INCA LAND
Explorations in the Highlands of Peru
By
Hiram Bingham
1922
------
FIGURE
"Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the
Ranges--Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for
you. Go!"
Kipling: "The Explorer"
------
This Volume
is affectionately dedicated
to
the Muse who inspired it
the Little Mother of Seven Sons
Preface
The following pages represent some of the results of four journeys into
the interior of Peru and also many explorations into the labyrinth of
early writings which treat of the Incas and their Land. Although my
travels covered only a part of southern Peru, they took me into every
variety of climate and forced me to camp at almost every altitude
at which men have constructed houses or erected tents in the Western
Hemisphere--from sea level up to 21,703 feet. It has been my lot to
cross bleak Andean passes, where there are heavy snowfalls and low
temperatures, as well as to wend my way through gigantic canyons into
the dense jungles of the Amazon Basin, as hot and humid a region as
exists anywhere in the world. The Incas lived in a land of violent
contrasts. No deserts in the world have less vegetation than those of
Sihuas and Majes; no luxuriant tropical valleys have more plant life
than the jungles of Conservidayoc. In Inca Land one may pass from
glaciers to tree ferns within a few hours. So also in the labyrinth
of contemporary chronicles of the last of the Incas--no historians
go more rapidly from fact to fancy, from accurate observation to
grotesque imagination; no writers omit important details and give
conflicting statements with greater frequency. The story of the Incas
is still in a maze of doubt and contradiction.
It was the mystery and romance of some of the wonderful pictures of
a nineteenth-century explorer that first led me into the relatively
unknown region between the Apurimac and the Urubamba, sometimes called
"the Cradle of the Incas." Although my photographs cannot compete with
the imaginative pencil of such an artist, nevertheless, I hope that
some of them may lead future travelers to penetrate still farther
into the Land of the Incas and engage in the fascinating game of
identifying elusive places mentioned in the chronicles.
Some of my story has already been told in Harper's and the National
Geographic, to whose editors acknowledgments are due for permission
to use the material in its present form. A glance at the Bibliography
will show that more than fifty articles and monographs have been
published as a result of the Peruvian Expeditions of Yale University
and the National Geographic Society. Other reports are still in course
of preparation. My own observations are based partly on a study
of these monographs and the writings of former travelers, partly
on the maps and notes made by my companions, and partly on a study
of our Peruvian photographs, a collection now numbering over eleven
thousand negatives. Another source of information was the opportunity
of frequent conferences with my fellow explorers. One of the great
advantages of large expeditions is the bringing to bear on the same
problem of minds which have received widely different training.
My companions on these journeys were, in 1909, Mr. Clarence L. Hay;
in 1911, Dr. Isaiah Bowman, Professor Harry Ward Foote, Dr. William
G. Erving, Messrs. Kai Hendriksen, H. L. Tucker, and Paul B. Lanius;
in 1912, Professor Herbert E. Gregory, Dr. George F. Eaton, Dr. Luther
T. Nelson, Messrs. Albert H. Bumstead, E. C. Erdis, Kenneth C. Heald,
Robert Stephenson, Paul Bestor, Osgood Hardy, and Joseph Little;
and in 1915, Dr. David E. Ford, Messrs. O. F. Cook, Edmund Heller,
E. C. Erdis, E. L. Anderson, Clarence F. Maynard, J. J. Hasbrouck,
Osgood Hardy, Geoffrey W. Morkill, and G. Bruce Gilbert. To these, my
comrades in enterprises which were not always free from discomfort or
danger, I desire to acknowledge most fully my great obligations. In
the following pages they will sometimes recognize their handiwork;
at other times they may wonder why it has been overlooked. Perhaps
in another volume, which is already under way and in which I hope to
cover more particularly Machu Picchu [1] and its vicinity, they will
eventually find much of what cannot be told here.
Sincere and grateful thanks are due also to Mr. Edward S. Harkness for
offering generous assistance when aid was most difficult to secure; to
Mr. Gilbert Grosvenor and the National Geographic Society for liberal
and enthusiastic support; to President Taft of the United States and
President Leguia of Peru for official help of a most important nature;
to Messrs. W. R. Grace & Company and to Mr. William L. Morkill and
Mr. L. S. Blaisdell, of the Peruvian Corporation, for cordial and
untiring coöperation; to Don Cesare Lomellini, Don Pedro Duque,
and their sons, and Mr. Frederic B. Johnson, of Yale University,
for many practical kindnesses; to Mrs. Blanche Peberdy Tompkins and
Miss Mary G. Reynolds for invaluable secretarial aid; and last, but
by no means least, to Mrs. Alfred Mitchell for making possible the
writing of this book.
