Oruro—Mineral districts and mining
operations—“Barilla”—Freighting ore by llamas—Future
of mining in Oruro—Attempted revolution in Oruro—Night
attack on the Quartel—Start from Oruro for Tacna—The river
Desaguadero—The ferry called La Barca—Llollia—Escape of the
mules during night—Indian cooking arrangements—Dress and
appearance of Indian men and women—El Cruzero—“Quinoa”—Heavy
storms—Electrified state of the atmosphere—Peculiar strata
observed near El Cruzero—Curahuara de Carangas—Its church,
people, and parish priest—Travelling jewellers—Mining prospects
of the district.
Oruro, situated 12,530 feet above sea-level, is a dreary-looking town,
containing about 8000 inhabitants. The plain on which it stands is
entirely destitute of any kind of vegetation, and the hilly district not
far from the town is especially famous for its mines of tin, copper, and
silver. So numerous are the veins of ore that it may almost be said that
a blind man striking with a pick at the hill-side would be sure to find
mineral of some kind or other, and the “Cornish divining rod” would be
of but little use here, as it would be attracted in so many directions
at the same time that its miraculous powers would probably be quite
useless. The richest veins are, however, those only that pay for working
at present, on account of the great distance that has to be traversed
between Oruro and any seaport. Most of the mercantile houses engaged
in Bolivian trade have agencies in the town, and there are several
Englishmen and Americans engaged in mining, with as good results as can
be expected in the absence of other means of transport for the ore than
llamas and donkeys.
I visited several of the mines, but a description of any one will give
an idea of the work carried on at them. One of the English miners, a Mr.
Penny, who had been resident in Bolivia for more than twenty-five years,
invited me to his property of San José Chica, a flourishing mine about a
mile from Oruro. The two working shafts, connected by galleries and with
numerous headings were worked by the old Spaniards, but some difficulty
is now met with from the influx of water, which cannot be kept under
with the limited pumping-power available, until steam machinery can be
imported into the district. Apart from this drawback, the mine appeared
to be in fair working order, the lode yielding silver and tin ore of
various values, percentages of from six to sixty per cent. being named.
The mineral, as it came up to the top of the shafts, seemed to me to
require only a little picking over, in order to free it from the rocky
stuff adhering to the ore; but the practice is to select the best-looking
lumps only, the remainder, which would doubtless pay well if passed
through proper crushing-machinery and then reduced by smelting, being run
away to spoil as valueless. The Indians soon get very expert in the work
of picking out the best ore, and the selected mass is broken up by hand
into small chips, washed in order to get rid of as much of the earthy
impurities as possible, and packed into small bags of 50 lbs. each.
Many of the ores, when thus dressed, yield sixty to seventy per cent.
of tin, and the mineral is known in the English markets as “barilla,”
being shipped per steamer from Arica in the same condition as it is sent
from the mine, the small bags stowing capitally between larger cargo.
The freight paid for carriage of this ore from Oruro to Tacna by llamas,
the cheapest mode of transport that exists at present on that route, is
from two to three pesos per quintal, say from £7 5_s._ to £10 15_s._ per
ton of 2240 lbs., the distance being said to be from eighty to a hundred
leagues. This would give an average rate of about 8_d._ per ton per mile,
and as each ton carried requires twenty-two llamas, it follows that each
llama earns about one-third of a penny per mile for his owner. It is a
very curious sight to see the llamas loaded up for their journey, and
upon one occasion I saw over 500 being prepared for the road. Having
been driven together as closely as possible, a rope is passed around the
crowded animals, being so placed as to hang on the necks of the outer
ones, thus forming a perfect ring fence. They are then let out one at a
time, a piece of hairy llama hide, or sheepskin with wool on, is placed
on their necks, and a couple of bags tied on, pack fashion. The llama
is then left to its own devices until the whole “recua,” or drove, have
been laden with their burdens, when they are driven on the road, being
led sometimes by one of the finest of the drove, or by a tall black
alpaca, or sometimes by an old hill pony; but, whatever the leader may
be, he always has a bell tied round his neck, the ceaseless clangour from
which seems to keep the drove together, warning them not to delay too
long by the road-side nibbling any stray grass that they can find, and
which appears to be all the forage they get. At the close of the day, as
soon as night falls, the llamas are again driven closely together, their
burdens taken off and stacked up in the form of a rough shed, under which
the arriero shelters himself for the night. The burdens being removed,
the animals are free to roam around and forage for themselves, having to
trust to chance whether there be any water and grass near. At break of
day they are all gathered together again, and the journey is resumed, it
being perfectly wonderful to see what little trouble the men have to get
their droves together each morning.
