Leave Sucre under escort of English residents—Village of
Nutshucc—Yotala—“Quintas,” or farmhouses—Don Tomas Frias’
country-house—Señor Pacheco’s quinta—The river Cachimayo and
its basket bridge—Fever at Nutshucc—The river Pilcomayo—Terrado
and Pampa-tambo—Quebrada Honda—Bartolo—Potosí—The Soroche—The
Fonda Coca—The Cerro de Potosí—Silver mines—Reservoirs—Church
of La Matriz—The mint—New coinage—Burying money—Future of
mining in Potosí—Departure from Potosí—Tarapaya—Yocalla—Yocalla
bridge built by the devil in a night—Leñas—Loss of my aneroid
barometer—Vicuñas—Condors—Lagunillas—Tolapalca—Bolivian
Norfolk-Howards, or Vinchutas—Vilcapujio—Curious custom
of Indian women—Llamas and alpacas—Ancacata—The pampa of
Aullagas—The “Chulpas”—Catariri, Pazna and Poopo—Miserable
appearance of mining towns in Bolivia—Machacamarca—Rumours of
revolution—Beautiful mirage—Arrival at Oruro.
My homeward journey from Bolivia was commenced on the 22nd of December,
1874, when Don Alfredo and I left Sucre, accompanied by Alfredo’s father
and three other English friends, who formed the entire British community,
and who very kindly escorted us for a few miles on our way, so that we
might be fairly started with a hearty English farewell and good wishes
for a successful journey. About four o’clock in the afternoon we rode
out, in number eight horsemen, making quite a commotion as we clattered
through the roughly paved streets of the town.
That evening we only intended to ride as far as the village of Nutshucc,
where we had been invited to pass the night at the house of Doctor
Calvo, formerly minister of justice and public education. Nutshucc,
distant about three leagues from Sucre, is a place of resort of the
principal residents of the capital, who have built themselves country
residences, termed “quintas,” or farmhouses, but which are generally much
more pretentious than farmhouses in our own country. A smaller village,
called Yotala, which lays between Sucre and Nutshucc, is a small and
slovenly-looking place, in which chicha making and drinking appear to be
the principal occupations carried on. Between Yotala and Nutshucc there
are some well-built quintas on either side of the road, several of which
have substantially-built retaining walls round the grounds, to protect
them from the scour of the floods, which even at the time we rode up the
ravine, in many places reached up to the girths of our animals. One of
the finest of these quintas belonged to Señor Arturo Arana, a successful
miner, who had made a large fortune out of the silver mines of Huanchaca.
In contrast to this really fine house was a little den in course of
erection by Don Tomas Frias, the then president of the republic, who was
having a most curious little box, about sixteen feet square and three
stories high, built as his place of refuge when seeking relaxation from
the cares of state. The fact that the president was building himself a
country residence was so much talked of in every town of the republic,
that I had expected to see quite a palatial edifice, or at least a
building as imposing as many of the quintas of the rich mine-owners of
Bolivia, or some of the mansions built by the Melgarejo family during
the presidency of the general of that name; but if all Doctor Frias’s
requirements were on as limited a scale as his country house in the
Cachimayo valley, the country could not have suffered much from him
personally. Yet, although he was a man of most modest and unambitious
desires, his minister of war, Daza, made up in show and extravagance for
his leader’s economy.
At Nutshucc the ford of the river Cachimayo, which must be crossed by
travellers to or from Potosí, is very frequently impassable. On the Sucre
side stands the handsomest villa residence in Bolivia, the property of
Don Gregorio Pacheco, who, I believe, has also made his fortune in silver
mining, which seems to be the only occupation in Bolivia that leads
to affluence. The house is well built, of stone, with a stucco front,
having a spacious corridor supported on well-proportioned pillars; the
whole arrangement being very comfortable, and the owner is proud of it
accordingly. On our arrival we found that the Cachimayo was coming down
in flood, we had therefore to leave our animals at Señor Pacheco’s,
and cross the river, about eighty yards in width, in a basket bridge,
the property and invention of Señor Pacheco, and therefore universally
considered to be a most marvellous and clever enterprise. The river is
spanned by a stout rope hawser, about three inches in diameter, supported
on either bank by a tripod of poles, well guyed down on every side. Under
the tripods are placed drums, turned alternately by manual labour, as
it is required to cause the basket to cross over from side to side. The
basket is slung from roughly-cut wooden pulley wheels, which work on
the hawser, but as the whole affair is of the roughest workmanship and
materials, the motion is so jolty and erratic that the occupant of the
basket is generally sea-sick before getting half-way over the stream,
while the chances are that the hauling ropes break down during the
passage, when the _voyageur_ is left in mid-air and mid-stream until he
can be rescued from the unpleasant position by an acrobatic performance
of an Indian, who has to go out on the hawser with a new hauling rope.
Nutshucc is considered a very charming place by the Chuquisaquenos, who
think it the height of luxury to be the owner of a quinta in the narrow
ravine of the Cachimayo; but although it is pretty by contrast to the
dreary plain in which Sucre stands, I did not think it at all equal to
some of the environs of Cochabamba. The hills on either side of the
Cachimayo ravine are of a shaly rock, which crumbles down in regular
slopes with a uniformly dull and heavy look, that quite take away any
idea of the picturesqueness which the valley might have, were the rocks
of a more solid character. My experience of the place was not altogether
pleasant, for on my first visit there I was taken with a severe attack of
ague-fever, probably the last lingerings of the usual ill effects of a
stay amongst the rapids of the Madeira River, and which the damp climate
of Nutshucc brought out. This illness came upon me whilst visiting the
Calvo family, and I was greatly indebted to the extreme kindness with
which I was cared for during the three days upon which I was too weak
to attempt the return journey to Sucre; but, kindness and hospitality
are, I must say, the rule in Bolivia, for in all my travels through the
country I only remember one house, already mentioned, where I was treated
with anything but the greatest courtesy and friendship. This good account
of Bolivians, refers, however, only to those of Spanish descent, for the
Indians, both Quichuans and Aymarás, as a rule, especially in the small
villages and at the post-houses, are brutish and rude in the extreme, and
even the offer of ready money payment will not, in some places, procure
for a traveller fodder for his animals, or a few simple necessaries for
himself.