Hiram Bingham
Yale University
October 1, 1922
Contents
I. Crossing the Desert 1
II. Climbing Coropuna 23
III. To Parinacochas 50
IV. Flamingo Lake 74
V. Titicaca 95
VI. The Vilcanota Country and the Peruvian Highlanders 110
VII. The Valley of the Huatanay 133
VIII. The Oldest City in South America 157
IX. The Last Four Incas 170
X. Searching for the Last Inca Capital 198
XI. The Search Continued 217
XII. The Fortress of Uiticos and the House of the Sun 241
XIII. Vilcabamba 255
XIV. Conservidayoc 266
XV. The Pampa of Ghosts 292
XVI. The Story of Tampu-tocco, a Lost City of the First Incas 306
XVII. Machu Picchu 314
XVIII. The Origin of Machu Picchu 326
Glossary 341
Bibliography of the Peruvian Expeditions of Yale University
and the National Geographic Society 345
Index 353
Illustrations
"Something Hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges"
Frontispiece
Sketch Map of Southern Peru 1
Mt. Coropuna from the Northwest 12
Mt. Coropuna from the South 24
The Base Camp, Coropuna, at 17,300 Feet 32
Photograph by H. L. Tucker
Camping at 18,450 Feet on the Slopes of Coropuna 32
Photograph by H. L. Tucker
One of the Frequent Rests in the Ascent of Coropuna 42
Photograph by H. L. Tucker
The Camp on the Summit 42
Photograph by H. L. Tucker
The Sub-Prefect of Cotahuasi, his Military Aide, and Messrs. Tucker,
Hendriksen, Bowman, and Bingham inspecting the Local Rug-weaving
Industry 60
Photograph by C. Watkins
Inca Storehouses at Chichipampa, near Colta 66
Photograph by H. L. Tucker
Flamingoes on Lake Parinacochas, and Mt. Sarasara 78
Mr. Tucker on a Mountain Trail near Caraveli 90
The Main Street of Chuquibamba 90
Photograph by H. L. Tucker
A Lake Titicaca Balsa at Puno 98
A Step-topped Niche on the Island of Koati 98
Indian Alcaldes at Santa Rosa 114
Native Druggists in the Plaza of Sicuani 114
Laying Down the Warp for a Blanket; near the Pass of La Raya 120
Plowing a Potato-field at La Raya 120
The Ruins of the Temple of Viracocha at Racche 128
Route Map of the Peruvian Expedition of 1912 132
Lucre Basin, Lake Muyna, and the City Wall of Piquillacta 136
Sacsahuaman: Detail of Lower Terrace Wall 140
Ruins of the Aqueduct of Rumiccolca 140
Huatanay Valley, Cuzco, and the Ayahuaycco Quebrada 150
Map of Peru and View of Cuzco 158
From the "Speculum Orbis Terrarum," Antwerp, 1578
Towers of Jesuit Church with Cloisters and Tennis Court of University,
Cuzco 162
Glaciers Between Cuzco and Uiticos 170
The Urubamba Canyon: A Reason for the Safety of the Incas in
Uilcapampa 176
Yucay, Last Home of Sayri Tupac 186
Part of the Nuremberg Map of 1599, showing Pincos and the Andes
Mountains 198
Route Map of the Peruvian Expedition of 1915 202
Mt. Veronica and Salapunco, the Gateway to Uilcapampa 206
Grosvenor Glacier and Mt. Salcantay 210
The Road between Maquina and Mandor Pampa, near Machu Picchu 214
Huadquiña 220
Ruins of Yurak Rumi near Huadquiña 225
Plan and elevations drawn by A. H. Bumstead
Pucyura and the Hill of Rosaspata in the Vilcabamba Valley 238
Principal Doorway of the Long Palace at Rosaspata 242
Photograph by E. C. Erdis
Another Doorway in the Ruins of Rosaspata 242
Northeast Face of Yurak Rumi 246
Plan of the Ruins of the Temple of the Sun at Ñusta Isppana 248
Drawn by R. H. Bumstead
Carved Seats and Platforms of Ñusta Isppana 250
Two of the Seven Seats near the Spring under the Great White Rock 250
Photograph by A. H. Bumstead
Ñusta Isppana 256
Quispi Cusi testifying about Inca Ruins 268
Photograph by H. W. Foote
One of our Bearers crossing the Pampaconas River 268
Photograph by H. W. Foote
Saavedra and his Inca Pottery 288
Inca Gable at Espiritu Pampa 288
Inca Ruins in the Jungles of Espiritu Pampa 294
Photograph by H. W. Foote
Campa Men at Espiritu Pampa 302
Photograph by H. L. Tucker
Campa Women and Children at Espiritu Pampa 302
Photograph by H. L. Tucker
Puma Urco, near Paccaritampu 306
The Best Inca Wall at Maucallacta, near Paccaritampu 312
The Caves of Puma Urco, Near Paccaritampu 312
Flashlight View of Interior of Cave, Machu Picchu 320
Temple over Cave at Machu Picchu; suggested by the Author as the
Probable Site of Tampu-tocco 320
Detail of Principal Temple, Machu Picchu 324
Detail of Exterior of Temple of the Three Windows, Machu Picchu 324
The Masonry Wall with Three Windows, Machu Picchu 328
The Gorges, opening Wide Apart, reveal Uilcapampa's Granite Citadel,
the Crown of Inca Land 338
Except as otherwise indicated the illustrations are from photographs
by the author.
