forward rapidly to fill in its section of the long-promised Pan-American
railway from Panamá to Patagonia. One of these, the Oroya road, which
ascends from Lima up into the plateau country, is altogether the most
impressive piece of railroad engineering in the world; it is not only
the highest, but there is no other that lifts its wondering passengers
to any such altitude in such an appallingly short space of time. For an
hour or more the train winds through a wide, irrigated valley, green and
prosperous-looking with plantations of sugar cane. Farther up, the
valley narrows and is closed in by naked rocks. Twenty-five miles from
Lima a station is reached twenty-eight hundred feet above the sea;
twelve miles farther the altitude is five thousand feet. At Casapalca,
the town of smelters, thirteen thousand six hundred feet is achieved by
the puffing, vibrating engine; at fourteen thousand feet the chimneys of
Casapalca’s smelters look like pins stuck in the green carpet below, and
finally, the passenger descends from the train, very uncertain on his
feet, at the unprecedented height of 15,665 feet, and stands on the
cold, wind-swept Andean roof. On every hand are peaks and hoods of snow.
Beyond the station the rechristened Mount Meiggs rises another two
thousand feet, as a monument to the indefatigable Yankee promoter and
soldier of fortune who conceived and built the road—Henry Meiggs.
Turning to the west, one looks back over the long, infinitely varied
descent; to the east lie the plateaus and the Andean treasure land. The
northern branch of the road continues along almost equally high levels,
past the historic plains of Junín on which Bolívar dealt his crushing
blow to the viceroy’s army in 1824, to Cerro de Pasco, where the
American mining syndicate is preparing to get rich.
II
A still more extensive railroad and one which gives the traveler a more
varied view of the Andes, is that ascending from the port city of
Mollendo, near the Chilean frontier. This line is the outlet for much of
the commerce of Bolivia, and was built by the same gifted Yankee who
fathered the Oroya road. Leaving Mollendo, the train speeds over the
desert for a few miles and then begins its steady climb upward. All day
it labors along the tortuous ascent through echoing walls of rock, bare,
repellent, and awe-inspiring in their cold majesty. Suddenly, around a
jagged precipice, the passengers look down upon a lovely valley—an oasis
of green. In its midst lies the quaint, picturesque old city of
Arequipa, which Pizarro, who founded it, was wont to call _la villa
hermosa_—the city beautiful. Seen from the heights, it somewhat
resembles La Paz, a group of low, white and blue walled, red roofed
buildings, arranged in squares, with a large plaza in the center, the
general flatness relieved by many church spires, and its spacious patios
a mass of foliage and trees.
Thus far the penetration of the railroad into this quiet retreat has
produced but little change in its old-world aspect. It has long been
famous for its delightful climate and location, and as Mozans truly says
of it, “If it is not the most beautiful place in South America, as its
admirers claim, it is certainly the most restful. It is such a place as
one would like to retire to after the stress and storms of a busy
career, to pass one’s days in quiet and a congenial environment. The
people who retain all the light-heartedness and cordiality and culture
of old Spain, are worthy denizens of their charming city, and the better
one knows them, the more he admires and loves them.”
Overlooking the city are the buildings of a branch of the Harvard
Observatory. It is said that, because of the remarkable clearness of the
atmosphere and the great number of cloudless nights, this observatory is
probably more favorably located than any other in the world, and that,
as a consequence, the astronomers stationed there have achieved results
of the greatest value to science, especially in photographing the
southern skies. Also they are doing valuable work in measuring the
heights of the Andean peaks and charting the general topography, as well
as in keeping open house to their fellow-countrymen who hunger for the
sound of their native tongue after many weeks of effort to comprehend
the idioms of the Castilian speech and the patois of the ever-present
_cholo_. The verandas and trim green lawns and tennis courts are a
reminder of Cambridge, indeed.
