OVER THE QUILLAPATUNI PASS TO TIPUANI
Next morning we loaded up the fifteen llamas, amongst other things with
half a fresh sheep and six challonas. These last are sheep salted, dried
and frozen, which keep a long time. All cargo was tied on with ropes
made of llama wool, quite the best kind of rope to use in a tropical
forest. Manuel took with him the elder of his two wives and one of his
sons, a boy about fourteen or fifteen.
The first part of the journey was all easy going and downhill all the
way; after the first two hours, the path became a slush of melted snow
and the air began to be warmer. We saw no birds and scarcely any trees
until 12.30, when we reached a level spot where the forest started on
either side. Here we rested for half an hour, without taking off any of
the cargo except a billy to make hot water. Miguel and I had some tea
and a scratch meal and gave Manuel and the others some coca leaves to
chew and two cakes of cocoa and some sugar for themselves; they stirred
the cocoa with a wooden spoon and enjoyed it very much.
We started off again, the boy in front leading one of the llamas, old
Manuel in the middle and his wife behind him, then the llamas and Miguel
carrying my guns and his own pack, and I, bringing up the rear, carrying
some cartridges and my flask. The path was still downhill and slushy
with recent rains, but the day was fine and the sun was shining.
Occasionally we saw a few common looking birds. By this time the forest
was beginning to appear, and we were traversing patches of long coarse
grass; on the hills round about a little snow could still be seen.
At 3.30 we got to the clearing and saw the owner, who grew barley and
had a flock of sheep there. I saluted him and gave him a drink, and he
let me have an empty stone hut and mud bed for myself, and another one
for Miguel and the cooking, for a Bolivian dollar, which was about 1/10.
Miguel went to get firewood while I went to a clear pool in the stream
and had a bath and a change, and put on a dry pair of socks made of
llama wool, which I had bought from the Indians. Then I changed my
shooting boots for alpagatas, unstrapped my kit mattress, fixed up my
bed comfortably and helped Miguel to make a good Irish stew. We made an
excellent meal, starting with gin and bitters, followed by the stew,
rice pudding, sterilized milk and jam; with plenty of good water and a
cup of Yungas coffee afterwards. There was some stew left over, which I
gave to the owner, in exchange for which he gave me four fresh eggs.
In the evening, after dinner, the owner came over to my hut and we had a
smoke and a yarn. He told me that he came from La Paz and that his
father had a store there, but he preferred an open air life, so his
father had bought him a concession of land here and sent him regular
supplies of flour and other things, as well as money to pay the three
Indians that worked for him, and llamas to carry the barley to La Paz.
The spare hut I occupied, he always kept for travellers at a Bolivian
dollar a night, and I was evidently lucky to find it unoccupied.
Next morning, while I was preparing my breakfast, he came over again and
advised me to give up the idea of going to Challana, as he had heard it
was a very rough and dangerous journey. We loaded up the llamas and
started at 9 a.m.; before we left I made a note of the height registered
by my aneroid; it was just 12,350ft. After walking for about three
hours, we rounded a bend and came suddenly on some of the finest
rhododendron bushes I ever saw, growing on both sides of the path, in
full bloom, and continuing for two miles or more. At 12.30 we rested for
half an hour among the rhododendrons for our usual lunch. In the
afternoon the path continued downhill, past banks of fuchsias, roses and
flowers of the geranium type. There were also many hardy ferns, and long
stretches of bracken and brambles of wild raspberry as large as acorns.
The ground was swampy in places, and the path very slushy after the
recent downpour. My host of the night before told me it had rained
without a break for three days, except for some sleet and hail, but that
the weather would probably hold now for some days.
That afternoon we saw several partridges, and some martinettes, a bird
the colour of a partridge and the size of a hen pheasant; like the hen
pheasant too it tastes well cooked with bread sauce in the same way. As
we still had the remains of half a sheep we did not require fresh meat,
so I satisfied myself with one martinette. They are easy to shoot, as
they sit very close and then run along in full view sometimes for eight
or ten yards without getting up to fly, unlike the red-wing partridges
which go in pairs, and so fast that they require a pretty good shot.
At 3.30 we camped at an Indian clearing that Manuel knew very well;
there were several small sheds of stone and thatch, of which I hired one
for myself and one for a kitchen at the usual price of a Bolivian
dollar. The owner begged for some coca leaves, as no Indians had come
down with any for some time, so I gave him a double handful, and he at
once presented me with a young bearsham, which he had trapped in a
garden where he had a lot of green corn growing. He told me there were
plenty of them about, and said that if I went down to the cornfield I
might perhaps get one. After I had bathed and changed my boots, I took
my rifle and went down to the field. I had told Miguel to make plenty of
ashes to grill the leg over, so that we could have it cold next day for
lunch, and also to prepare the Irish stew in the usual way, but not to
put it on until I got back. The field was not far off, but after waiting
about for an hour or more, and seeing nothing, I went back empty handed.