The cost of freighting the ore by llamas to the seaport is not excessive,
but the time occupied on the journey is very great, the principal house
in Oruro assuring me that it often took twelve months before they could
obtain a return from their investments in “barilla.” When the Amazonian
route is opened up by the completion of the Railway of the Madeira
Rapids, a road from Totora to the port on the Chimoré River will be made,
the existing road between Oruro and Cochabamba will be improved, and the
whole of the mineral products of the central Andean valley of Bolivia
will find its way to European markets over the shortest, easiest, and
most natural route, even before the finances of the country shall have
sufficiently improved to enable an interior system of railways to be
commenced. There is no great difference in distance between Oruro and
Tacna, and Oruro and the port on the Chimoré, but a journey with animals
by the latter route offers far less risk, as pasturage is everywhere
plentiful, and there is no danger of the animals dying from the effects
of the soroche, so fatal on the pass of Tacora, the highest point of
the Andes, passed on the roads from Oruro to the Pacific coast. If ever
the happy day that shall see the opening of the Madeira and Mamoré
Railway dawns for Bolivia, then few speculations appear to me to be more
promising than that of mining near Oruro. The want of fuel for smelting
purposes will not, when good roads are made, be felt so much at Oruro
as at Potosí, for Oruro is within a reasonable distance of the eastern
slopes of the Andes, which are well wooded.
As I expected, the revolution had entirely broken up the posta service
between Oruro and Tacna, as well as that upon the La Paz road, so I had
to suffer a week’s detention at Oruro, whilst looking out to purchase
baggage mules. Animals of every kind were very scarce, but I was
fortunate enough to secure a couple, though at very high prices; and our
host, finding that we could not purchase any others, lent my companion
Alfredo a baggage mule, and so we were at length provided for our journey
on to Tacna.
During our stay in Oruro, the townspeople were much excited as to
which side to take in the revolution. The prefect raised a small band
of recruits and took them out to join General Daza, who was supposed
to be encamped about a day’s march on the La Paz road. In his absence
some conspirators of Quevedistic tendencies formed secret bands, and
endeavoured to get up a “pronunciamento” for their favourite, General
Quintine Quevedo. The night of January the 8th was chosen by the
Quevedists for an attack upon the “quartel,” or barracks, which were held
for the government by a “comandante” and about a hundred men. We had all
turned in early, but about two o’clock in the morning our host called
us up, saying that the revolution had commenced in the town. Alfredo
and I dressed as quickly as possible, so that we might be prepared for
any eventualities. At first the firing was rather rapid, but after
about half an hour’s smart fusilade, it dropped off to single shots, as
though one party were gradually retiring to the outskirts of the town.