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FIGURE
Sketch Map of Southern Peru.
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INCA LAND
CHAPTER I
Crossing the Desert
A kind friend in Bolivia once placed in my hands a copy of a most
interesting book by the late E. George Squier, entitled "Peru. Travel
and Exploration in the Land of the Incas." In that volume is a
marvelous picture of the Apurimac Valley. In the foreground is a
delicate suspension bridge which commences at a tunnel in the face
of a precipitous cliff and hangs in mid-air at great height above the
swirling waters of the "great speaker." In the distance, towering above
a mass of stupendous mountains, is a magnificent snow-capped peak. The
desire to see the Apurimac and experience the thrill of crossing that
bridge decided me in favor of an overland journey to Lima.
As a result I went to Cuzco, the ancient capital of the mighty empire
of the Incas, and was there urged by the Peruvian authorities to
visit some newly re-discovered Inca ruins. As readers of "Across
South America" will remember, these ruins were at Choqquequirau, an
interesting place on top of a jungle-covered ridge several thousand
feet above the roaring rapids of the great Apurimac. There was some
doubt as to who had originally lived here. The prefect insisted that
the ruins represented the residence of the Inca Manco and his sons,
who had sought refuge from Pizarro and the Spanish conquerors of Peru
in the Andes between the Apurimac and Urubamba rivers.
While Mr. Clarence L. Hay and I were on the slopes of Choqquequirau the
clouds would occasionally break away and give us tantalizing glimpses
of snow-covered mountains. There seemed to be an unknown region,
"behind the Ranges," which might contain great possibilities. Our
guides could tell us nothing about it. Little was to be found in
books. Perhaps Manco's capital was hidden there. For months afterwards
the fascination of the unknown drew my thoughts to Choqquequirau and
beyond. In the words of Kipling's "Explorer":
"... a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes
On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated--so:
'Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges--
Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!' "
To add to my unrest, during the following summer I read Bandelier's
"Titicaca and Koati," which had just appeared. In one of the
interesting footnotes was this startling remark: "It is much to be
desired that the elevation of the most prominent peaks of the western
or coast range of Peru be accurately determined. It is likely ... that
Coropuna, in the Peruvian coast range of the Department Arequipa,
is the culminating point of the continent. It exceeds 23,000 feet
in height, whereas Aconcagua [conceded to be the highest peak in
the Western Hemisphere] is but 22,763 feet (6940 meters) above
sea level." His estimate was based on a survey made by the civil
engineers of the Southern Railways of Peru, using a section of the
railroad as a base. My sensations when I read this are difficult to
describe. Although I had been studying South American history and
geography for more than ten years, I did not remember ever to have
heard of Coropuna. On most maps it did not exist. Fortunately, on one
of the sheets of Raimondi's large-scale map of Peru, I finally found
"Coropuna--6,949 m."--9 meters higher than Aconcagua!--one hundred
miles northwest of Arequipa, near the 73d meridian west of Greenwich.
Looking up and down the 73d meridian as it crossed Peru from the
Amazon Valley to the Pacific Ocean, I saw that it passed very near
Choqquequirau, and actually traversed those very lands "behind
the Ranges" which had been beckoning to me. The coincidence was
intriguing. The desire to go and find that "something hidden" was now
reënforced by the temptation to go and see whether Coropuna really was
the highest mountain in America. There followed the organization of an
expedition whose object was a geographical reconnaissance of Peru along
the 73d meridian, from the head of canoe navigation on the Urubamba
to tidewater on the Pacific. We achieved more than we expected.
Our success was due in large part to our "unit-food-boxes," a device
containing a balanced ration which Professor Harry W. Foote had
cooperated with me in assembling. The object of our idea was to
facilitate the provisioning of small field parties by packing in a
single box everything that two men would need in the way of provisions
for a given period. These boxes have given such general satisfaction,
not only to the explorers themselves, but to the surgeons who had the
responsibility of keeping them in good condition, that a few words
in regard to this feature of our equipment may not be unwelcome.