However, to continue the journey, our animals, which had remained the
night at Señor Pacheco’s, were the following morning, the floods having
abated, ridden across the ford; and at early dawn, having been fortified
with a cup of coffee, we started on our way, intending to make Quebrada
Honda our resting-place at night, as this forms the first stage between
Sucre and Potosí. Leaving Nutshucc, which I make to be about 8000 feet
above sea-level, the road lays up a very narrow quebrada, or ravine, at
the head of which a steep ascent, or cuesta, called El Cruzero, has to be
ascended to a height of nearly 9000 feet above sea-level, from whence the
track rapidly falls again, until, after passing a small village called
Calara, the river Pilcomayo is reached. The altitude has then fallen
to about 7000 feet, and the river, which flows through a valley about
a mile in width, in flood-time is impassable; but we were able to ford
it easily, carefully avoiding some very treacherous-looking quicksands
that were dotted about the river bed. A short distance above where we
crossed, the valley narrows considerably, and there is high ground on
either side of the stream. The track would conduct one to the ruins of
a bridge which has been built over the Pilcomayo, but the road bed of
the structure was in such a rotten condition, that the arrieros do well
to trust themselves to the chances of the ford rather than risk falling
through from the bridge into the river. On either side of the ravine
are patches of cultivated land, watered by “azequias,” or irrigation
channels, led from the necessary distance up the stream.
Leaving the Pilcomayo, the road again ascends a cuesta, at top of which
are the stations of Terrado and Pampa-tambo, at an elevation of 9850
feet above sea-level. These are not good places to stop at, being small
farms and not regular “postas,” so we kept on our road, which crosses
cuesta after cuesta, until we arrived at a deep and wide ravine, called
Quebrada Honda, where we intended to stay the night, at a post-house in
the bottom, having travelled about twelve leagues during the day. The
general elevation of the country has somewhat increased, the summits of
the hills on either side of the ravine being about 12,000, whilst the
post-house in the bottom is about 11,200 feet above sea-level. At this
place we had great difficulty in getting the public room opened for us,
and were refused forage for our animals and food for ourselves, under the
plea that the owner of the house was from home; but by a slight display
of firmness, and a few hints as to the great importance to the government
of the business upon which we were travelling, we got the Indians in
charge to produce the keys, and open the room appropriated to the use
of travellers. For barley in the straw, which is the fodder generally
given to mules in this part of the country, we had to pay four pesos per
quintal, or about 13_s._ for a bundle supposed to weigh 100 lbs. Our
servant boys managed to get themselves some chupe, made from dried mutton
and chuño, whilst Alfredo and I supped off some cold provisions which the
kindness of our friends in Sucre had provided for us. The temperature at
night was low enough to make the use of blankets desirable, and as the
post-house was new and clean, we passed a good night, and rose betimes,
intending to get to Potosí before nightfall if possible.
Starting soon after six o’clock on the following morning, we made good
and rapid progress. Ascending the cuesta on the Potosí side, there is
nothing noteworthy on the road until, at about a league and a half from
Quebrada Honda, some small lakes are seen in a plain surrounded by high
hills. These drainage pools of water are a common feature amongst the
Andean ranges, and are many of them situated at very high altitudes,
those we passed to-day being at about 11,750 feet above sea-level. They
are very shallow, and cattle were walking across them at pleasure, whilst
several couple of ducks and some teal were on the margin of the water,
together with numberless “gabiotas,” or tern, which rose up screaming at
being disturbed from their work of searching for worms in the wet sandy
mud over which the track passes. About mid-day we arrived at Bartolo, a
small and miserable village, at which the traveller should arrange to
stay as short a time as possible, for the dust and dirt of the place
are intolerable. We refreshed ourselves with our cold provisions,
and a bottle of ale from our travelling larder, whilst our “mozos,”
(servant-boys) indulged in copious draughts of chicha mascada, which
horrible beverage is the only drink purchasable at Bartolo. Riding hard
all the afternoon, we arrived at Potosí about half-past six, just as
night was closing in, having done fourteen leagues and a half in the
day’s journey. We were so fatigued that I did not care that evening to
present a letter of introduction that my German friends in Sucre had
given me to their correspondent in Potosí, so we made straight for the
best tambo in the town, called the “Tambo Artéche.” This tambo is a
very large building, forming a square, with yards for the animals at
the rear. The square has galleries on every side, and reminded one of
some of the old-fashioned inns of home. We got a very good room off one
of the galleries, and after partaking of some poached eggs and chupe,
procured from a “fonda” near by, were very glad to see our cots put up,
and to have the prospect of a good night’s rest. This tambo was one of
the best that I recollect in my travels through Bolivia, but the only
accommodation afforded consisted of an empty room for ourselves, and
the use of a yard, or “corral,” for our animals. For the former we were
charged six reales, say 2_s._ 3_d._ per day, and this sum was the sole
demand made upon us for the use of the hotel, as we only had to pay for
the barley that our animals consumed, and nothing at all for their safe
custody, so that if the entertainment offered a traveller at a Bolivian
tambo be small, the charges are moderate in proportion. Barley was the
same price as at Quebrada Honda.