The shouting ceased by three o’clock, and all being quiet, we turned in
again till daylight, when we found that a party of Quevedistas, supposed
to be about five and twenty in number, having attacked the quartel, had
been repulsed. Two of the defenders of the quartel were killed, and the
comandante-general, who appeared to have conducted himself with great
bravery, was hit twice in the arm and also in the side, the latter
wound being a very dangerous one. The whole proceeding seemed to have
been a very senseless one on the part of the Quevedistas, unless, as is
very probable, they had a secret understanding with the soldiers in the
quartel; if they had, the bravery of the comandante must have cowed his
men, so that they feared to assist the attacking party, who were able to
retreat without loss. The following morning the authorities were very
active, and three or four men were taken into custody on suspicion,
but it did not appear to be known for certain who were the leaders
of the attack. Rumour said that the plan was, if the quartel had been
taken, that requisitions or robberies would have been committed upon the
principal mercantile houses, especially upon those that were thought
to be favourable to the present government. As our host was agent for
Messrs. Campbell & Co. of Tacna, who were thought to be “Gobiernistas,”
all the mules in his corral, our own amongst the number, had been
marked out for requisition, and, I fancy, not even my own well-known
Quevedistic proclivities would have saved them. A forced contribution of
10,000 pesos was also to have been raised from the firm, whilst the other
mercantile houses were put on the list for sums varying from a couple to
five thousand pesos. However, fortunately for us, the combination did not
succeed, and as we had everything in readiness for our onward journey we
hoped to get away safely on the following morning. Late the same evening
an arriero came in from Tacna with a recua of about fifty mules, and
as the animals and their trappings were in good condition they formed
quite an imposing sight. From this arriero I was able to hire a couple
of “aparejos” in good order, to replace two of mine, which were not
complete. He charged me eight pesos for the hire of each one, and this
turned out to be a cheaper method of equipping one’s self than purchasing
new aparejos and selling them at the end of the journey.
The following night passed quietly without any more attempts at
revolution. Patrols were kept up in the streets, and although the
Quevedistas threatened another row, none took place. The next day,
January 9th, at 5 a.m., I called our mozos, and we began to arrange
our baggage for a start. As our new mules were saddle animals, and
consequently unaccustomed to cargo work, we had a good deal of trouble
to get ready; but by about eight o’clock we managed to make a start,
intending to travel that day as far as La Barca, a distance of twelve
leagues. However, before we were out of Oruro we had more trouble with
the animals, as they apparently wished to go every road but the right
one. One mule, a fine grey animal that would have made a perfect match
for my young companion’s “macho,” with which it would have made a fine
pair for a coach, was particularly lively, and nearly succeeded in
jumping to the top of an almost perpendicular bank, over four feet in
height, and this with over a couple of hundred-weight on his pack-saddle.
So we went on with many troubles, until getting on the road outside the
town the animals behaved themselves better.
The road out of Oruro first crosses the junction of two ranges of hills,
in both of which are several mines, the right-hand range behind the town
being worked by an apparently very well managed mining enterprise, said
to belong to the house of Blondell & Co. The road then is over pampa
land, and nothing but pampa of the dullest and flattest kind conceivable.
Here a macho, that we were allowing to run loose, took it into its head
to bolt back for Oruro, and Alfredo and I had to scamper after him for
about a league, until we headed him, and turned him back on the right
road. We arrived at the river Desaguadero about four in the afternoon,
and to the ferry called La Barca about six o’clock. Here we found a troop
of donkeys crossing, but made them wait whilst we were ferried over,
much to the disgust of their owners, but the Indians hereabout are quite
insolent enough, and it is necessary to put them in their proper place
now and then.
The Desaguadero is a riverine canal, which unites the lake of Titicaca
with that of Poopo, or Choro. The canal has to be crossed on a pontoon
or raft, kept in its course by a hide rope stretched from bank to bank,
a distance of about 300 yards. The tolls collected are one reale, say
4¾_d._, per mule, half a reale for a donkey, and five llamas are passed
for one reale. The pontoon is made of three large barrels lashed together
in a row, and having three pointed caissoons on the front. A twisted hide
rope, fully three inches and a half in diameter, and most wonderfully
made, is stretched across the river, being anchored to heavy stones
on either side. The pointed caissoons are placed up stream, and the
proper direction being given to the rudder, the current lent some slight
assistance to the two men who worked the launch across the river by
handwork. The launch might have a better flooring, and the landing-stages
might with little expense be greatly improved; but still, on the whole,
the ferry is very serviceable to travellers, and, as the traffic is
considerable, it must be a fortune to the old lady who is the proprietor,
and who resides at the house on the western side of the river. The
Desaguadero is the outlet for the surplus waters of lake Titicaca, the
largest fresh-water lake of the South American continent, and has a
course of about 200 miles in length before emptying itself into the lake
of Poopo. At La Barca it is about fifty or sixty yards wide, and has but
a slight current, is very muddy, and is said to be about twenty-four feet
in depth at the crossing, but did not seem to me to be so deep. Without
considerable dredging it would not be available for steamers, as it is
very narrow and changes its course continually, leaving shallow places
and “playas” (sandbanks) at every turn. The level of lake Titicaca is
given in Keith Johnston’s maps as 12,846 feet above sea-level, whilst the
lake of Poopo is probably about 12,400 feet. This gives an incline of
about two feet per mile between the two lakes, a fall which is probably
pretty evenly distributed over the entire course of the river.