The best unit-food-box provides a balanced ration for two men
for eight days, breakfast and supper being hearty, cooked meals,
and luncheon light and uncooked. It was not intended that the men
should depend entirely on the food-boxes, but should vary their
diet as much as possible with whatever the country afforded, which
in southern Peru frequently means potatoes, corn, eggs, mutton,
and bread. Nevertheless each box contained sliced bacon, tinned
corned beef, roast beef, chicken, salmon, crushed oats, milk, cheese,
coffee, sugar, rice, army bread, salt, sweet chocolates, assorted jams,
pickles, and dried fruits and vegetables. By seeing that the jam, dried
fruits, soups, and dried vegetables were well assorted, a sufficient
variety was procured without destroying the balanced character of
the ration. On account of the great difficulty of transportation in
the southern Andes we had to eliminate foods that contained a large
amount of water, like French peas, baked beans, and canned fruits,
however delicious and desirable they might be. In addition to food,
we found it desirable to include in each box a cake of laundry soap,
two yards of dish toweling, and three empty cotton-cloth bags, to be
used for carrying lunches and collecting specimens. The most highly
appreciated article of food in our boxes was the rolled oats, a dish
which on account of its being already partially cooked was easily
prepared at high elevations, where rice cannot be properly boiled. It
was difficult to satisfy the members of the Expedition by providing
the right amount of sugar. At the beginning of the field season the
allowance--one third of a pound per day per man--seemed excessive, and
I was criticized for having overloaded the boxes. After a month in the
field the allowance proved to be too small and had to be supplemented.
Many people seem to think that it is one of the duties of an explorer
to "rough it," and to "trust to luck" for his food. I had found on
my first two expeditions, in Venezuela and Colombia and across South
America, that the result of being obliged to subsist on irregular
and haphazard rations was most unsatisfactory. While "roughing it"
is far more enticing to the inexperienced and indiscreet explorer,
I learned in Peru that the humdrum expedient of carefully preparing,
months in advance, a comprehensive bill of fare sufficiently varied,
wholesome, and well-balanced, is "the better part of valor," The truth
is that providing an abundance of appetizing food adds very greatly
to the effectiveness of a party. To be sure, it may mean trouble
and expense for one's transportation department, and some of the
younger men may feel that their reputations as explorers are likely
to be damaged if it is known that strawberry jam, sweet chocolate and
pickles are frequently found on their menu! Nevertheless, experience
has shown that the results of "trusting to luck" and "living as the
natives do" means not only loss of efficiency in the day's work, but
also lessened powers of observation and diminished enthusiasm for
the drudgery of scientific exploration. Exciting things are always
easy to do, no matter how you are living, but frequently they produce
less important results than tasks which depend upon daily drudgery;
and daily drudgery depends upon a regular supply of wholesome food.
We reached Arequipa, the proposed base for our campaign against
Mt. Coropuna, in June, 1911. We learned that the Peruvian "winter"
reaches its climax in July or August, and that it would be folly to
try to climb Coropuna during the winter snowstorms. On the other
hand, the "summer months," beginning with November, are cloudy
and likely to add fog and mist to the difficulties of climbing a
new mountain. Furthermore, June and July are the best months for
exploration in the eastern slopes of the Andes in the upper Amazon
Basin, the lands "behind the Ranges." Although the montaña, or jungle
country, is rarely actually dry, there is less rain then than in the
other months of the year; so we decided to go first to the Urubamba
Valley. The story of our discoveries there, of identifying Uiticos,
the capital of the last Incas, and of the finding of Machu Picchu will
be found in later chapters. In September I returned to Arequipa and
started the campaign against Coropuna by endeavoring to get adequate
transportation facilities for crossing the desert.
Arequipa, as everybody knows, is the home of a station of
the Harvard Observatory, but Arequipa is also famous for its
large mules. Unfortunately, a "mule trust" had recently been
formed--needless to say, by an American--and I found it difficult to
make any satisfactory arrangements. After two weeks of skirmishing,
the Tejada brothers appeared, two arrieros, or muleteers, who seemed
willing to listen to our proposals. We offered them a thousand soles
(five hundred dollars gold) if they would supply us with a pack train
of eleven mules for two months and go with us wherever we chose,
we agreeing not to travel on an average more than seven leagues
[2] a day. It sounds simple enough but it took no end of argument
and persuasion on the part of our friends in Arequipa to convince
these worthy arrieros that they were not going to be everlastingly
ruined by this bargain. The trouble was that they owned their mules,
knew the great danger of crossing the deserts that lay between us
and Mt. Coropuna, and feared to travel on unknown trails. Like most
muleteers, they were afraid of unfamiliar country. They magnified the
imaginary evils of the road to an inconceivable pitch. The argument
that finally persuaded them to accept the proffered contract was my
promise that after the first week the cargo would be so much less that
at least two of the pack mules could always be free. The Tejadas,
realizing only too well the propensity of pack animals to get sore
backs and go lame, regarded my promise in the light of a factor of
safety. Lame mules would not have to carry loads.