The next day was Christmas Day (1874), and we rose up to so cold, clear,
and bright an atmosphere, that I might well have fancied that we were
in Old England, especially as snow had fallen during the night, and lay
thick on the courtyard. Soon after rising I experienced an unpleasant
sensation in the throat, which caused a feeling of faintness, and was
said to be the effect of the sickness called “soroche,” that attacks
all new comers to Potosí. It is not, however, a specialty of the place,
but the effect of the high altitude, and is not felt so severely by
travellers passing from the interior of Bolivia to the Pacific, as, in
consequence of the more gradual nature of the ascent, probably their
lungs have time to adapt themselves to the rarified condition of the
atmosphere. Persons arriving from the Pacific are much more exposed to
the bad influences of this sickness, and several fatal cases are recorded
of almost sudden death amongst new comers direct from westward. The first
symptoms are giddiness and vomiting, and sufferers are advised to lie
down at once, or at all events cease any kind of exertion. The scent
of ammonia and garlic are said to be good remedies; whilst the use of
spirits is advocated by some, but by others considered to be sure to
bring fatal consequences with it. My own personal experience was that a
moderate quantity of spirits, taken at the first feeling of faintness,
arrested its progress; but the balance of opinion is so entirely
against the use of alcohol by sufferers from soroche, that I would be
loath to place my single evidence in the scale. The Indians aver that
their favourite stimulant, coca, is a complete preservative, and some
recommend the addition of a mouthful of snow or ice to the “chew.”
[Illustration: EL CERRO DE POTOSÍ.]
The soroche did not, however, prevent our feeling the want of a good
breakfast, so we left our tambo and proceeded to the Fonda Coca, a very
decent and clean little restaurant near by, where we had a very nice
mutton chupe, with eggs poached in it; some so-called beef-steaks, which
were hard and greasy; a very good bottle of Cinti wine, and some coffee.
The charge for this breakfast for two was eleven reales and a half, or
about 4_s._ 10_d._, a sum which was certainly not unreasonable. We then
strolled out to see the city, which is built at an elevation of about
13,500 feet above sea-level, at the foot of the magnificent Cerro de
Potosí, an immense white-capped cone, whose summit is probably more than
2000 feet above the city, the most interesting in Bolivia, having at
one time a population of probably over 200,000, but now only being able
to boast of about a tenth of that number. The famous Cerro, which might
well be termed the “Silver Hill of Potosí,” has in times of recent date
yielded immense stores of treasure, and was doubtless the principal
source of Spain’s former great wealth. Whilst the mines were workable
without machinery the profits derived from them must have been enormous,
but even the seemingly fabulous riches of this hill of silver will not
tempt speculators to attempt the impossible, and try to drag powerful
pumping engines over the Andes from the Pacific to Potosí. Consequently
the output of mineral has so decreased that the population has emigrated
or died off, and the greater part of the city is in ruins, which standing
desolate and forlorn on the barren hill-side, only serve as a monument of
the departed activity of the place. The city has also suffered more from
revolutions than any other in the republic, having been a continual bone
of contention between opposing factions, many of the houses bearing marks
of the severity of the struggles of which they have been the silent but
suffering witnesses. Some few interesting remains of former prosperity
may still be seen, the twisted columns of the façade of the church of
the “Matriz” are marvels of architectural effect, and the reservoirs
for the storage of the water supplying the power for the stamping-mills
constructed during the time of the Spaniards, show that though the
Spanish government was a despotic one, it designed and carried out works
that its republican successors seem quite unable to match, for I do not
recollect to have seen anywhere in Bolivia a single public institution
that has been erected since the War of Independence, saving some
paltry-looking “cuartels,” or barracks, of which there are two or three
to every town; whilst churches, convents, colleges, and other buildings,
dating back before the war, are seen in every city of importance.
The streets of Potosí are very narrow, the houses very old-fashioned,
much smoke-begrimed, and blackened with the accumulated dust and dirt of
years; for although water is laid on from the reservoirs for the supply
of the town, its use seems to be avoided as much as possible. This fear
of water may be the result of the constant coldness of the climate and
the piercing winds which are seldom absent from the bleak heights of the
Andes. The Indians all have a dreadfully unwashed look about them, and
their places of public resort, such as the “recoba,” or market-place,
are perfect pig-sties. The principal object of interest in Potosí is the
mint, where is to be seen the only steam-engine at work in Bolivia. The
machinery was made by a Philadelphian firm of engineers, and, being under
the superintendence of Americans, is kept in very fair working order,
the coins struck being very good impressions, though, as the feeding is
done by hand, many of them come out in incomplete shape. This machine was
set up by General Melgarejo, who is said to have pressed on its erection
as rapidly as possible, in order, probably, that he might lose no time
in flooding the country with his abominable base coinage. He certainly
would not have taken so much pains and trouble with any other enterprise;
for it is said that the beams for the stamps were dragged by oxen all the
way from the forests of Tucuman, and considering the numerous hills and
ravines that have to be crossed between Tucuman and Potosí, one may say
that Melgarejo is to be credited with a considerable achievement, even
though the object he may have had in view was a rascally one. The coinage
that has been struck recently, consisting of Bolivianos, or dollars,
of 4_s._ 2_d._ value, half Bolivianos, reales, and medio reales, is of
first-rate quality, and is so much sought after by the Indian population
that it has been found extremely difficult to keep pace with the demand,
the Indians of Bolivia having the propensity, in common with all other
uncivilized peoples, of burying their earnings, and they are cunning
enough not to bury the bad Melgarejos, but only the good new money. The
Quichuan Indians apparently do not care much for ornaments, such as
bangles or armlets; the women wear a kind of spoon-headed pin, made of
silver or baser metal, according to the wealth of the wearer. These pins,
or skewers as they might more properly be termed, seem to do the double
duty of pinning up a shawl or head-gear, and of being used as spoons in
the consumption of chupe and chicha. The women are also fond of amassing
as many different coins as possible, and attaching them to a knitted
bag, which they use as a kind of market purse. These “murchilas,” as
they are termed, are often covered with silver moneys of all sizes and
nationalities, and some very rare old Spanish coins may thus be met with
by amateurs who will pay the owner a good price in current money.