Next morning we left, in fine weather, at 9 a.m. The path was now all up
and down and took us up a very steep hill, then down about twice the
length the other side. We saw many birds on the way, several martinettes
and some bush chickens, dark, coffee-coloured birds, the size of a fowl,
which are very good eating, and easily secured. I did not try to shoot
anything, as we already had the small bearsham for lunch, and plenty of
fresh meat left. At 3.30 old Manuel branched off and led us a little way
up an Indian trail to an empty shelter he knew of, where we camped near
a stream. He drove his llamas off to a feeding ground, while I pitched
my tent outside, leaving the shed to the Indians and Miguel. My tent was
no more than a small canvas lean-to, as the llamas could only carry
35lbs. or 401bs. each. However, my kit mattress was enclosed in a tent,
and when this was put up it gave sufficient room for me to lie down and
sleep comfortably.
Next morning, about an hour after we started, a heavy rain came on, and
continued all day until 3 p.m., when we got to the top of a hill, where
we had to make a camp as best we could on two or three acres of grass. I
put up my tent bed, and gave the men the sheet of canvas, and soon we
got a fire going, as we had taken the precaution of bringing some dry
wood with us, which we had distributed among the llamas, and protected
from the rain. It was a good thing we had thought of this, as otherwise
we could have cooked nothing.
The evening turned out fine and the night also.
In the morning Manuel went down the hill before breakfast to see the
river we had to cross,
[Illustration: NATIVES IN THE INTERIOR OF BOLIVIA]
and came back with the information that it would not be possible to
cross that day, so we should have to make the best of it and stay here,
and if it did not rain again we might go on to-morrow. After breakfast I
went down myself to look at the river, while the others were busy
putting out all the gear and stuff to dry, getting more firewood and
laying it out in the sun. They also started to dig trenches round the
shed of poles, and began roofing it in and siding it with plenty of
branches in case of more bad weather. Meanwhile, I shot two bush
chickens near the camp. At 2 p.m. it looked like another deluge, so we
had the things brought into the shed and Manuel cut some long grass, and
fastened the big canvas fly over the branches with llama rope. By the
time the storm burst things were pretty well arranged. It rained all
night and all the next day till early the next morning; then we had
lovely weather, but it took two more days for the river to go down
sufficiently for us to be able to cross, and it was not until the third
day after the rain that we could do so. The road was, as usual, very
rough, and there was only room to walk in single file. For the first
three hours we were marching up a very steep hill and then down a much
longer one, and then, after crossing another river and going up a very
steep incline through thick forest, with begonias and many other
flowers growing in wild profusion everywhere, we came to the only piece
of flat ground that we saw during the whole journey from Sorata. It was
a sort of park in the centre of a great forest, with steep hills all
round, about 150 acres in extent, and here Manuel branched off along a
narrow trail for a couple of hundred yards, and brought us to another
small green spot near a stream with a big open palm leaf shed and two
smaller sheds, which he said would do for the camp. He told me we had
some very stiff climbs to do further on, and that his llamas, which had
scarcely had any food for five days, must be rested after the big storm,
and allowed to feed for three days. As the fourth day happened to be a
Sunday, I suggested stopping there for four days, especially as
everything we could possibly want appeared to be at hand; there was
wood, water, plenty of bush chickens and wild turkeys, plenty of grass,
lovely flowers and beautiful scenery.
We left on the fifth day, and crossed the river at the foot of a long,
steep hill. The water was well over the legs of the llamas, and all the
cargo had to be taken off and carried across big boulders, which served
as stepping stones, and then reloaded on the other side, which took a
considerable time. The climate was getting much warmer, and we now saw
many beautiful tree ferns as well as begonias and arums. Besides a few
bush turkeys and martinettes, we saw two beautiful golden and silver
pheasants, a cock and a hen; they were very tame and much too pretty to
disturb, so I shot 3 martinette and a turkey. The narrow, winding path
now led us up a hill. It was full of puddles and so overgrown and
entangled with branches and creepers, that we each had to carry a
cutlass and trim them as we walked. Along the road at different spots we
came across small empty sheds, without owners, which are used by all
travellers; they generally mend them up a little before they leave,
often adding another for their own accommodation. After stopping to rest
for half an hour in a cool spot at the top, we continued down the hill,
again, and met twenty-two mules, loaded with rubber, in charge of a
Bolivian and five Indians. We saluted him, and offered him a drink of
rum, and he told us that he had made a camp at the bottom of the next
hill, near the river, and had rigged up his bed in a sort of cave there,
but had to clear out and make up his bed afresh in the open because the
cave was full of ants. He said it took three days for himself and his
mules to get up the Quillapatuni Pass: he had crossed the Toro River
just before the rains had flooded it, and told us we should find two
sheds of poles with palm-leaf roofs on the top of the pass, which he had
mended and made rainproof. I told him we had done the same where we had
camped for five days, and he said he would use our camp to rest his
animals and let them feed for a day or two.