Everything was ready by the end of the month. Mr. H. L. Tucker,
a member of Professor H. C. Parker's 1910 Mr. McKinley Expedition
and thoroughly familiar with the details of snow-and-ice-climbing,
whom I had asked to be responsible for securing the proper equipment,
was now entrusted with planning and directing the actual ascent
of Coropuna. Whatever success was achieved on the mountain was
due primarily to Mr. Tucker's skill and foresight. We had no Swiss
guides, and had originally intended to ask two other members of the
Expedition to join us on the climb. However, the exigencies of making
a geological and topographical cross section along the 73d meridian
through a practically unknown region, and across one of the highest
passes in the Andes (17,633 ft.), had delayed the surveying party to
such an extent as to make it impossible for them to reach Coropuna
before the first of November. On account of the approach of the cloudy
season it did not seem wise to wait for their coöperation. Accordingly,
I secured in Arequipa the services of Mr. Casimir Watkins, an English
naturalist, and of Mr. F. Hinckley, of the Harvard Observatory. It
was proposed that Mr. Hinckley, who had twice ascended El Misti
(19,120 ft.), should accompany us to the top, while Mr. Watkins,
who had only recently recovered from a severe illness, should take
charge of the Base Camp.
The prefect of Arequipa obligingly offered us a military escort in
the person of Corporal Gamarra, a full-blooded Indian of rather more
than average height and considerably more than average courage, who
knew the country. As a member of the mounted gendarmerie, Gamarra had
been stationed at the provincial capital of Cotahuasi a few months
previously. One day a mob of drunken, riotous revolutionists stormed
the government buildings while he was on sentry duty. Gamarra stood
his ground and, when they attempted to force their way past him, shot
the leader of the crowd. The mob scattered. A grateful prefect made
him a corporal and, realizing that his life was no longer safe in that
particular vicinity, transferred him to Arequipa. Like nearly all of
his race, however, he fell an easy prey to alcohol. There is no doubt
that the chief of the mounted police in Arequipa, when ordered by the
prefect to furnish us an escort for our journey across the desert,
was glad enough to assign Gamarra to us. His courage could not be
called in question even though his habits might lead him to become
troublesome. It happened that Gamarra did not know we were planning
to go to Cotahuasi. Had he known this, and also had he suspected the
trials that were before him on Mt. Coropuna, he probably would have
begged off--but I am anticipating.
On the 2d of October, Tucker, Hinckley, Corporal Gamarra and I left
Arequipa; Watkins followed a week later. The first stage of the
journey was by train from Arequipa to Vitor, a distance of thirty
miles. The arrieros sent the cargo along too. In addition to the
food-boxes we brought with us tents, ice axes, snowshoes, barometers,
thermometers, transit, fiber cases, steel boxes, duffle bags, and
a folding boat. Our pack train was supposed to have started from
Arequipa the day before. We hoped it would reach Vitor about the
same time that we did, but that was expecting too much of arrieros
on the first day of their journey. So we had an all-day wait near
the primitive little railway station.
We amused ourselves wandering off over the neighboring pampa and
studying the médanos, crescent-shaped sand dunes which are common in
the great coastal desert. One reads so much of the great tropical
jungles of South America and of wellnigh impenetrable forests that
it is difficult to realize that the West Coast from Ecuador, on
the north, to the heart of Chile, on the south, is a great desert,
broken at intervals by oases, or valleys whose rivers, coming
from melting snows of the Andes, are here and there diverted for
purposes of irrigation. Lima, the capital of Peru, is in one of the
largest of these oases. Although frequently enveloped in a damp fog,
the Peruvian coastal towns are almost never subjected to rain. The
causes of this phenomenon are easy to understand. Winds coming from
the east, laden with the moisture of the Atlantic Ocean and the
steaming Amazon Basin, are rapidly cooled by the eastern slopes of
the Andes and forced to deposit this moisture in the montaña. By
the time the winds have crossed the mighty cordillera there is no
rain left in them. Conversely, the winds that come from the warm
Pacific Ocean strike a cold area over the frigid Humboldt Current,
which sweeps up along the west coast of South America. This cold belt
wrings the water out of the westerly winds, so that by the time they
reach the warm land their relative humidity is low. To be sure, there
are months in some years when so much moisture falls on the slopes
of the coast range that the hillsides are clothed with flowers, but
this verdure lasts but a short time and does not seriously affect the
great stretches of desert pampa in the midst of which we now were. Like
the other pampas of this region, the flat surface inclines toward the
sea. Over it the sand is rolled along by the wind and finally built
into crescent-shaped dunes. These médanos interested us greatly.