Above the observatory, snow-capped Misti rises sheer from the valley
some 21,000 feet, like a perfect cone. Its appearance is so distinct, so
impressive in its constancy and brooding grandeur, that it possesses a
personality almost human. One feels impelled to address it with the
prefix “_Señor_,” after the manner of the Japanese with their Fuji-san,
which, by the way, greatly resembles Misti in shape and location.
Continuing upward through the mountain desert, the Mollendo road ascends
to a height of 14,666 feet in the short latitudinal distance of less
than two hundred miles, and across the divide to Juliaca, a town near
the northern shore of Lake Titicaca, where it separates, one branch
extending south to Puno, the center of the gold mining district, thence
around the great lake to La Paz, the other extending northwest for about
two hundred miles, down the sloping plateau to the valley of Cuzco, at
the head of which is the ancient imperial capital of the Incas.
Plantations and pastures begin to appear as the train descends from the
high ridges into the plain, and, great as is the altitude even here, on
an island in this very lake, according to tradition, the remarkable
native dynasty had its birth. The legend, as Mozans quotes it from the
works of Garcilaso de la Vega, the historian of the conquest, and who
was himself, through his mother, a descendant of the royal Inca line, is
that—
“Our Father, the Sun, seeing the human race in the condition I
have described: living like wild beasts, without religion or
government, or town or houses, without cultivating the land or
clothing their bodies, for they knew not how to weave cotton or
wool to make clothes; living in caves or clefts in the rocks, or
in caverns under the ground; eating the herbs of the field and
roots and fruit, like wild animals, and also human flesh—had
compassion on them and sent down from heaven to the earth a son
and a daughter to instruct them in the knowledge of our Father,
the Sun, that they might adore him and adopt him as their God,
also to give them precepts and laws by which to live as
reasonable and civilized men and to teach them to live in houses
and towns, to cultivate maize and other crops, to breed flocks,
to use the fruits of the earth like rational beings instead of
living like wild beasts. With these commands and intentions, our
Father, the Sun, placed his two children in the Lake of
Titicaca, which is eighty leagues from here” (Cuzco); “and he
said to them that they might go where they pleased, and that, at
every place where they stopped to eat or sleep, they were to
thrust a scepter of gold into the ground, which was half a yard
long and two fingers in thickness. He gave them this staff as a
sign and token that in the place where, by one blow on the
earth, it should sink down and disappear, there it was the
desire of our Father, the Sun, that they should remain and
establish their court.”
In this region the table-land is of vast expanse, and in many respects
the panorama is more impressive even than that in the vicinity of
Aconcagua. In the center is the enormous sheet of water, turquoise blue
in the sunlight, stretching for a hundred and ten miles off to the
south, with an average width of thirty miles and an average depth of a
hundred fathoms, and, 12,500 feet high as it is, bordered on either side
by superb ranges towering many thousands of feet higher, their clean-cut
peaks glittering with mantles of snow and ice. Around the shore and on
the islands of Titicaca and Koati are picturesque towns and small
clusters of adobe houses surrounded by hills, their sides terraced and
covered with farms, the water fringed with fields of reeds, and feeding
in them countless birds and herds of cattle. It is no wonder that these
“Children of the Sun” should have worshiped as their God and Goddess the
great luminous orbs in a region where, thanks to the unwonted splendor
of the moon and stars, which enable one to distinguish all the salient
features of lake and Cordillera with the greatest ease, the nights, as
Mozans says, are glorious beyond words; but where, “however fair the
views presented to the enraptured gaze in the subdued light of the moon
and her attendant handmaidens, no one can be insensible to the gorgeous
vistas that burst upon the vision during the daytime.” It is then, he
continues—
“Especially at the hours of dawn and twilight that the
snow-crested range of the lofty Cordillera Real is visible in
all its transcendent beauty and majesty. For then, as if by
magic, various colored fires seem to blaze from the immense
glaciers and snow fields and to convert the sparkling expanse
into glowing rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, while the lofty
peaks of the Sorata range are transformed into gleaming
pinnacles of burnished gold. Then in fullest perfection and
palpable form is realized that vision of mountain loveliness,
that crowning splendor of earth and sky, set forth in Ruskin’s
noble lines: ‘Wait yet for one hour, until the east again
becomes purple and the heaving mountains, rolling against it in
the darkness like waves of a wild sea, are drowned one by one in
the glory of its burning. Watch the white glaciers blaze in
their winding paths about the mountains, like mighty serpents
with scales of fire; watch the columnar peaks of solitary snow,
kindling downwards, chasm by chasm, each in itself a new
morning—their long avalanches cast down in keen streams brighter
than the lightning, sending each its tribute of driven snow,
like altar-smoke, up to the heaven, the rose-light of their
silent domes flushing that heaven about them and above them,
piercing with purer light through its purple lines of lifted
cloud, casting a new glory on every wreath as it passes by,
until the whole heaven, one scarlet canopy, is interwoven with a
roof of waving flame, and tossing, vault beyond vault, as with
the drifted wings of many companies of angels.’”
