ABANCAY TO CHINCHEROS
One of the conditions on which we had based our decision to visit
Choqquequirau was that the Prefect was to see to it that animals should
be ready for our departure as soon as we got back, and that his
officials along the road should facilitate our progress in every
possible manner. To his credit be it said that he kept his promise
faithfully, notwithstanding all the rules in the books to the effect
that a South American rarely remembers his promise.
The next day after our return to Abancay, we spent in re-arranging our
luggage and making ready for a rapid march to Ayacucho. The Prefect sent
in an official request for a report on the ruins of Choqquequirau. Not
being a Latin-American, I was unable to sit down and dash off a
“thorough satisfactory official report” in an hour and a half and had to
explain that it would take days and even weeks to draw plans from the
data in our field-books and from the ten dozen negatives we had exposed.
On the following day, much refreshed in body and mind, we succeeded in
getting an early start. We were accompanied out of town by a score of
enthusiastic friends whose interest in our undertaking was perfectly
ingenuous and of whom we had learned to be very fond. They not only
decided to extend
[Illustration: OUR CAVALCADE ON THE BRIDGE OF PACHACHACA]
the customary “mile of courtesy” to a dozen or more, but later they
followed us up with congratulatory telegrams speeding us on our way.
Our cavalcade clattered gayly out of town on a fine brisk morning when
for some reason or other it did not happen to be raining. A short stop
at Yllanya to enable us to pay our respects to the kind Letona family,
who had given us a pleasant banquet the week before, was rewarded by the
young master of the house having his horse saddled at once and insisting
on taking us by a short cut through his own canefields. These looked
prosperous enough, but a swarm of locusts that had just made their
appearance was pointed out to us, and the planter feared greatly for his
crops.
At ten o’clock we reached the river Pachachaca, the first large affluent
of the Apurimac. We crossed it on a stone bridge whose magnificent
single arch was erected under the direction of a Jesuit architect, two
hundred and fifty years ago. It is said to be one of the longest spans
in the Andes. Here we stopped to have a round of drinks and to enjoy the
scenery.
It was a beautiful spot: green mountains on both sides of a valley
filled with waving sugar-cane through the midst of which ran a roaring,
rushing torrent. A few miles farther up this valley there are a number
of small Indian towns in which General Sucre had his headquarters a few
weeks before the battle of Ayacucho.
An hour’s brisk trot brought us to Auquibamba, a sugar mill and
plantation, owned by Don Federico Martinelli who was unfortunately ill
in bed and not able to see us, although his engineer and manager did
the honors most hospitably. Quantities of delicious oranges were brought
to appease our appetites while an elaborate lunch was being prepared for
the dozen more people than had been expected.
After lunch we all mounted at once. The custom of taking a siesta does
not seem to prevail at this altitude, 7000 feet. After all were on
horseback, affectionate good-bys had to be said, and notwithstanding the
nervousness of some of the more high-strung animals, their riders
succeeded in embracing the departing guests with true Spanish fervor.
Our road from Auquibamba led through a charming country until it
gradually climbed out of the valley and across a pass, at an altitude of
11,700 feet, where there was a small lake but no signs of tropical
vegetation.
We saw no llamas at all. Mules, horses, and burros were the pack animals
that we met carrying out kegs of aguardiente and loads of sugar and
bringing in foreign merchandise. Thanks to the rainy season, the fields
were covered with flowers, many varieties of which have been imported
for our own gardens at home. Wonderfully large begonias, excelling in
size anything I had ever seen before, lupins, cosmos, and many others
added great charm to the scene and partly made up for the frightful
condition of the roads.
Every one with whom we talked expressed surprise that we should attempt
a journey at this season of the year when all good Peruvians stay at
home. Not only are the roads positively dangerous in places, but the
heavy rainfall insures a thorough daily drenching unless one is so
fortunate as to be protected by a very heavy rubber poncho. As the
natives depend almost entirely on woolen ponchos for protection against
the rain, it may be imagined that they get well soaked after two or
three hours’ riding, notwithstanding the fact that the best and most
expensive vicuña ponchos are beautifully and closely woven and will shed
an ordinary shower.