Having crossed the river, we entered the house belonging to the
proprietress of the ferry, and engaged a large room where my companion
and I could have our cots at one end, whilst our mozos slept on
hides laid on the floor at the other. We here made ourselves pretty
comfortable, and having bought some mutton, had a good chupe made for
supper, after which we turned in for a good night’s rest in hope of
making good progress on the morrow. At La Barca prices were moderate,
barley for the mules being two pesos the quintal, whilst the total charge
for the mutton for our supper and the use of the room for the night was
only a peso, so that, if there be no great accommodation for travellers
at the Desaguadero Hotel and ferry, at least one cannot complain of
the charges. Sunday, January the 10th, was to see us to the nearest
village, called Llollia, pronounced “Yocclia,” an Indian settlement,
about twelve leagues from La Barca. We rose at five, but it was nearly
eight o’clock before we got the mules all saddled and cargoes up. The
road all day lay entirely over pampas which, in most places, were very
muddy and covered with the rain which had fallen during the preceding
night, and which lay in many places three and four inches in depth. This
made the travelling very heavy work; but, notwithstanding, we did the
twelve leagues by four o’clock in the afternoon. The tops of the ranges
of hills in sight were covered with snow, and during the greater part of
the day a very cold wind blew, with heavy driving rain, but fortunately
at our backs. Llollia is a small Indian aldea, or collection of ranchos,
built of mud, plastered with a little lime on the inside, and with very
small, coffin-shaped doors, which gave one a good idea of what living in
a “chulpa” must have been like. The Indians here are Aymarás, and are
very cunning,—one fellow came out to meet us long before we neared the
village, and tried his best to make us believe that a room he offered
us was the only one to be had. On arrival we went to see his hut, and
found it was more than three parts full of barley, so we looked round
amongst the other ranchos, and soon got offers right and left, securing a
tolerably-sized room for ourselves and a corral for the mules.
The next day was a wretched lost one. On waking at 5 a.m., I took my
accustomed dose of quinine, and, dressing leisurely, went out to the
corral, expecting to find the boys saddling the mules; but neither mules
nor mozos were visible, and the unpleasant fact forced itself on my
unwilling belief that the mules had bolted during the night, and that
the mule-boys were after them on foot. This was confirmed, in mixed
Aymará and Spanish, by the old woman of the house to which the corral
was attached. About seven o’clock, Marco returned with five of them,
the other four having apparently taken the direction of La Barca. Juan
had gone after these on foot; so, having dispatched Marco on one of the
animals, all Alfredo and I could do was to wait patiently, take care of
the four left in our charge, and nurse our discontents as well as we
could. We had bought a small sheep for a couple of pesos on arriving at
Llollia last night, so we made ourselves a breakfast of roast mutton,
which we toasted in one of the ground fireplaces of the country, and
waited the day out. These fireplaces are worthy of note. A hole is dug in
the ground about eighteen inches in depth and two feet in diameter, and
over this a framework of clay is made, with holes of different sizes, to
receive the various cooking-pots. Roasting must be done on spits passed
through the holes; so the meat comes out very much smoked, unless great
care is taken to have only embers in the bottom of the oven. For rough
cooking, the affair answers its purpose well, and one would be inclined
to think that a good idea for camp ovens might be taken from it, if a
curved sheet of cast or wrought iron were used instead of the clay frame,
as good clay would in many places be difficult, perhaps impossible,
to obtain, and would take too long to manufacture. The plan of digging
a hole in the ground for a camp oven is, of course, not a new one; but
it would seem that the curved top would be much simpler and lighter for
transport than the camp ovens that are in general use.