The railroad has been built along the very route that the first Inca and
his sister-wife are said to have chosen when they started out to found
their capital. Passing between two giant peaks, it descends the
gradually sloping two-hundred-mile-long plateau which became the most
populous section of the great empire, as it is still of modern Peru. On
either side are torrential rivers that rush down through the deep
defiles of the mountains to the Amazon. Every foot of the region is
associated with legendary and historic events; scattered about
everywhere, from the islands of Titicaca on, are wonderful ruins—ruins
of towns, bridges, fortresses, temples, burial towers, some Incaic, some
thought to be as old as the pyramids of Egypt. There is a lake in which,
at the coming of the Spaniards, the Indians are said to have thrown the
colossal gold chain that was forged at the birth of Huascar, a chain so
heavy, according to the chroniclers, that it was all that two hundred
men could do to carry it.
The climate is delightful. All along the road is a succession of wild,
gorgeous scenery, quaint towns and villages and big haciendas, with
fields green with growing crops and herds of cattle and alpaca ranging
about, often tended by pretty copper-colored _chola_ (mixed breed) or
Indian girls, as picturesquely dressed as those of La Paz, only here in
Peru, instead of the great number of voluminous many-colored skirts the
Bolivian women wear—sometimes as many as twelve or fifteen, which makes
them appear as though they had on the hoops once worn by our
grandmothers—they wear a single, short woolen skirt over the usual
cotton ones, and, instead of the peculiar headdress of the Aymaras,
broad-brimmed, gaily beribboned hats, though, like the Aymaras, they
wear brilliantly colored mantles, fastened around the shoulders by a pin
with a spoon-shaped head (which they also use as a spoon), and the men,
like the Bolivian mountaineers, wear ponchos that vie with the mantles
of the women in color. Ponchos and mantles like those worn to-day, but
many centuries old, have been found in the tombs, so ancient is the
fashion.
It is in this country between La Paz and Cuzco that the llama is seen in
greatest numbers—that remarkable animal which Mozans aptly describes as
a creature with the legs of a deer, the body of a sheep, and the head
and neck of a camel. They are larger than sheep, however, and far more
docile and ornamental than the ugly, ungainly camel. Their coats are of
several shades: white, brown, black or parti-colored; their wool is long
and thick, and they are noted for their beautiful big, wistfully
inquiring eyes. From time immemorial the natives had used them as
burden-bearers, and the Spaniards, when they came, found them
surer-footed and more enduring than mules or burros, proof against cold
and acclimated in the rarefied atmosphere of the high table-lands, and
able to go as long as a camel without food and water, and to maintain
themselves by grazing along the waysides in parts of the country in
which no other animal could live. It was on their backs that all the
material that entered into the construction of the steamers on Lake
Titicaca was hauled, and most of the mining machinery, and the caravans
still compete with the railroads in carrying ores and coca to the coast
and bringing back supplies for the mountain towns.