At half past four we began the descent into the pretty cultivated valley
of Huancarama. The descent was steep and the path extremely slippery,
and we were paying so much attention to the manner of our going that we
barely noticed the cavalcade of eight horsemen riding at full gallop up
the valley. The Gobernador had been informed of our approach by the
kind-hearted Prefect, and had brought with him half a dozen of his
friends to do us honor. We were taken at once to his house, a small
adobe hut, and treated most courteously. The priest of the village and
two of the leading citizens were urged to remain and dine with us, which
they readily consented to do. After dinner we were piloted through the
muddy streets to the plaza where a room, evidently used for various
governmental purposes, was placed at our disposal. All went well until
the next morning when we were told that one of the animals which the
Prefect had furnished us belonged to the Gobernador, who had lent it to
the Secretary of the Department for the expedition to Choqquequirau, and
he was unwilling to have it go any farther. He said that “one of his
friends” had an excellent horse which he would rent us for that day. The
Gobernador was firm, and as he had sent the animal to pasture, he had
more than “nine points of the law” on his side. Anyhow we had no desire
to impose on him, and requested him to have his “friend’s horse” brought
around. There seemed, however, to be some sort of an understanding
between the Gobernador and his “friend,” as the horse, a fairly
good-looking beast, was brought out from the Gobernador’s own backyard.
We suspicioned that the “friend” was probably a confederate in graft, if
not actually a servant. The price asked for the use of the horse for one
day was five dollars. Evidently we were considered to be “easy.” We
appealed the matter to the soldier who had been sent as our escort, but
he would only shake his head sadly and shrug his shoulders. So we told
the Gobernador the price was outrageous and that rather than pay it, we
would settle down in Huancarama and live at his expense. With this
terrible alternative staring him in the face he sent his servant to
another “friend” with orders to bring up another animal. This time the
price asked was only $1, and although the soldier said that was twice as
much as the regular charge, we preferred to pay it rather than be
delayed any longer.
The day was very rainy. It may have been for this reason, or it may have
been because he was disappointed at his unsuccessful attempt at
“legitimate graft,” that the Gobernador did not assemble his friends and
escort us out of town. In either case we did not blame him. It was
rather a relief to escape the oft-repeated expressions of sincere sorrow
at departure which one can make two or three times, but which somehow
lack spontaneity and sincerity when they must be repeated to a cavalcade
of sixteen.
The road was no improvement on that of the day before. A long climb
through the rain and sleet, a long descent through the clouds into the
valley of the river Pincos, whose tantalizing roar helped us to realize
what magnificent scenery we were missing; a little glimpse of green
fields, a dilapidated village, an old bridge, and another long steep
ascent led us finally to a bleak _paramo_ where we were as uncomfortable
as cold winds and drenching rain could make us.
Just before four o’clock we were gladdened by the sight of a good-sized
town and hoped that it was Andahuaylas, our destination, but our escort
said it was only San Geronimo, a suburb of Andahuaylas. We found it to
be a densely populated Indian town of the usual type. Before we had much
of an opportunity to take in its points of interest, however, we were
surrounded by twenty horsemen, including the sub-Prefect of Andahuaylas,
the secretary of the province, and their friends who had ridden to meet
us. Much as we appreciated their courtesy and the liquid refreshments
they brought with them, we were still more gratified by being asked to
dismount and allow the soldiers to put our saddles on two fresh horses.
It may have been because the rain had stopped its torrential downpour,
or because our tired, jaded animals had made us lose all sense of
proportion, or it may possibly have been that those two horses really
were the finest animals in Peru; whatever the cause, we both of us
agreed that we had never enjoyed any ride so much as that last mile to
Andahuaylas, and that we had never ridden such magnificent, fiery steeds
that so closely resembled the high mettled war-horse that one usually
sees surmounted by General Bolivar either in bronze or in historical
paintings.
The good people of Andahuaylas had heard by telegraph of the banquet
which had been “tendered us” in Abancay and of the enthusiasm with which
the Prefect had welcomed us back from Choqquequirau. They determined not
to be outdone. If an additional reason was needed to spur them on to do
their utmost, it came in the press despatches that day which stated that
Chile was about to throw down the gauntlet to Peru by definitively
announcing her permanent occupancy of the provinces of Tacna and Arica.