The prevailing wind on the desert at night is a relatively gentle
breeze that comes down from the cool mountain slopes toward the
ocean. It tends to blow the lighter particles of sand along in a
regular dune, rolling it over and over downhill, leaving the heavier
particles behind. This is reversed in the daytime. As the heat
increases toward noon, the wind comes rushing up from the ocean to
fill the vacuum caused by the rapidly ascending currents of hot air
that rise from the overheated pampas. During the early afternoon this
wind reaches a high velocity and swirls the sand along in clouds. It
is now strong enough to move the heavier particles of sand, uphill. It
sweeps the heaviest ones around the base of the dune and deposits
them in pointed ridges on either side. The heavier material remains
stationary at night while the lighter particles are rolled downhill,
but the whole mass travels slowly uphill again during the gales of
the following afternoon. The result is the beautiful crescent-shaped
médano.
About five o'clock our mules, a fine-looking lot--far superior to any
that we had been able to secure near Cuzco--trotted briskly into the
dusty little plaza. It took some time to adjust the loads, and it was
nearly seven o'clock before we started off in the moonlight for the
oasis of Vitor. As we left the plateau and struck the dusty trail
winding down into a dark canyon we caught a glimpse of something
white shimmering faintly on the horizon far off to the northwest;
Coropuna! Shortly before nine o'clock we reached a little corral,
where the mules were unloaded. For ourselves we found a shed with
a clean, stone-paved floor, where we set up our cots, only to be
awakened many times during the night by passing caravans anxious to
avoid the terrible heat of the desert by day.
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FIGURE
Mt. Coropuna from the Northwest
------
Where the oases are only a few miles apart one often travels by day,
but when crossing the desert is a matter of eight or ten hours'
steady jogging with no places to rest, no water, no shade, the pack
animals suffer greatly. Consequently, most caravans travel, so far
as possible, by night. Our first desert, the pampa of Sihuas, was
reported to be narrow, so we preferred to cross it by day and see
what was to be seen. We got up about half-past four and were off
before seven. Then our troubles began. Either because he lived in
Arequipa or because they thought he looked like a good horseman,
or for reasons best known to themselves, the Tejadas had given
Mr. Hinckley a very spirited saddle-mule. The first thing I knew,
her rider, carrying a heavy camera, a package of plate-holders, and
a large mercurial barometer, borrowed from the Harvard Observatory,
was pitched headlong into the sand. Fortunately no damage was done,
and after a lively chase the runaway mule was brought back by Corporal
Gamarra. After Mr. Hinckley was remounted on his dangerous mule we
rode on for a while in peace, between cornfields and vineyards, over
paths flanked by willows and fig trees. The chief industry of Vitor is
the making of wine from vines which date back to colonial days. The
wine is aged in huge jars, each over six feet high, buried in the
ground. We had a glimpse of seventeen of them standing in a line,
awaiting sale. It made one think of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,
who would have had no trouble at all hiding in these Cyclopean crocks.
The edge of the oasis of Vitor is the contour line along which
the irrigating canal runs. There is no gradual petering out of
foliage. The desert begins with a stunning crash. On one side is
the bright, luxurious green of fig trees and vineyards; on the other
side is the absolute stark nakedness of the sandy desert. Within the
oasis there is an abundance of water. Much of it runs to waste. The
wine growers receive more than they can use; in fact, more land
could easily be put under cultivation. The chief difficulties are
the scarcity of ports from which produce can be shipped to the outer
world, the expense of the transportation system of pack trains over
the deserts which intervene between the oases and the railroad,
and the lack of capital. Otherwise the irrigation system might be
extended over great stretches of rich, volcanic soil, now unoccupied.
A steady climb of three quarters of an hour took us to the northern rim
of the valley. Here we again saw the snowy mass of Coropuna, glistening
in the sunlight, seventy-five miles away to the northwest. Our view was
a short one, for in less than three minutes we had to descend another
canyon. We crossed this and climbed out on the pampa of Sihuas. There
was little to interest us in our immediate surroundings, but in the
distance was Coropuna, and I had just begun to study the problem of
possible routes for climbing the highest peak when Mr. Hinckley's
mule trotted briskly across the trail directly in front of me, kicked
up her heels, and again sent him sprawling over the sand, barometer,
camera, plates, and all. Unluckily, this time his foot caught in a
stirrup and, still holding the bridle, he was dragged some distance
before he got it loose. He struggled to his feet and tried to keep
the mule from running away, when a violent kick released his hold
and knocked him out. We immediately set up our little "Mummery"
tent on the hot, sandy floor of the desert and rendered first-aid to
the unlucky astronomer. We found that the sharp point of one of the
vicious mule's new shoes had opened a large vein in Mr. Hinckley's
leg. The cut was not dangerous, but too deep for successful mountain
climbing. With Gamarra's aid, Mr. Hinckley was able to reach Arequipa
that night, but his enforced departure not only shattered his own hopes
of climbing Coropuna, but also made us wonder how we were going to have
the necessary three-men-on-the-rope when we reached the glaciers. To
be sure, there was the corporal--but would he go? Indians do not like
snow mountains. Packing up the tent again, we resumed our course over
the desert.