[Illustration: QUICHUAN OVEN (LLOLLIA).
Section through oven.
Section through Oven and Air Intake.]
The Indians of Llollia and the district are of the Aymará race, and are
strong and well built generally. In their own way they are certainly
industrious, for it is very unusual to meet either a man or a woman who
is not spinning, whether indoors or out of doors, seated or walking. They
are all owners of large flocks of sheep, whilst many of them also have
droves of llamas and alpacas, the last of which are said to yield large
profits from the sale of the famous alpaca wool. Both men and women wear
nothing but dark blue homespun clothing, with stockings of the natural
colour of the wool. The men wear their hair long, twisted round the top
of their heads in small and narrow plaits, which have very much the
semblance of plaited horse-tails. They are scarcely ever seen without the
universal poncho over their shoulders. The women wear a countless number
of woollen petticoats, which are puckered up round about their waists
in a most elaborate manner, and, reaching about half-way down the calf
of the leg, display a pair of ankles and feet which, to all appearance,
might be made of bronze or copper. A square of woollen cloth, or shawl,
is worn tied round the neck, secured in front by a couple of spoon-shaped
skewers; whilst, generally at their backs, a baby is seen stowed away in
the folds of the shawl—for babies are almost as numerous in the hovels on
the tops of the Andes as they are in some of the back slums or courts of
St. Giles. Their head-dresses are also peculiar, being something mediæval
in shape and look. A frame of straw is made up in form of a lozenge,
with a hole in the centre to fit the head, and this is covered with dark
blue or red cloth; a curtain hanging down on all sides about six inches
deep, making a capital sort of sunshade. One would not think that the
women required any protection from the sun’s rays, for their faces are
like their hands and ankles, of a deep brown colour, from the accumulated
dust of years; whilst a red glow, that the cold winds give them, aids the
semblance of their skins to well-seasoned mahogany. Washing of any sort
is unknown on the higher Andes, where the strong cold winds makes even
a traveller feel inclined to follow the universal custom, and let well
alone.
[Illustration: QUICHUAN WOMAN OF LLOLLIA.]
Towards the close of the day, much to our joy, the animals turned up,
the boys having had to return all the way to La Barca, where the four
mules had been captured and placed in the corral. It was fortunate for
us that they did not attempt to swim across the river Desaguadero, as
it was evident that they had made up their minds to return to Oruro.
Perhaps they thought they would be ferried over although they arrived
without riders, for our boys were told that at daybreak they were all
found waiting on the shore close by the ferry-boat. Thus all we lost was
an entire day—bad enough, but to have lost the animals would have been
much worse; so we consoled ourselves and prepared to continue the journey
early to-morrow, making as long a day of it as we could. At first I
thought that some of the Indians had done us the trick of letting out the
mules, so as to get paid for fetching them back, or as vengeance for our
not having bought barley of them; but I convinced myself that the mules
got over the mud walls of the corral, they being very low.
On the following day, January 12th, our work was from Llollia to El
Cruzero, fourteen leagues, and although we roused up at five o’clock, it
took a couple of hours to get the cargoes up and ready for the start.
Notwithstanding a heavy hail-storm and rain yesterday evening and during
the night, the road was not bad for travelling, as the pampas were more
elevated and sandier than those nearer Oruro. Hereabouts there are many
ranchos scattered over the pampa, and good crops of barley, potatoes,
and quinoa were growing. This “quinoa” is a small grain about the size
of millet or rape seed, and is eaten by the Aymará Indians in the same
way as gram or rice is eaten by the Indians of Hindostan. When boiled
or soaked it throws out a gelatinous substance that causes it to form a
mass, in which state it is used by the Indians as their principal article
of food. By Bolivians of higher grade, it is only used to thicken the
chupe, or soup, and in that way is very agreeable. There were also many
flocks of sheep, llamas, and alpacas, as well as many vicuñas, which in
these parts are very tame.