To the minds of the older Peruvian generation who had felt the cruel
lash of the Chilean conqueror in 1883 and had witnessed the burning of
the Lima Library and the stabling of Chilean horses in Peruvian
churches, there seemed little hope of a satisfactory settlement of the
dispute and no desire to engage in another war. Their one idea seemed to
be that the United States, with its love of fair play, would see to it
that Chile did not take advantage of the weakness of Peru to rob her of
her southernmost province. As we were the only Americans in sight, and
as there was about us a certain reflected glamour of officialdom, we
were treated as though we were diplomats, instead of being, as they knew
perfectly well, merely a delegate to a Scientific Congress, and his
“secretary.” Anyhow, they had done their best to provide a banquet that
should eclipse the glories of Abancay; the table was set for forty-five
and it may safely be assumed that most of the leading citizens of
Andahuaylas were present. Little American flags, made for the occasion,
were crossed with Peruvian flags on the walls of the room. Portraits of
President Roosevelt and President Leguia, suitably framed, decorated the
wall immediately behind us. “Ice cream,” made of snow brought from the
Nevada of Chillihua on the backs of llamas, was on the menu. There was
enough food and drink to last until 2.30 A.M. Unfortunately I had to
leave early for I was simply used up with the amount of “entertainment”
that I had had to undergo during the preceding week.
Our hosts came to call rather late the next morning and looked pretty
mournful. It was not due entirely to the fact of the pouring rain.
Nevertheless the sub-Prefect was most kind, and had us take all our
meals at his house, a picturesque old compound whose large patio was
surrounded by one and two-storied buildings. The roofs, with their heavy
old-fashioned mission tiles, had long ago lost any straight line they
ever possessed. To add to their beauty, rain and sun and mosses had
given them every variety of color. In a corner of the patio, an Indian
man-servant and a little girl were busy grinding meal by rocking one
stone upon another in the same fashion as did the builders of
Choqquequirau and with stones almost the exact counterparts of those we
found there.
In the afternoon, our friends felt a little better, and the rain held up
enough for us to be shown the sights of the town. A well-proportioned
stone church, designed by the same architect who had built the bridge
near Abancay, testified again to the excellent crafts that the Jesuits
taught in this country two hundred and fifty years ago. Some of the
booths on the plaza were extremely picturesque, the various colored
wares offered for sale being protected from the sun by umbrella-shaped
shelters rudely made from old sticks covered with faded ponchos or with
the dried skins of animals, cured with the hair on.
Some one with a great fondness for Lombardy poplars had lived here years
ago and the view of the town which we got from the heights across the
river was most attractive. On the side of a mountain to the north were
many farms. The fields of corn divided from each other by hedges gave a
very pleasing background; the roaring rapids of the little river formed
the foreground; while in the middle distance the red-tiled roofs, white
walls, poplar trees, and fine old stone church made a charming picture.
The sub-Prefect and his secretary, who had most generously placed his
own very comfortable quarters at our disposal, took great pleasure in
showing us two new _alamedas_ or avenues which had been laid out
recently under his direction. It is pleasant to remember these signs of
progress even though we also remember a little old street through which
we had to pass after leaving the _alameda_. The old street, scarcely as
wide as the sidewalks of the new, had no conveniences whatsoever for
foot-passengers. Owing to the recent downpour, part of it had been
converted into a pond, and we had an amusing and not altogether
successful time getting across dry-shod.
All our friends promised to be on hand the next morning to accompany us
out of town although we assured them that it was quite unnecessary. When
they woke up and saw the rain coming down in sheets, they decided we
were right. The sub-Prefect came through the downpour to bid us good-by,
but was still suffering from dyspepsia and excused himself for not
mounting his horse. By his orders, the Gobernador of the neighboring
town of Talavera, through which we passed half an hour after leaving
Andahuaylas, accompanied us on our way.
Talavera is noted for the manufacture of the finest grade of Vicuña
ponchos. Mr. Squier gave it a bad name and was impressed by the evil
looks of its inhabitants, but we saw nothing to differentiate it from
the other crowded little towns of the interior. Wherever possible, the
land is occupied. There is, in fact, very little evidence that there was
a much larger population in Peru before the arrival of the Spanish
conquerors. Although it is true that some of the irrigating ditches have
been destroyed, it does not seem likely that this region could ever have
supported a much more numerous population than lives here to-day. Those
writers who believe that the Peruvian Indians were reduced “from upwards
of thirty millions to three millions within the space of two centuries,”
must have forgotten to make allowances for the fondness for exaggeration
in the Spanish chronicles. The country is actually as crowded to-day as
its resources will allow. In fact, most of the Indians are half starved
all the time. It is difficult to believe that twice as many, to say
nothing of ten times as many Indians, could find support on these bleak
highlands, even when they were forced to practice an extensive
cultivation of the soil by Inca laws and usages, which provided for
almost every action of their lives.