In these days only the males are used for such purposes. It is said of
them that when they are loaded with more than they feel that they can
comfortably carry (about a hundred pounds), they lie right down in their
tracks and refuse to budge for all the cajoling or in spite of the kicks
and curses their tenders can bestow. The females are kept in pasture for
breeding purposes and for their wool and milk, and in that region rank
with cattle as a source of food supply, for their flesh resembles mutton
and is quite as palatable and good to eat. It is much used in the native
dish called _chupe_, a sort of thick soup which is made of the peculiar
mountain potatoes grown in those parts, first frozen and dried, and then
put into a pot and boiled with any other vegetables at hand and
fragments of meat and fish, and seasoned with salt and red pepper. This,
to the people of the mountains, is what rice is to the Chinese and
macaroni to the Italians. Sometimes it is the only fare the traveler can
get at the little _tambos_ or inns remote from the railroad; but even
so, when properly prepared, as it usually is, with plenty of nourishing
ingredients, it leaves little to be desired after a hard day’s climb.
The valley of Cuzco—a pocketlike depression about ten miles long and
varying in width from two to three miles, covered with fields of barley
and maize, dotted with many attractive-looking gardens and country
mansions of the old Spanish colonial type, and hedged in on either side
by ranges of mountains towering high above—is at the northwestern
extremity of the plateau. The city, which is at the head of the valley,
is a little more than a mile and a half in breadth, from the foot of the
mountain range on the east to that of the range on the west, and about a
mile in length. To the north, the famous hill of Sacsahuaman rises
abruptly over it and is separated from the mountains on either side by
deep ravines, through one of which flows the little river Huatanay and
through the other the Rodadero. The Huatanay tumbles noisily past the
moss-grown walls of an old convent, under the houses forming the west
side of the great square, thence through the center of a broad street,
where it is confined between banks faced with masonry and crossed by
numerous bridges, and on beyond until it unites with the Rodadero, which
separates the city from the suburb of San Blas.
The most important section of the ancient city was built between the two
little rivers, with the great square in the center, and this site, said
to have been chosen for it by the first Inca and his sister-wife, is
declared by many to be the most wildly, majestically beautiful of all
the beautiful mountain city sites in South America—even Santiago, La
Paz, Arequipa, Cajamarca, Quito, Bogotá, and Caracas. Respecting the
ancient city itself, Prescott tells us that the Spaniards were
astonished “by the beauty of its edifices, the length and regularity of
its streets, and the good order and appearance of comfort, even luxury,
visible in its numerous population. It far surpassed all they had seen
in the New World.... It” (the great square), he continues, “was
surrounded by low piles of buildings, among which were several palaces
of the Incas. One of these, erected by Huayana Capac, was surmounted by
a tower, while the ground floor was occupied by one or more immense
halls, like those described in Cajamarca, where the Peruvian nobles held
their _fêtes_ in stormy weather. The population of the city,” he goes
on—
“Is computed by one of the conquerors at two hundred thousand
inhabitants and that of the suburbs at as many more. This
account is not confirmed, as far as I have seen, by any other
writer. But, however it may be exaggerated, it is certain that
Cuzco was the metropolis of a great empire, the residence of the
court and the chief nobility, frequented by the most skillful
mechanics and artisans of every description, who found a demand
for their ingenuity in the royal precincts, while the place was
garrisoned by a numerous soldiery, and was the resort, finally,
of emigrants from the most distant provinces. The quarters
whence this motley population came were indicated by their
peculiar dress, and especially their head-gear, so rarely found
at all on the American Indian, which, with its variegated
colors, gave a picturesque effect to the groups and masses in
the streets....