From Capillitas, a station about seven leagues from Llollia onwards,
the country is much rougher, and the road takes up a very picturesque
quebrada, the strata of some of the rocks standing up perpendicular. Here
one of the mules that had a very light burden, consisting of bedding
only, managed to kick off her cargo, and set to work with teeth and hoofs
to tear up as much as she could of it, succeeding in ruining a bag and
sundry other articles before we could rescue them from her.
Towards four in the afternoon came on the usual storm of hail, rain, and
wind, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning, some of which were most
unpleasantly near us. To know what a hail-storm really means, one must
cross the Andes, for some of these afternoon storms were the heaviest
I have ever met with either at sea or land. In fact, so large were the
hailstones in many instances, that I congratulated myself on being the
lucky possessor of two hats, one of which, a large-brimmed thick vicuña
felt, I could put on over a soft wide-awake, and then, tying a large
scarf over all, so as to cover up my ears and the back of my neck, I
could ride out any storm. I recollect many occasions on which the stones
came down with such force, being driven by the high wind, that we were
fain to turn our backs to the fury of the squall, otherwise I really
think the mules would have been stunned had we forced them to receive the
hail on their faces.
During the evening the air seemed to be most highly charged with
electricity, and after nightfall the flashes of lightning were intensely
vivid, the contrast causing the night to look blacker than usual.
Whilst riding slowly along I was for some time puzzled by noticing two
luminous points moving backwards and forwards right in front of me, and
seemingly accompanying me with great regularity. Reaching out my hand
towards these lights, I was astonished to find that they were on the
two points of my mules’ ears, which, as they wagged to and fro in mule
fashion, gleamed like the points of damp lucifer matches. Upon directing
my companions’ and the mozos’ attention to the other animals, we found a
similar condition to exist with each one, although it was more distinct
in some cases than in others. Every one has heard that sparks can be
produced from a cat’s back, when the fur is rubbed the wrong way, but I
never heard that mules or other animals had the same power of evolving
electricity; but probably the wet state of the hair on their ears,
and the highly charged condition of the atmosphere, accounted for the
phenomenon.
We did not get to El Cruzero, which consists of a few wretched hovels and
a small church at the side of a brook, until nearly nine at night, some
of us being drenched to the skin, and every one complaining bitterly of
the cold. Here we had considerable difficulty in inducing the Indians
to open their doors to us and provide us with a shelter for the night.
We knocked for some time, at the door of the only hovel in which we
could see a glimmer of light through the cracks of the door, and were
at length gruffly told to go on our way to the next village, three and
a half leagues distant. This we did not approve of, and so we tried
the stratagem of shouting to the Indians, that we were part of General
Quevedo’s advance-guard, and that if we were not admitted in a friendly
manner we should return on the morrow with the general, who would visit
them with heavy punishment. The name of Quevedo seemed to be a power to
conjure by, for after the Indians had jabbered together excitedly, the
door opened and a couple appeared, who with a lantern, and many apologies
for delay, showed us to an adjoining hovel, which was about large enough
to swing a cat round in, as the saying goes. However, we got our baggage
inside, and arranged to sleep on top of it, as there was no room for
setting up our cots. We tried to light a fire in the doorway, to warm
our benumbed bodies and cook a supper, but the smoke filled the hovel,
so that we were obliged to put out the fire and content ourselves with
biscuits, sardines, and a night-cap of cingani. There was no good corral
available, so we had to put the mules in the yard of the church close by,
the mozos sleeping in the gateway to take care they did not escape during
the night. This was thought to be great sacrilege by the Indians, but
necessity knows no law, and Quevedo’s name had again to help us through
the difficulty.
On the following day we determined to give the mules a short journey
only, as far as Curahuara de Carangas, the village to which the Indians
had on the preceding night recommended us to go. Fortunately the day was
fine, so, having dried our ponchos and rugs as well as we could, and
making an early breakfast, we settled up for the barley supplied us,
and gave the Indians a couple of dollars for sweeping up the litter made
by the animals in the church-yard, thus quite reconciling them to the
sacrilege they charged us with last night.