Since writing the above I have been reading Prof. Bandelier’s remarkable
book, “The Islands of Titicaca and Koati,” and am glad to notice that he
says, p. 27: “The conclusion is reached that the Indian population, of
that district (Chucuito) at least, has not at all diminished since the
early times of Spanish colonization, but has rather increased. It shows
how unjustified is the hue and cry about extermination of the natives of
Peru by the Spaniards. I could easily furnish more examples of the kind
from all over Peru and Bolivia.”
It is pleasant to have my amateurish opinions substantiated so
unexpectedly and from such a high authority.
In the valleys above Talavera there was abundant pasturage and we saw
many flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. Some of the sheep had very
long curly horns, reminding one of the Rocky Mountain
[Illustration: SOME OF THE SHEEP HAD VERY LONG CURLY HORNS]
goats, while others were distinguished by having four horns instead of
two. From Talavera the road turned northward and followed for some
distance the valley of the Andahuaylas River, then crossed it and
climbed out of the valley, passed the ruins of a _tambo_ at a place
called Monobamba, and surmounted an exceedingly bleak plateau, a
veritable _paramo bravo_ where the barometer showed an elevation of
14,500 feet. The neighboring hills, the summits of the Andes, were
covered with snow. More snow began to fall before we left the _paramo_.
The descent to Chincheros was particularly difficult owing to the fact
that a little mountain torrent, usually easy to ford, had become very
much swollen. Furthermore, the mud was so deep in places that we should
have found it impossible to proceed had it not been for our excellent
guide, the Gobernador of Talavera, who knew how to avoid the worst
places and was able to pilot us across stretches of treacherous
pasture-land where the soggy soil barely sustained the weight of our
animals.
It was a long forty-mile ride. The Gobernador of Chincheros, who had
come out, with a dozen of his friends, to meet us two miles from his
town, had been waiting in the shelter of a hut for more than an hour
before we appeared. Nevertheless our tardy arrival in no wise interfered
with their welcome, and the long wait had not even induced them to make
any lighter the load of the Indian servant who had brought on foot a
basket-load of bottled beer and coñac. We had learned by this time, from
sad experience, that our stomachs, well emptied by a long day in the
saddle, would rebel at being treated to fire-water even though it was
“the custom of the country.” Although a refusal would have been
misunderstood, no objection was offered to the fact that we merely
touched the fiery draft and did not drain the glass. With the kindly
escort was an officer who had been sent all the way from Ayacucho
bearing a letter of welcome from the Prefect of that department, with
orders to attend to our comforts on the way. We felt as though we were
in the hands of our friends, but at the same time we were not prepared
for what was to follow.
After paddling painfully along for a mile or so through awful mud and
slush, we came to a roadside inn whose proprietor had stretched a line
of flags across the road and erected a primitive framework for them. As
it was late in the afternoon, we did not tarry long to return his
courteous greetings but trotted on down the valley. A sudden turn in the
road brought us into view of a charmingly situated town. Deep green
valleys, high mountains, and pleasant trees gave a fine setting to
picturesque Chincheros with its little old church and its red-tiled
roofed houses. We had to cross a stone bridge just before entering the
town, and here we were met by an Indian bearing on a pole an enormous
flag. Although it had less than twenty stars and only eight stripes, it
was unmistakably intended to be “Old Glory.” Welcoming us with a loud
shout, the bearer turned about and marched at the head of our cavalcade.
Flags fluttered from every house. The streets were thronged with people,
many of whom showered us with rose-leaves! As we entered the plaza, the
church bells, which had been ringing ever since we rounded the turn in
the road, redoubled their noise; the shouts increased, and we were
almost carried from our horses on the shoulders of the crowd. We
realized perfectly the spirit with which our arrival was celebrated, and
knew that it was merely an expression of cordial goodwill toward the
United States, arising from a mistaken idea that we were the official
personification of that great country; but it was all we could do to
keep our faces straight.
After we were finally lodged in a comfortable room belonging to the
little local club, we thought the crowd would disperse. Not at all.