Among other curiosities worth looking for are the “mechas,” and “yescas,”
or tinder-cases and steel-strikers, for which the town is noted. Some
of these yescas are true works of art, the engraving being executed
in good style; whilst many of them are inlaid in gold on hard steel
in a wonderful manner. The “mechas,” or tinder-cases, are also very
nicely designed and executed, in silver or gold, and together with the
steel-strikers form a good memorial of the cleverness of the art-workers
of Potosí.
[Illustration: YESCA AND MECHA HOLDER (POTOSÍ).]
There does not seem much _immediate_ future for the mining interests of
Potosí, although it is an undoubted fact that the Cerro still contains
inexhaustible supplies of silver ore, but none of the old levels and
shafts can be worked, nor can new ones be sunk advantageously, without
heavy pumping machinery, which it is practically impossible to carry up
from the coast. But, at some future day, when railways shall have opened
up the interior of Bolivia, these mines will again become valuable; but
even then, the mines of Oruro and Huanchaca, and others located in the
central plains of the republic, are much more advantageously situated
for purposes of export than the deposits of Potosí. A great drawback to
successful mining in these regions is found in the total absence of fuel
for smelting purposes, as the forests that once existed in the lower
ravines of the metalliferous districts have been entirely exhausted, and
no discovery of coal has yet been made, or is, perhaps, likely to be
made, within a reasonable distance for transport.
We remained a couple of days only in Potosí, perfecting our arrangements
for the next stage of our journey, namely to Oruro, a distance of
about 200 miles. Three of the baggage mules that we brought from Sucre
had been hired only, at the rate of fifteen pesos each, and we had to
decide whether our onward march should be continued with hired animals,
or whether we would chance finding the posta in good working order.
For hired pack mules to Tacna, the end of our journey, we were asked
sixty pesos each, with the condition that we should find forage on the
road; thus, probably the three animals we required would have cost us
altogether about 250 pesos for the trip, whilst, travelling posta, the
same number of animals ought not to cost more than about half that sum:
we therefore decided to risk it, especially as we were assured in Potosí
that the posta to Oruro was in excellent working order. I was very glad
to get away from the town, for the climate did not seem to suit me, as
I had a return of my Nutshucc experiences of ague; and on the 27th of
December, a Sunday morning, having arranged that the posta mules should
be at the tambo by 6 a.m., we should have started early had we not been
delayed by the absence of one of our mozos, who had been indulging too
freely over-night. It seemed that we were fated to suffer delays and
difficulties, for soon after starting I was again attacked with a fit of
ague and vomiting, which came on so severely that on reaching a small
village called Calamarca, scarcely a league out of Potosí, I found myself
quite unable to proceed, and had to dismount at a small and horridly
dirty chicheria, where I was allowed to lie down in a corner on some mats
and rugs. After taking warm water to aid the vomiting, and going through
the regular stages of cold shivers and burning heat, I managed to get
half an hour’s sleep, and rose up sufficiently recovered to be able to
mount my mule again. In consequence of this delay we made but a very poor
day’s work, and only got as far as Tarapaya, distant about five leagues
from Potosí. On our road we met the posta Indians returning with their
mules, and they informed us that they had left our baggage in charge
of the “maestro,” or keeper of the posta at Tarapaya, and they told us
that we should be sure of getting animals there for the next stage to
Yocalla. We were much pleased with the celerity with which the muleteers
of the first stage out had done their part, and thought that it augured
well for our onward progress; but, alas, on arriving at the post-house
we found our baggage placed in an empty room with open doors, and not a
living soul about the place. The village was about half a mile away from
the post-house, so Alfredo went on with the mozos, to buy barley for our
saddle mules, some supper for ourselves, and engage baggage mules for the
next day’s work. The speed shown by the Indian muleteers from Potosí was
now explained, for they feared that had we arrived at Tarapaya before
they had left, and found no animals ready to take us on, we should have
forced them to wait till the following day, and carry our baggage the
next stage to Yocalla and they would thus have had double duty to do,
so they hasted to return that they might pass us on the road and shirk
their work by telling us the flattering tale that other animals were
in readiness for us. As travellers have to pay for the first stage out
of a town before starting, and at double the rate of the other stages,
they are exposed to such tricks as the one played upon us; and as we had
paid the maestro at Potosí, we let the fellows pass us, thinking all was
right. However, I congratulated myself that our baggage was safe, and
had a nap until Alfredo returned with the eatables and fodder, but with
the doleful intelligence that no mules could be got without sending on
to Yocalla, four leagues ahead. I am afraid that we made some rather
hard remarks upon our friends at Potosí, who had so strongly advised us
to travel posta, for had we agreed to pay the price asked by the arriero
who offered us animals for Tacna, we should have been independent of the
tricks of the Indian post-boys; however, we had our supper, and turned
in, hoping that our troubles would be confined to the first day only.