The oasis of Sihuas, another beautiful garden in the bottom of a
huge canyon, was reached about four o'clock in the afternoon. We
should have been compelled to camp in the open with the arrieros had
not the parish priest invited us to rest in the cool shade of his
vine-covered arbor. He graciously served us with cakes and sweet
native wine, and asked us to stay as long as we liked. The desert
of Majes, which now lay ahead of us, is perhaps the widest, hottest,
and most barren in this region. Our arrieros were unwilling to cross
it in the daytime. They said it was forty-five miles between water
and water. The next day we enjoyed the hospitality of our kindly host
until after supper.
So sure are the inhabitants of these oases that it is not going to
rain that their houses are built merely as a shelter against the sun
and wind. They are made of the canes that grow in the jungles of the
larger river bottoms, or along the banks of irrigating ditches. On the
roof the spaces between the canes are filled with adobe, sun-dried
mud. It is not necessary to plaster the sides of the houses, for it
is pleasant to let the air have free play, and it is amusing to look
out through the cracks and see everything that is passing.
That evening we saddled in the moonlight. Slowly we climbed out of the
valley, to spend the night jogging steadily, hour after hour, across
the desert. As the moon was setting we entered a hilly region, and
at sunrise found ourselves in the midst of a tumbled mass of enormous
sand dunes--the result of hundreds of médanos blown across the pampa
of Majes and deposited along the border of the valley. It took us
three hours to wind slowly down from the level of the desert to a
point where we could see the great canyon, a mile deep and two miles
across. Its steep sides are of various colored rocks and sand. The
bottom is a bright green oasis through which flows the rapid Majes
River, too deep to be forded even in the dry season. A very large
part of the flood plain of the unruly river is not cultivated, and
consists of a wild jungle, difficult of access in the dry season and
impossible when the river rises during the rainy months. The contrast
between the gigantic hills of sand and the luxurious vegetation was
very striking; but to us the most beautiful thing in the landscape
was the long, glistening, white mass of Coropuna, now much larger
and just visible above the opposite rim of the valley.
At eight o'clock in the morning, as we were wondering how long it would
be before we could get down to the bottom of the valley and have some
breakfast, we discovered, at a place called Pitas (or Cerro Colorado),
a huge volcanic boulder covered with rude pictographs. Further
search in the vicinity revealed about one hundred of these boulders,
each with its quota of crude drawings. I did not notice any ruins of
houses near the rocks. Neither of the Tejada brothers, who had been
past here many times, nor any of the natives of this region appeared
to have any idea of the origin or meaning of this singular collection
of pictographic rocks. The drawings represented jaguars, birds, men,
and dachshund-like dogs. They deserved careful study. Yet not even the
interest and excitement of investigating the "rocas jeroglificos,"
as they are called here, could make us forget that we had had no
food or sleep for a good many hours. So after taking a few pictures
we hastened on and crossed the Majes River on a very shaky temporary
bridge. It was built to last only during the dry season. To construct
a bridge which would withstand floods is not feasible at present. We
spent the day at Coriri, a pleasant little village where it was almost
impossible to sleep, on account of the myriads of gnats.
The next day we had a short ride along the western side of the valley
to the town of Aplao, the capital of the province of Castilla, called
by its present inhabitants "Majes," although on Raimondi's map that
name is applied only to the river and the neighboring desert. In 1865,
at the time of his visit, it had a bad reputation for disease. Now
it seems more healthy. The sub-prefect of Castilla had been informed
by telegraph of our coming, and invited us to an excellent dinner.
The people of Majes are largely of mixed white and Indian
ancestry. Many of them appeared to be unusually businesslike. The
proprietor of one establishment was a great admirer of American shoes,
the name of which he pronounced in a manner that puzzled us for a
long time. "W" is unknown in Spanish and the letters "a," "l," and "k"
are never found in juxtaposition. When he asked us what we thought of
"Valluck-ofair'," accenting strongly the last syllable, we could not
imagine what he meant. He was equally at a loss to understand how we
could be so stupid as not to recognize immediately the well-advertised
name of a widely known shoe.