The road from Cruzero onwards is good riding, being mostly sandy, over
an undulating pampa. On the way I noticed a very peculiar formation of
strata. A plain was completely walled in on either side by upheavals
of, in some places, rock, in others earth; the dip on either side
corresponding exactly, and being pitched at about an angle of 60° with
the horizon.
These inclined walls varied in height in different places, in some having
been worn away to the surface of the plain, in others rising, to perhaps
fifty feet in height, but their almost parallel lines could be seen along
the plain as far as the eye could reach. The thickness of these inverted
strata might have been about twenty feet, whilst the width of the land
between them was probably about half a mile. The effect on the landscape
was very striking, and it is exceedingly difficult to set up any theory
that may give a reasonable suggestion as to the forces of nature which
caused this immense rift in what was once a level portion of the earth’s
crust.
We arrived at Curahuara de Carangas about mid-day, and put up at one
of the principal houses. The pueblo is small, forming one square, or
“plaza” only, with a church on one of the sides. This church is said to
be upwards of 200 years old, and is a very primitive building of adobe
bricks and rush-covered roof, with a tower separated from the main
building, as is frequently the case with old churches throughout South
America. The town is not at quite such a high elevation as Potosí, being
only about 12,900 feet above sea-level; but, as it is built on a slope
rising from a vast plain, the climate is frightfully bleak.
The population is probably not more than 800 or 1000 souls, all told,
but nevertheless the cura, or parish priest, seems to make a fine living
out of them; at least, so we thought when we found him bargaining with a
couple of travelling jewellers, who arrived on the same day as ourselves.
The cura, who was a stout hearty man of some fifty years of age, was,
though a priest, the head of a family, consisting of a buxom Quichuana
and half a dozen sons and daughters. When we called he had just suited
his morganatic wife and daughters with rings all round, and was debating
whether he had sufficient cash or chefalonia and plata piña with which to
purchase a very large diamond ring, which the “joyeros,” or jewellers,
were tempting him to purchase as an episcopal jewel. The diamond was of
rather a yellowish colour, about the size of a small sugar almond. The
price asked was 6000 pesos, but doubtless the sellers would willingly
have taken about fifteen hundred; but the priest could not raise a
sufficient amount just at the moment, as his faithful flock were not in
very good spirits, owing to the slackness in mining operations and the
rumours of revolution.
These travelling jewellers are frequently met with in Bolivia, and, as
they carry a very considerable stock of their wares, they never travel
alone, but always in couples at least. They generally have one or two
large diamonds on sale, and sometimes make a very good bargain with a
rich priest or a successful miner. In payment they are open to take any
other valuables, for they are keen hands at a bargain, being generally
of the Israelitish persuasion; and a quantity of “chefalonia,” or old
silver plate, such as candlesticks, cups or basons, or a few pounds’
weight of “plata piña” (pure silver in the moulds, as turned out from the
smelting works at the mines), are always as acceptable to them as hard
dollars. These joyeros come from either Lima or Valparaiso, and it is
said that whenever they sell a _gros lot_, such as a valuable diamond,
they always leave the town and neighbourhood as quickly as possible,
for fear the purchaser should repent of his bargain; and it is the best
policy, whenever a traveller is asked an opinion of a large diamond or
other jewel, to give a favourable one, for so many false jewels have been
sold in Bolivia that the susceptible feelings of the owner of a rare and
precious stone may be easily offended.
About nine leagues from the town there are mines of silver, and the
inhabitants expect that the district will some day be equal to the famous
Caracoles mines of the coast; but their sanguine hopes are not, in my
opinion, ever likely to be realized, as their situation is far away from
any possible railway route, even supposing the projected line between
Tacna and La Paz should be carried out. The difficulties of transport,
fuel, and forage will therefore be always so great as to preclude the
idea of successful mining. Provisions of every kind were very dear, and
fresh meat seldom to be had, nor even fowls nor eggs. Barley for the
mules cost six pesos the quintal in the straw, but was to cost yet more
further on the road to Tacna.