The next day we started Marco, the gaucho, on to Yocalla, to return as
quickly as possible with baggage mules, and waited as patiently as we
could. I felt much better than yesterday, and this being an off-day for
the shakes, I took a good dose of quinine, and hoped that, as we were
getting to a somewhat lower level, the attacks of ague, or soroche, would
cease. The post-house of Tarapaya is about 11,200 feet above sea-level,
and the small village, about half a mile distant, seems to be entirely
deserted, only one or two Indians being visible, and they were very
much disinclined to sell us any provisions; indeed, we had to threaten
to shoot a fowl for ourselves, before we could induce the owner to sell
it to us for a very fair price of two reales and a half, or about 1_s._
It was not till nearly two o’clock in the afternoon that Marco returned
with baggage mules, and we then made haste to saddle up and get on the
road. Alfredo and I started on ahead of the boys; but, as I was not over
strong, we could not ride at any but a walking pace; it was therefore
quite dark before we arrived at Yocalla, near which we crossed the best
masonry bridge in Bolivia—a single arch of about thirty feet span, and
of masonry excellently well put together. The Indians of Yocalla say the
devil built it in a single night; if so, his satanic majesty must be a
very good mason. I wondered whether the explanation of this tale might
not be that the bridge was one of the last works carried out under the
Spanish government’s _régime_, and that possibly the builder might have
been a freemason, in which case the priests would most probably have told
the Indians that it was built by _a_ devil.
The mozos and the baggage mules did not arrive at Yocalla until nearly
ten at night, as they had encountered a very difficult task in driving
the posta mules, which were very wild; at least, this was the explanation
that the boys gave us of their delay; but, as we left Tarapaya before
they did, I am rather inclined to think that they had a good long visit
to a chicheria on the road. Until they arrived with the beds, we passed
a bad time, for the mud berths in the post-house were not the softest
couches, even when we had spread out all our rugs and saddle-cloths; and
we were very glad to see them arrive safely with their cargoes, for we
had got quite downhearted with surmising all manner of accidents that
might have happened. This tedious waiting and uneasiness brought back my
old enemy, the ague, so that I passed a bad night, and on the following
morning could scarcely summon up courage enough to mount my mule and take
to the road again. About eight o’clock, however, we managed to get off,
after a cup of tea, and started for the next posta, called Leñas, about
seven leagues distant.
Our road here lay principally over two long and steep cuestas, the one
nearest to Yocalla rising to nearly 14,000 feet above sea-level, at which
height there is a small lake or pool with a few ducks. On either side of
the road the mountain tops, which were covered with snow, rose probably
1000 or 1500 feet higher than the summit of the pass. The next ascent,
which is nearer to Leñas, rises about 5000 feet higher than the elevation
assigned to the Yocalla cuesta, and on passing over it we met with a
slight hail-storm. We arrived at the Leñas posta about three o’clock in
the afternoon, having travelled slowly on account of my weakness, and we
thought it prudent to be content with our day’s work of seven leagues.
So we decided to rest for the remainder of the day, that our saddle
mules might also refresh themselves thoroughly and be ready for a good
day’s work to-morrow. Leñas is a single house, situated in a small plain
surrounded entirely by rugged rocky eminences, amongst which Alfredo and
the two mozos had great sport hunting “biscachas,” a lively little animal
that makes its home in the holes of the rocks, and is so much like them
in colour, a dark bluish grey, that a very sharp look-out is wanted to
distinguish them. In shape they appear to be a cross between a squirrel
and a rabbit, having the tail and ears of the former, and head and body
of the latter, to which, when cooked, they assimilate greatly in flavour.
Barley was very scarce here, the Indians asking as much as six pesos two
reales, or £1 sterling, per quintal of 100 lbs.; but, by a few threats
of complaint to the corregidor of the district, although we had not the
slightest idea who he might be or where to find him, we got the price
reduced to five pesos, about 16_s._ To a quintal of barley in the straw,
we added an arroba (25 lbs. weight) of the grain, costing twelve reales,
about 5_s._, so that the mules, five in number, both feasted and rested
well. The keep of the animals is the most costly part of the expenses of
a journey in Bolivia, so that there is no doubt but that posting is the
best way to travel, provided that one can be sure before starting that
the posta arrangements are complete and in good working order throughout
the route, and that the traveller has provided himself with a good saddle
mule.
Shortly after arriving at Leñas, I set to work to write up my diary;
and, looking for my aneroid barometer, I found, to my sorrow, that I had
lost it on the road. I recollected that when the hail-storm commenced,
as we were ascending the last cuesta, I put my heavy poncho on, and when
the storm was over the sun came out so strongly that, being unable to
bear the heat and weight of the said poncho, I had to take it off again,
and so must have lifted the aneroid, which hung in its leather case by
a small strap round my neck, over my head at the same time, without
noticing its fall. This might easily have happened at any time, as it was
a very small one, scarcely as large as a good-sized watch, and I would
certainly recommend the use of the larger sizes, although they are much
heavier and more cumbersome. No doubt it was careless in the extreme to
drop an aneroid without noticing its fall; but when one is suffering
from fever, perhaps shaking with cold and scarcely knowing how to sit
on the mule, a small watch-sized article may easily drop unnoticed. The
loss was most annoying to me, as one of the chief pleasures of the road
was at an end, namely, the noting down of the differences of elevation
of the different ravines and cuestas. In order to make every effort to
recover my loss, I sent an Indian on foot and my mozo Juan on a mule,
with orders to return as far as Yocalla, if necessary, as possibly the
postilions who took back the mules belonging to that place, might have
found it, and have taken it along with them. Juan returned about ten at
night, saying he had found the postilions in a hut about half way to
Yocalla, resting for the night, but that he could not get any tidings
from them of the missing aneroid, although he searched their packs and
pockets; so probably some of the llama men that passed us on the road had
found it, and it was lost to me altogether.