Nothing would satisfy them but that one of us should make a speech
which, however feebly delivered, was received with great enthusiasm.
More rose-petals were thrown, the bells were rung again, the flags
waved, the people cheered, and we were made to know what it must be like
to be a returning military chief and to hear the band play “Lo the
Conquering Hero Comes!”
The little group of Chinchereños, whose public spirit had established
the club, tendered us a banquet that evening. They had determined to
outdo the celebrations which they had heard of as taking place in
Abancay and Andahuaylas, but they insisted that the outside celebration
was quite spontaneous, and that the Indians had taken it into their own
heads to improve on that which the club had planned. After the banquet
that evening, there was a display of fireworks consisting of a set
piece fixed to a pole which was held by a poor Indian who did not seem
to mind in the least the shower of sparks that fell on every side. To
prolong his danger, the rain kept putting out the fuse so that it had to
be lighted six or seven times. If he felt any pain, however, he failed
to show it, and seemed only too delighted to be the centre of
attraction.
The celebration had a strange witness. In the crowd that welcomed us
near the bridge there was a haggard man with German features who called
out in English, “Hurrah for the United States!” He soon came to call on
us and told quite a tragic story.
He said his name was Emilio Smith (or Schmidt) and that his home was in
Düsseldorf on the Rhine. With three companions, he had made a wager in
New York that they could walk from Buenos Aires across both continents
to New York City without funds and without begging. He said that the New
York “Herald” and the Buenos Aires “La Prensa” had offered a prize of
five thousand dollars, if they would accomplish the feat. They had had
no particular difficulty in crossing Argentina, but one of them
succumbed at Tupiza soon after they reached Bolivia. Nothing daunted,
the other three pressed on over much the same road that we had followed
from Tupiza to Potosí and thence direct to the Antofagasta railway. At
each place they had secured the signature of official witnesses to the
effect that they were not riding and were not begging but were
conducting their overland tramp fairly. They raised money by giving
lectures and
[Illustration: THE CLUB AT CHINCHEROS]
entertainments in the towns through which they passed, and had
frequently been given food and lodging by kindly disposed Indians,
although often they had been very rudely received. They had walked
around Lake Titicaca, and had reached Cuzco, followed the old trail to
Lima, walked up the coast, and penetrated the equatorial rain-belt in
Ecuador before disaster overtook them. Weakened by months of exposure,
they were in no condition to encounter tropical fevers, and all were
soon flat on their backs. Two of them never recovered and were buried in
Ecuador. Smith, now alone, cabled to the New York “Herald” for
instructions, stating that he was too weak to continue the journey
alone, and had no funds. The answer came back: “Return to Buenos Aires.”
Although he had been dismayed by the difficulties that lay ahead of him
in Ecuador and Colombia, he knew enough of the road over which he had
come to believe that he could safely get back to Buenos Aires and that
then the “Herald” and the “Prensa” would probably reward him for his
foolhardy excursion. Accordingly, he was retracing his steps, and had
reached Chincheros that noon. He had intended to go along further in the
afternoon, but hearing of the expected arrival of two Americans, and
being invited to the banquet, he had stayed over.
It was a dismal story that he told, but he took great pride in it, and
his eyes flashed as he recounted his exploits. The only bitter in the
sweet was that he had lost his friends, and that we had not heard of
him.
“What, you don’t know about me? Why, I am the foot-walker. I go from
Buenos Aires to New York. I don’t get there. I go back to Buenos Aires.
You haven’t heard of me? You haven’t heard of me, Emilio Smith, the
foot-walker? That is very strange. And the Prefect of Abancay? He is a
good fellow. Didn’t he tell you about me? Didn’t he show you my picture?
My picture of me and my two friends?”
I think he felt that we really hadn’t been to Abancay after all. Poor
fellow, living for months on the narration of his exploits, it was a
hard pill for him to swallow that the only Americans he had seen who had
come over the road where he had passed several months before, had never
heard any mention made of his overland journey. The reason was not far
to seek. He travelled on foot. No one but an Indian travels on foot. It
is perfectly inconceivable to the Spanish mind that any one should do
any feat of pedestrianism unless compelled to, either by poverty or the
instincts of a vagabond. Poor people and vagabonds are too common to
attract much attention. We never heard of him again. He left early the
next morning.