“The edifices of the better sort—and they were very
numerous—were of stone, or faced with stone. Among the principal
were the royal residences, as each sovereign built a new palace
for himself, covering, though low, a large extent of ground. The
walls were stained or painted with gaudy tints, and the gates,
we are assured, were sometimes of colored marble. ‘In the
delicacy of the stonework,’ says another of the conquerors, ‘the
natives far excelled the Spaniards, though the roofs of their
dwellings, instead of tiles, were only of thatch, but put
together with the nicest art.’ The sunny climate of Cuzco did
not require a very substantial material for defense against the
weather.... The streets were long and narrow. They were arranged
with perfect regularity, crossing one another at right angles;
from the great square diverged four principal streets connecting
with the highroads of the empire. The square itself, and many
parts of the city, were paved with fine pebble. Through the
heart of the capital ran a river of pure water, if it might not
be rather termed a canal, the banks or sides of which, for a
distance of twenty leagues, were faced with stone. Across this
stream, bridges, constructed of similar broad flags, were thrown
at intervals, so as to afford an easy communication between the
different quarters.
“The most sumptuous edifice in Cuzco in the times of the Incas
was undoubtedly the great temple dedicated to the sun, which,
studded with gold plates, as already noticed, was surrounded by
convents and dormitories for the priests, with their gardens and
broad parterres sparkling with gold. The exterior ornaments had
been already removed by the conquerors—all but the frieze of
gold, which, imbedded in the stones, still encircled the
principal building.... The fortress was raised to a height rare
in Peruvian architecture, and from the summit of the tower the
eye of the spectator ranged over a magnificent prospect, in
which the wild features of the mountain scenery—rocks, woods,
and waterfalls—were mingled with the rich verdure of the valley
and the shining city filling up the foreground, all blended in
sweet harmony under the deep azure of a tropical sky.”
The ruins of the palace of the first Inca, on the hill above the city,
and those of the immense fortress on the summit—which is admitted by all
to have been constructed with a degree of skill equaled nowhere else in
the world prior to the use of artillery—are thus described by Sir
Clements R. Markham:
“On a terrace, built of stones of every conceivable size and
shape, fitting exactly one into the other, eighty-four paces
long and eight feet high, is a wall with eight recesses,
resembling those of the Inca palace at Lima-tambo, and, in the
center of the lower wall, a mermaid or siren, much defaced by
time, is carved in relief on a square slab. In one of the
recesses a steep stone staircase leads up to a field of lucerne,
on a level with the upper part of the wall, which is twelve feet
high, and this forms a second terrace. On either side of the
field are ruins of the same character, traces of a very
extensive building or range of buildings. They consist of a
thick stone wall, sixteen paces long and ten feet six inches
wide, containing a door and windows. The masonry is most
perfect. The stones are cut in parallelograms, all of equal
height but varying in length, with corners so sharp and fine
that they appear as if they had just been cut—and without any
kind of cement, fitting so exactly that the finest needle could
not be introduced between them. The doorposts, of ample height,
support a stone lintel seven feet ten inches in length, while
another stone, six feet long, forms the foot.... Behind these
remains are three terraces, built in the rougher style of the
masonry used in the first walls and planted in alders and fruit
trees, ... where he” (the first Inca, Manco Capac) “is said to
have chosen the site of his residence, the more readily to
overlook the building of his city and the labors of his
disciples....
“On the east end of Sacsahuaman, crowning a steep cliff
immediately above the palace of Manco Capac, there are three
terraces, one above the other, built of a light-colored stone.
The first wall, fourteen feet high, extends in a semicircular
form around the hill for one hundred and eighty paces, and
between the first and second terraces there is a space eight
feet wide. The second wall is twelve feet high and the third is
ninety paces around its whole extent.... This was the citadel of
the fortress, and in its palmy days was crowned by three towers
connected by subterranean passages, now quite demolished....
From the citadel to its eastern extremity the length of the
table-land of Sacsahuaman is three hundred and fifty-three paces
and its breadth in the broadest part one hundred and thirty
paces. On the south side the position is so strong and
impregnable that it required no artificial defense. The position
is defended on part of its north side by a steep ravine through
which flows the river Rodadero and which extends for one hundred
and seventy-four paces from the citadel in a westerly direction.
Here, therefore, the position required only a single breastwork,
which is still in a good state of preservation; but from this
point to the western extremity of the table-land, a distance of
four hundred paces, nature has left it entirely undefended, a
small plain extending in front of it to the rocky heights of the
Rodadero.