We left Leñas on the following morning about eight o’clock, being
furnished with very good posting mules, that were to carry our baggage
to the next posta, Lagunillas, distant seven leagues. The road crossed
the “cabeçeiras,” or head-waters, of the Pilcomayo several times, the
broadest stream being about half-way between Leñas and Lagunillas, and
flowing through a valley that would be very pretty scenery were there
any trees or other vegetation than the brown tufted grass, which is
all the sign of life to be seen at these great elevations, except the
“vicuñas,” which we met for the first time hereabouts. These animals are
about the size of a small fallow deer, which, when seen at a distance,
they very much resemble. They seem to confine their wanderings to
the central plateau of the Andes, for they are not found eastward of
Potosí, or westward of the pass of Tacora. Probably they keep to these
limits because they form the zone in which fewest villages or towns are
found; they cannot be influenced by elevation or climate, for similar
circumstances may be found in many other parts of the country. They
go in droves of different sizes, sometimes not more than four or five
being together, whilst at times droves containing as many scores are met
with. Their fur is of a light dun colour on the back of the animal, the
breast and neck being almost white. The skins are not much valued at
home, although they make beautiful rugs for carriage use, or in place of
quilts as bed coverings, for which purposes they are very suitable for
elderly people, as, while they are warm and soft, they are exceedingly
light. A good rug takes, I was told, about twenty skins; but it is a bad
plan to buy the made-up rugs in Bolivia, as the makers there charge a
very heavy price for putting the skins together, whilst their work is
of such very ordinary character that the skins have to be resewn and
relined after arriving in England. For some rugs that I bought in Tacna I
paid about £7 each; but the bargain was a very bad one, for although the
price was not above that usually asked in Bolivia, I found, on getting
them home to London, that at the principal furriers of the West End much
better vicuña rugs, well sewn and preserved, could be bought for about
one fourth of the price that I paid in Tacna. If the skins were more
valuable, so as to make it worth while killing vicuñas for the sake of
the furs, some excellent sport might be had in the Andes, for they are
nobody’s property, and as free to all comers as are the ducks in the
lagoons. They are, however, so tame, that there would not be much glory
in stalking them, for many times on the road I could have knocked them
over with a bullet from my revolver; and I passed several that had
evidently been wounded by passing travellers, and left to drag out their
life in pain and misery. Wherever practicable, we shot the poor beasts,
and left their carcases for the condors, eagles, and vultures that are
continually soaring over the mule tracks of the Andes on the look-out
for their horrid banquet. Often, when riding over the Andes, a huge dark
shadow comes suddenly over the path, and the traveller, looking upwards,
sees the magnificent condor floating in the bright sunlight and rising to
his resting-place amongst the snow-clad peaks. These birds are seldom to
be seen at rest, but occasionally they may be observed feasting on some
poor mule that has fallen exhausted by the way-side. The eagles may then
be noticed flying round in circles, watching for their turn, which comes
next, whilst the vultures are dotted over the plain, waiting contentedly
until the more lordly birds have satisfied themselves, when they will
fall to and not leave the carcase until nothing but the skeleton remains.
We arrived at Lagunillas about one o’clock, having done the seven leagues
in the five hours, and we found good mules ready for the next stage,
which would take us to Tolapalca, about four leagues distant. Lagunillas
is a small “aldea,” or village, of perhaps a dozen small houses and a
church, built like the houses, of sun-dried adobes, or mud-bricks, and
roofed with rushes. The place is named from two lagoons close by, where
we saw many ducks and large flocks of tern, or “gabiotas,” some of the
ducks being regular “pato royales,” like the black and white ones of the
Mamoré River. I tried a shot at them from my revolver, but the range was
too great, although they seemed so tame that I was almost sure of them.
As the Indians have no guns, the ducks very rarely get disturbed; this
probably accounts for their tameness. After resting a couple of hours,
during which the saddle mules enjoyed a feed of barley and had a roll in
the dust of the corral, we took to the road again, and, leaving the hilly
country, got on to an elevated pampa land, over which we made pretty
rapid travelling, getting to Tolapalca about half-past five, before
night closed in. During the afternoon ride, rain threatened to come down
heavily, but confined itself to the neighbouring hills. The post-house
of Tolapalca is a very desolate place, and must be at a great elevation,
possibly 14,000 feet; here I began to miss my poor lost aneroid. The
rooms are deplorably small and abominably dirty; but, at these elevations
it is impossible to sleep out-of-doors, as the nights are not only very
cold, but the storms of wind, rain, and snow are very frequent, so there
is nothing to be done but to put up with the dirt and discomfort of the
postas. Travelling on the Andes is very different to a journey in India,
where, if the bungalow be not to one’s liking, the absence of dew at
night allows one to sleep either in the verandah or out in the open. In
most parts of South America, a man who slept out of doors whilst any
sort of a roof was within a reasonable distance would be looked upon
as little less than a madman. At Tolapalca, we got some fresh but lean
mutton, and made a very fair chupe for supper, after which we hoped
for a good night’s rest; but alas, my hopes were vain, for, no sooner
had I blown out the candle than I was attacked by an army of Bolivian
Norfolk-Howards, called here “chinches” or “vinchutas.” As I was hours
before, thoroughly wearied out, I at last got a little broken sleep. The
night was very cold, so that I was obliged to keep under my blankets
along with the bugs, and bear it out as best I could. The strange thing
was, that when I struck a light, not a single brute could I discover; yet
immediately I put the light out and courted sleep, my horrid persecutors
recommenced the torment. How I envied my young Bolivian friend and the
two mozos, who all snored away with most dismal regularity, whilst I was
tossing about on my cot and venting smothered “blessings” (?) on the
invaders of my rest.