At Majes we observed cotton, which is sent to the mills at Arequipa,
alfalfa, highly prized as fodder for pack animals, sugar cane, from
which aguardiente, or white rum, is made, and grapes. It is said that
the Majes vineyards date back to the sixteenth century, and that some
of the huge, buried, earthenware wine jars now in use were made as far
back as the reign of Philip II. The presence of so much wine in the
community does not seem to have a deleterious effect on the natives,
who were not only hospitable but energetic--far more so, in fact,
than the natives of towns in the high Andes, where the intense cold
and the difficulty of making a living have reacted upon the Indians,
often causing them to be morose, sullen, and without ambition. The
residences of the wine growers are sometimes very misleading. A typical
country house of the better class is not much to look at. Its long,
low, flat roof and rough, unwhitewashed, mud-colored walls give it
an unattractive appearance; yet to one's intense surprise the inside
may be clean and comfortable, with modern furniture, a piano, and
a phonograph.
Our conscientious and hard-working arrieros rose at two o'clock the
next morning, for they knew their mules had a long, hard climb ahead
of them, from an elevation of 1000 feet above sea level to 10,000
feet. After an all-day journey we camped at a place where forage could
be obtained. We had now left the region of tropical products and come
back to potatoes and barley. The following day a short ride brought us
past another pictographic rock, recently blasted open by an energetic
"treasure seeker" of Chuquibamba. This town has 3000 inhabitants and
is the capital of the province of Condesuyos. It was the place which
we had selected several months before as the rendezvous for the attack
on Coropuna. The climate here is delightful and the fruits and cereals
of the temperate zone are easily raised. The town is surrounded by
gardens, vineyards, alfalfa and grain fields; all showing evidence
of intensive cultivation. It is at the head of one of the branches
of the Majes Valley and is surrounded by high cliffs.
The people of Chuquibamba were friendly. We were kindly welcomed by
Señor Benavides, the sub-prefect, who hospitably told us to set up our
cots in the grand salon of his own house. Here we received calls from
the local officials, including the provincial physician, Dr. Pastór,
and the director of the Colegio Nacional, Professor Alejandro
Coello. The last two were keen to go with us up Mt. Coropuna. They
told us that there was a hill near by called the Calvario, whence the
mountain could be seen, and offered to take us up there. We accepted,
thinking at the same time that this would show who was best fitted to
join in the climb, for we needed another man on the rope. Professor
Coello easily distanced the rest of us and won the coveted place.
From the Calvario hill we had a splendid view of those white solitudes
whither we were bound, now only twenty-five miles away. It seemed
clear that the western or truncated peak, which gives its name to the
mass (koro = "cut off at the top"; puna = "a cold, snowy height"),
was the highest point of the range, and higher than all the eastern
peaks. Yet behind the flat-topped dome we could just make out a
northerly peak. Tucker wondered whether or not that might prove to
be higher than the western peak which we decided to climb. No one
knew anything about the mountain. There were no native guides to be
had. The wildest opinions were expressed as to the best routes and
methods of getting to the top. We finally engaged a man who said he
knew how to get to the foot of the mountain, so we called him "guide"
for want of a more appropriate title. The Peruvian spring was now well
advanced and the days were fine and clear. It appeared, however, that
there had been a heavy snowstorm on the mountain a few days before. If
summer were coming unusually early it behooved us to waste no time,
and we proceeded to arrange the mountain equipment as fast as possible.
Our instruments for determining altitude consisted of a special
mountain-mercurial barometer made by Mr. Henry J. Green, of
Brooklyn, capable of recording only such air pressures as one might
expect to find above 12,000 feet; a hypsometer loaned us by the
Department of Terrestrial Magnetism of the Carnegie Institution
of Washington, with thermometers especially made for us by Green;
a large mercurial barometer, borrowed from the Harvard Observatory,
which, notwithstanding its rough treatment by Mr. Hinckley's mule, was
still doing good service; and one of Green's sling psychrometers. Our
most serious want was an aneroid, in case the fragile mercurials
should get broken. Six months previously I had written to J. Hicks,
the celebrated instrument maker of London, asking him to construct,
with special care, two large "Watkins" aneroids capable of recording
altitudes five thousand feet higher than Coropuna was supposed to
be. His reply had never reached me, nor did any one in Arequipa know
anything about the barometers. Apparently my letter had miscarried. It
was not until we opened our specially ordered "mountain grub" boxes
here in Chuquibamba that we found, alongside of the pemmican and
self-heating tins of stew which had been packed for us in London by
Grace Brothers, the two precious aneroids, each as large as a big alarm
clock. With these two new aneroids, made with a wide margin of safety,
we felt satisfied that, once at the summit, we should know whether
there was a chance that Bandelier was right and this was indeed the
top of America.
For exact measurements we depended on Topographer Hendriksen, who was
due to triangulate Coropuna in the course of his survey along the 73d
meridian. My chief excuse for going up the mountain was to erect a
signal at or near the top which Hendriksen could use as a station in
order to make his triangulation more exact. My real object, it must
be confessed, was to enjoy the satisfaction, which all Alpinists feel,
of conquering a "virgin peak."