the precious
metal out of the hill without any thought of reward other than the fact
that they were likely to die sooner and reach heaven earlier than if
they stayed quietly at home. The product of this smelter is shipped both
as pure tin in ingots and also as highly concentrated and refined ore.
The most picturesque feature of the valley was a small chimney smoking
lustily away all by itself, high up on the opposite hillside, like a
young volcano with a smoke stack. In order to get a good draft for
[Illustration: THE CERRO OF POTOSÍ FROM THE SPANISH RESERVOIRS]
[Illustration: AN ANCIENT QUICHUA ORE CRUSHER]
the blast furnaces, the smoke is conducted across the stream on a stone
viaduct, enters the hill by a tunnel, and ascends a vertical shaft for
one hundred and fifty feet to the chimney which then carries it thirty
feet further up into the air. The tunnel does just as good work in the
way of producing a draft as though it were a modern brick chimney, two
hundred feet high, but the effect is uncanny, to say the least.
We found among the boarders at the Hotel Colon a group of young Peruvian
and Chilean mining engineers who were very congenial. They made the best
of their voluntary exile, and although none of them enjoyed the fearful
climatic conditions, they managed to make their surroundings quite
tolerable with hard work, cheerful conversation, birthday dinners, and
social calls.
The courtyard of the hotel was a fine example of the prevailing mixture
of old and new. The roof was covered with beautiful large red tiles
whose weight had crushed down the rafters in places so as to produce a
wavy effect. Meanwhile the shaky old balcony that ran around the court
connecting the rooms on the second floor, was sheltered from the rain by
strips of corrugated iron! The fine old stone-paved _patio_ was marred
by a vile wainscoting painted in imitation of cheap oil-cloth. In one
corner stood a little old-fashioned stove where _arrieros_, who need to
make an early start, cook their tea without disturbing the hotel
servants. An archway running under the best bedrooms of the second
floor, led out to the street. Another archway led in to the filth of the
backyard where, amid indescribable scenes and smells, six-course
dinners were prepared for our consumption. It was a miracle that we did
not get every disease in the calendar.
Opposite the hotel was a fine old building with a wonderfully carved
stone gateway and attractive iron balconies jutting out with stone
supports from each second-story window. It is now the residence and
warehouse of one of the largest importers in Bolivia. Once it was the
abode of a Spanish marquis. The exquisitely finished exterior bears
witness to the good taste of its builder and the riches and extravagance
that once ran riot in Potosí.
So also do the beautiful towers, all that are left standing of the
Jesuit church. The church itself has disappeared, but the solidly
constructed, exquisitely carved stone towers remain as silent witnesses
to the power of that Christian order that did most to advance the cause
of civilization in South America.
Unquestionably the most picturesque part of Potosí is the market-place
and the streets in its immediate vicinity. Hither come the miners and
their families to spend their hard-earned wages. Here can be purchased
all the native articles of luxury: coca, _chupe_, frozen potatoes,
parched corn, and _chicha_ (native hard cider made from anything that
happens to be handy). The streets are lined with small merchants who
stack their wares on the sidewalk against the walls of the buildings.
There are no carriages and few horseback riders, so that one does not
mind being crowded off the sidewalks by the picturesque booths of the
Quichua merchants.
In the streets flocks of llamas driven by gayly-dressed Indians add a
rare flavor not easily forgotten. The llamas move noiselessly only
making little grunts of private conversation among themselves; quite
haughty, yet so timid withal, they are easily guided in droves of fifty
by a couple of diminutive Indians.
To see these ridiculous animals stalking slowly along, looking
inquisitively at everyone, continually reminded me of Oliver Herford’s
verses about that person in Boston who
“Looked about him with that air
Of supercilious despair
That very stuck-up people wear
At some society affair
When no one in their set is there.”
In the immediate vicinity of the market-place every available inch on
each side of the street is used by the small tradesmen. They are allowed
to erect canopies to protect their goods from the sun and rain, and the
general effect is not unlike a street in Cairo. On one corner are piled
up bolts of foreign cloth, their owners squatting on the sidewalk in
front of them. On another corner, leaning against the white-washed walls
of a building, is a native drug store. The different herbs and medicines
exposed for sale in the little cloth bags are cleverly stacked up so as
to show their contents without allowing the medicines to mix. The most
conspicuous article offered for sale is coca, which is more to the
Quichua than tobacco is to the rest of mankind.
The market-place itself is roughly paved with irregular stone blocks
and is surrounded by arcades where are the more perishable European
goods. The vendors of Indian merchandise squat on the stones wherever
they can find a place and spread out before them their wares, whether
they consist of eggs or pottery, potatoes or sandals.
It is the custom to arrange the corn and potatoes in little piles, each
pile being worth a _real_, about four cents in our money, the standard
of value in the market-place. Under umbrella-like shelters are gathered
the purveyors of food and drink, their steaming cauldrons of _chupe_
surrounded by squatting Indians who can thus get warmed and fed at the
same time.
The Quichua garments are of every possible hue, although red
predominates. The women dress in innumerable petticoats of many-colored
materials and wear warm, heavy, colored shawls, brought together over
the shoulders and secured with two large pins, occasionally of handsome
workmanship, but more often in the shape of spoons. Generally they are
content with uninteresting felt hats, but now and then one will have a
specimen of a different design, the principal material of which is black
velveteen, ornamented with red worsted and colored beads. On their feet
the women usually wear the simplest kind of rawhide sandals, although
when they can afford it, they affect an extraordinary footgear, a sandal
with a French heel an inch and a half high, and shod with a leather
device resembling a horse shoe.