The next day was the last of the year 1874, and, rising early, we
settled our account at the Tolapalca posta for barley, at five pesos the
quintal, and for posting mules on to the next stage at Vilcapujio. I
endeavoured to have a deduction made from our bill for the entertainment
I had afforded to the vinchutas during the night, but could not get our
Indian hosts to see the matter in the same light as I did. Soon after
starting, rain, changing into a heavy snow-storm, began to fall, and kept
us company all the way to the next posta, a distance of four leagues,
which we accomplished in about two hours and a half. Vilcapujio was the
site of a battle in the War of Independence, and is a fine open pampa,
affording plenty of room for a fight, with hills on either side for good
positions. The post-house is very large, and somewhat cleaner than that
at Tolapalca. Here we got some very fair mutton and potatoes, so that
arriving early we were able to make a better breakfast than was possible
on days when we could not reach the end of a stage until the afternoon,
when, perhaps, another piece of the road would have to be got over before
nightfall. If an English traveller in these parts has been fortunate
enough to secure a mozo, that has a little idea of cooking, his plan is
to show the mozo at starting what kind of a broth, or chupe, he likes,
and then, when materials are available at the different post-houses,
he stands some chance of getting a broth that is both eatable and
nourishing; but the chupes prepared for travellers by the Indians of
the postas are simply abominable. Their colour is an earthy red, and
they taste of nothing but fire, grease, and garlic, the first from the
great quantity of “aji,” or chillies, put in, the second from the dirty
state of the cooking-pots, and the last is inseparable from all Bolivian
cookery.
On leaving Vilcapujio about mid-day, I was much amused by seeing three
Indian women rush out of the adjoining huts, each one bearing a few
burning embers in a broken piece of an earthen pot. These embers they
placed in the mule track, and then, kneeling and crossing themselves,
they retired to their huts, leaving the burning ashes in the pathway. My
mozo’s account of this pantomime was that the women prayed that the mules
might travel as rapidly as the smoke of their fires did, but as the smoke
does not return to the place from whence it started the explanation does
not appear to be a very good one. My idea was that the women might be the
wives of the postilions, and as the smoke never returned, so these wives,
like many fashionable ones of Europe, prayed that the husbands might
vanish as the smoke did; but as there were three wives to two postilions
this theory would not work, so I had to leave the problem unsolved.
Large droves of llamas and alpacas were scattered about over the pampa of
Vilcapujio, and I observed that these animals mixed but little together,
the one or two stray ones in each large drove looking like visitors,
out of place. After leaving the pampa the road becomes more uneven, and
crosses the river Ancacata several times. Ancacata is about four leagues
from Vilcapujio, but the posta way-bills, or “guias,” give the distance
as six leagues. We arrived late in the afternoon, having travelled very
slowly, on account of the strong wind, which blew so piercingly cold
over the pampa that, at times, we were fain to stop the mules and turn
our backs to it. The village of Ancacata is pitched in a narrow valley,
through which the river of the same name runs, the hills on either side,
although barren and stony, having rather an imposing look from being
covered with tufts of short dry grass, of a bright yellow colour, giving
quite a golden tinge to them in the fading sunset.
The houses are all in a tumble-down and ruinous state, the posta being
in the same condition, with scarcely plaster enough on its walls for the
travelling snobs of Bolivia, both natives and foreigners, to scrawl their
valued names and sentiments. One of these defacers of public property
advises passers-by that on a certain day he passed through Ancacata with
his “amiable spouse,” as he defines his wife: happy man! or else given
to falsehood-telling to keep his better half in a state of amiability.
So common is the habit of writing one’s name in public places, that even
the mountain roads of the Andes can show many examples of the abominable
practice. Notwithstanding the ruinous state of the post-house, we passed
a very good night, as we were, I am happy to record, not troubled with
unpleasant companions as we had been at Tolapalca. We congratulated
ourselves greatly on this, as the next day we had a very long ride before
us, having to get over three stages before nightfall, so as to sleep the
following night at Poopo.
The next morning was the first in the new year of 1875, and we rose at
half-past four, leaving Ancacata at six o’clock sharp. The morning was
fine and clear, but very cold, the tops of the hills being all covered
with snow. The road runs down the river for about a couple of leagues,
and then gets out on the pampa lands of Aullagas, bordering on the lake
of Poopo. The country hereabouts is dotted over with cottages and huts of
a much superior character to those of the villages lately passed through,
and the Indians seem more well-to-do than those living on the hills.
In this part of the country a traveller going west first comes across
those very remarkable and interesting relics of antiquity called
“chulpas.” They are dotted all over the central plain of Bolivia, and
a few are also found on the lower parts of the slopes of the mountains
on either side. Whether the chulpa has been a house or a tomb, and who
were its builders, are questions that, as far as I know, remain entirely
unanswered. As for its builders, the only information to be obtained
regarding them from the present inhabitants of Bolivia, whether Indians
or Bolivians of Spanish extraction, is that the chulpa was a “casa de los
Gentiles,” or literally translated, a “house of the Gentiles,” and that
the Gentiles were the inhabitants of the country before the introduction
of the Christian religion by the missionaries who followed in the wake
of the Spanish conquerors of the Incas. The explanation does not seem to
be a feasible one, as the Incas settled in Peru more than in Bolivia,
and have left in the former country many monuments in stonework of
their skill as handicraftsmen, while the chulpa is a rough erection of
“adobes,” or sun-dried mud bricks, and is the only relic of former ages
that Bolivia has to boast of. The makers of the chulpa, must, therefore,
probably be looked for in a race that existed prior to the Incas.
[Illustration: A CHULPA.]
The chulpas are of various heights, ranging from ten to twenty and
occasionally thirty feet high, the difference arising probably from the
more rapid decay of the shorter ones. In shape they are at the ground
line generally about fifteen feet wide by six feet broad, outside
measurements, and as the walls are twelve to fifteen inches in thickness,
the inside forms a long and very narrow parallelogram. The doors all have
a lintel of stone, and are in every case turned to the east, doubtless
in connection with the rising sun, as even when the chulpas are found in
groups (although they are generally placed singly or in pairs) I observed
they were always pitched so that the eastward view for each one of them
was quite uninterrupted. Towards the top the walls gradually approach
each other, but as I could not find one that was quite closed in, it is
impossible to be certain whether the top was flat, or formed by bringing
all the walls together in a point. A remarkable thing about these chulpas
is the excellent quality of the adobes of which they are constructed.