Near the market-place is an interesting old church, its twin towers
still in good repair. Services are rarely held here, and it was with
some difficulty that
[Illustration: THE MARKET-PLACE OF POTOSÍ]
we succeeded in finding the sexton, who finally brought a large key and
allowed us to see the historical pictures that hang on the walls of two
of the chapels. They are of considerable interest and appeared to date
from the sixteenth century. We commented on the fact that a large
painting had recently been removed and were regaled with a story of how
a foreign millionaire had bribed some prelate or other to sell him the
treasured relic!
In the eighteenth century Potosí boasted of sixty churches but of these
considerably more than half are now in ruins. The ruined portion of the
city lies principally to the east and south. A few strongly built
churches or church towers are still standing amid the remains of
buildings that have tumbled down in heaps.
Several of the old convents and monasteries, however, are still in a
flourishing condition. To us the chief interest consisted of their
collections of fine old paintings and their beautiful flowers. Nothing
was more refreshing in this mountainous desert than to walk in their
lovely green gardens.
The principal object of interest in the city, however, is the Casa
Nacional de Moneda, the great mint, which was begun in colonial days to
receive the plunder that the Spaniards took out of the hill by means of
the forced labor of their Indian slaves. It covers two city blocks, and
is really a collection of buildings covered by a massive roof and
surrounded by a high wall with only one entrance. The front is striking.
At regular intervals along the roof are little stone ornaments like
funeral urns. The few windows are carefully guarded with iron bars. On
either side of the elaborately decorated façade of the two-storied
portal are wooden balconies over which projects the heavily timbered
roof covered with large red tiles.
As one enters the great building from the street and passes between
heavy doors into a large courtyard, the first thing that attracts one’s
attention is an enormous face, four feet in diameter, which looks down
at the intruder from over an archway that leads to a second courtyard.
The gigantic face has a malicious grin yet bears a distinct resemblance
to Bacchus. Who put it here and what it signifies does not seem to be
known. Suffice it to say that many of the Quichuas before starting on a
journey, come to this courtyard and make obeisance to the face, throwing
down in front of it a quid of coca leaves just as they used to do to the
rising sun in the time of the Incas.
The courtyard is surrounded by an arcade with massive arches over which
runs the carved wooden balustrade of the second-story balcony. In the
second patio, which is also paved with cut stones, a tiny narrow-gauge
railway is used to carry silver ingots from the treasure-room to the
stamping-machines. In one of the buildings is a physics laboratory. In
another a little gymnasium. In still a third, a collection of minerals.
All of which are evidences that here are the beginnings of a school of
mines that is being built up under the able direction of an intelligent
young Bolivian engineer who received his training at Notre Dame
University in the United States. In one old building are still standing
the great wooden machines that were formerly used in the process of
hammering out the silver. In a large room on the second floor of another
building are kept the vellum-bound records of the mint and all the dies
which have been used for the past two hundred years. According to the
records, the value of the silver taken from here in the colonial days
amounted to about one billion dollars. Most of the stamping was done by
hand. The Bolivian government has cleared out two or three of the
buildings and installed modern machinery, imported from the United
States.
One of the most remarkable features of the mint is the size and
condition of the huge timbers that support the roof. They are as sound
to-day as they were two hundred years ago when, with infinite labor,
they were brought across the mountains from the distant forests of the
Chaco.
The roof is surmounted by a number of small sentry-boxes which are
connected by little paths and stairways that lead to all parts of the
structure. In the old days, it was necessary not only to protect the
“money-house” against possible attacks from without, but to make sure
that the Indians, who were assigned to work in the mint, did not escape
from the attics where they slept at night.
I crawled through several of these attics where not even an underfed
Indian could stand upright. The roof was scarcely four feet above the
floor. In the corners were rude fireplaces where they may have cooked
their _chupe_, with dried llama dung as their only fuel. The rooms were
dark, even in midday. The tiny peek-holes that served as windows
admitted scarcely any light. Altogether it was as wretched a dormitory
as could possibly be imagined.
The view from the roof was most interesting. The romantic cone of the
mountain-of-silver rises to the south beyond the graceful towers of the
cathedral. East of it are the hills where the Spaniards built their
famous reservoirs. Further east are higher hills which have been the
scene of several bloody encounters in the unprofitable civil wars that
have devastated Bolivia. Here on the battle-field of Kari Kari, several
hundred unfortunate Indians, fighting for revolutionary leaders with
whose selfish aims they had little sympathy, fell victims to the
unfortunate habit of appealing to arms instead of ballots.
North of us, in the foreground, is the picturesque market-place, while
northwest, in the distance, the old trail for Oruro and Lima winds away
through the barren hills. To the west the far extending vista discloses
a wilderness of variegated hills and mountain ranges. While all around,
the quaint old arched roofs, rolling like giant swells of the Pacific,
are surrounded by the narrow streets, the red-tiled houses, and the
ruinous towers of the ancient city.
[Illustration: GREENER AND MORE POPULOUS VALLEYS]