These are evidently only sun-dried mud or common earth, and have very
little straw or fibrous matter in them, yet they must have lasted for
many centuries, and will, as they are protected as far as possible,
both by the authorities and by the traditions of the Indian inhabitants
of the district, probably last for centuries yet to come, and this,
notwithstanding the fierce storms that sweep over the desolate plains of
the altaplanicia of Bolivia, and the extreme alternations of heat and
cold which occur in almost each successive day and night. So wonderful is
the tenacity of the material of which these adobes are composed, that
I question whether kiln-dried bricks would have any chance of equalling
their durability. By some people these chulpas are set down as tombs, but
I have not heard of any bones having been discovered in them, although
gold and silver ornaments, as well as pottery have frequently been found.
One of our mozos told us that there was a tradition that the builders
of these chulpas, whoever they were, at the approach of death caused
themselves to be walled up in them without food, in the belief that
after death they would be transported to new life, in a land which they
called by the name of “Buenos Ayres,” but as this tale was told me by our
Argentino Marco, perhaps it was an invention of his own, and only served
to show the ready wit of a gaucho.
Arriving at the posta of Catariri about 11 a.m., we halted for breakfast,
and, changing our baggage mules, which got over the ground admirably
although they were not promising animals to look at, we took the road
again without much loss of time. From Catariri to Pazna, the next post,
the road lies principally over the pampa of Aullagas, which is capital
arable land, planted largely with barley and potatoes. Nearing Pazna,
we approached more nearly to the lake of Aullagas, or, as it is called
in most maps, the lake of Poopo, and saw a most beautiful mirage. Some
distance in the lake are two small and hilly islands, and these appeared
to be lifted high into the air, whilst on the western side of the lake a
snow-covered mountain was raised quite into the clouds.
At Pazna we stayed only just long enough to change our baggage mules,
and got a couple of very young mules given us that gave much trouble at
first start, as they wished, apparently, to travel any road but the one
we wanted them to take. However, when once we got them on the right road
they made very good progress, so that we finished our day’s run by six
o’clock, having done sixteen leagues, say fifty miles, in about twelve
hours, including our two stoppages, which occupied two out of the twelve;
not bad work! Poopo is a miserable-looking place, built in a ravine, up
which the houses are built on either side, the middle forming the “high
street.” Nearly the whole village seemed to be in ruins, and, as it was
New Year’s Day, all the inhabitants, at least the few to be seen about,
were more or less intoxicated. I have already mentioned the prevalence
of drunkenness in Bolivia, but certainly this vile habit seems to be
even more general in the mining towns that in the purely agricultural
ones. These latter also have better-built houses, and are altogether
more cheerful looking than the former. Perhaps these differences may be
somewhat accounted for by the dismal prospects that the working miners of
Bolivia have before them, for although the mineral extracted is almost
uniformly of great richness, the cost of carrying the article to a market
is so great that little profit is left to the actual miner. There seems
to be but small hope of better times for the mining industry until good
roads are made and a route for exportation completed in an eastward
direction. At Poopo there are a few mines in which tin, or “estaño,”
seems to be the principal mineral found. The altitude of Poopo above
sea-level is given by Hugo Reck at 378 metres, equal to 12,431 feet.
The posta was in as ruinous a condition as the other houses, and a small
church seemed to be the only building that had a complete roof to it. No
provisions were obtainable, so we had to content ourselves with a tin of
_rognons sauté_ from our travelling stores, and had it not been for this
resource we should have remained supperless after our long day’s ride.
The next morning we left Poopo early, with very good posta mules and
travelled well, the whole of the road to the next station, called
Machacamarca, distant about six leagues, being over pampa land. At
Machacamarca we breakfasted and were preparing to start, when a party,
consisting of three Bolivians and two ladies, rode up from Oruro. The
boss of the party stared hard at me, and then claimed acquaintance as
having met me in Sucre. I did not recollect him, so he told me his name,
and that he was a proprietor of tin mines at Poopo. He confirmed the
rumours that we had heard along the road for the past two or three days,
of a revolution in La Paz, in favour of General Quintin Quevedo, and told
me that he had received a letter from the general, telling him that he
was _en route_ for La Paz, to put himself at the head of the movement.
This news caused me to give up all idea of visiting La Paz, as the roads
between Oruro and that city were in the possession of General Daza and
his officers, who, I feared, would not scruple to take my mules from me,
and leave me without means of travelling. The only plan I could adopt,
was to push on for Oruro with all speed, in hope of being able to arrange
for a continuance of my journey to Tacna before Daza or any of his
men arrived there. We therefore made all possible haste, but were much
delayed by encountering a very heavy storm of wind, hail, and rain, which
drove over the pampa with great violence. Before the storm, the mirage
on the pampa was the finest I have ever seen. The hill at the foot of
which Oruro lies appeared to be separated from us by a lake, and I said
to Alfredo that we should have to go round it. The droves of llamas and
their attendants seemed to be walking in the lake, but as we approached
the water seemed to disappear gradually, at about the distance of a
quarter of a mile only from us. I have never seen such a distinct and
clear effect on any other occasion, and could not but conjecture that the
coming storm had something to do with it.
We arrived at Oruro about 4 p.m., having travelled thirteen leagues
during the day, and put up at the house of the Peruvian consul (Señor
Urquidi) to whom my young travelling-companion was recommended. The
consul received us very kindly, giving us a capital room in his house,
and a good corral for our animals, so that our mules were comparatively
safe for the present.