We soon passed the cave he spoke of, crossed the river, and walked up a
zigzag path. From the top of the hill we looked down on one of the most
beautiful scenes I have ever beheld. On the left, at the foot of an
almost perpendicular incline, ran the raging torrent of the River Toro,
its steep banks covered with tall, graceful tree-ferns and long grass;
on the left of the Toro were high hills, covered with dense tropical
forest, and five cascades pouring great volumes of water 800ft. or
600ft. down into the river below; in front were high hills, deep valleys
and dense forest as far as the eye could see. On the right, for two or
three acres at least, stretched an easy slope covered with grass and
hundreds of beautiful amaryllis in flower; a gorgeous mass of bloom of
scarlet, yellow, blue and every imaginable colour. Round the bend, a
couple of hundred yards further on, was a small stream of clear water,
about three feet deep, running over big boulders, and on the other side
of the stream a little higher up were the two sheds recently occupied
by the rubber transport man, on the only piece of flat ground. It was
now 4 p.m., and we made up our minds to stop there, and not even attempt
to go down the pass until we saw that the river had fallen considerably.
I took possession of one of the sheds for myself, and cut some long
grass to put under my mattress.
I had heard that an American, called Salter, had a rather exciting
adventure at this pass, and when I mentioned it to Manuel he told me he
himself had taken him from Tiquiripaga, with his llamas, and gave me an
account of the whole thing. Apparently, they had just started to walk
down the hill, when Salter got giddy and fell over. He rolled down about
thirty yards, and fortunately fell up against a big tree-fern, which
saved him. Manuel and his two men tied together a couple of strong llama
ropes, and threw them down to Salter, who made one end fast round his
body, and was hauled up. After this escape, he refused to go on any
further, and returned at once. Salter told me the story himself some
time later. He had been engaged by the Texas Gold Mining Company to go
to the lower Tipuani and take charge of a gold washing concession for a
salary of £1,000 a year, and all expenses. “When I had gone down about
fifty or sixty yards,” he said to me, “I got giddy and fell. The
tree-fern saved me, and when they hauled me up I said: ‘No money will
induce me to go any further down that devil’s road; they must get
somebody else for this job. John E. Salter goes not a step further, I’m
going straight back to La Paz,’” and he went. The company subsequently
engaged a man named Charest, whom I met down at the Tipuani.
That afternoon I went to have a look at the pass; it was just like an
endless succession of narrow stairs hewn out of the solid rock. The
ledges were only two or three feet wide, with a sheer perpendicular drop
down to the river on the left of a terrifying depth. Perhaps a faint
idea of this path may be given by saying that it was much easier to go
up than down.
We stayed here for three days. I went out at sunset each day and stalked
some bush chickens as they went to roost; and two or three times a day I
walked down to feast my eyes on the lovely fields of amaryllis and enjoy
the wonderful view. We started on the fourth day at 8 a.m. Manuel said
it would be too risky to let the llamas carry the cargo down, so he
asked me to engage four other Indians whom he had met walking up with
50lb. loads of coca leaves, which they were going to sell in exchange
for barley, matches, and other things. I took them on for 2/-each, and
they helped us to transport all the cargo to the foot of the pass on the
banks of the Toro River that day. I left them there that night with
Manuel’s son to look after the cargo, and walked down myself next day
with Manuel and his wife, and Miguel and the llamas. The animals went
down one at a time with nothing on their backs, a very pretty sight.
Manuel pointed out to me the place where Salter slipped and fell; if he
had not struck the big tree-fern he would certainly have been killed. I
made the height where the amaryllis were growing about 4,000ft., and the
Toro River below about 2,600ft.; the pass itself was half a league.
Miguel and I crossed the Toro on a cable made of steel wire, which the
Government had placed there for the benefit of travellers. You have to
sit on a thick short rope made fast to two pulleys on either side and
hold on very tight, while you are hauled across, one at a time, by four
or five Indians or other passengers. I went over first, and one of the
men shouted to me from the other side, in Spanish, not to look down at
the water, or I would get giddy and fall over, thirty feet below.
However, I was not a bit giddy, and looked down all the way at the
raging torrent of water. The rapid ran at about nine or ten knots an
hour; there was a big whirlpool further down, and a huge rock protruding
in the middle of the stream. Miguel was hauled over next. He told me he
did not look down, and did not like the transit at all. After him all
the cargo was transported, and then one of the men, on their way to La
Paz, was pulled across by Manuel and his wife and son to their side. At
the crossing there were also ten Indians, and twelve small mules, under
a Bolivian foreman, on their way to La Paz with rubber and Chinchona
bark, belonging to a rich Spaniard, Mr. Perez, who had a concession
between the Tipuani and Challana Rivers. I had met Perez at Sorata, and
he told me he had not been to the Tipuani for twenty years, owing to the
shock of fever he once got there. He said he was able to ride on a small
mule nearly all the way, as he was not very heavy, but I was too heavy
for a mule, and as I would have to walk all the way he thought I should
not be able to manage it, and would soon have to turn back.
He was quite mistaken, as I never felt better in my life. Of course it
must be remembered that walking behind llamas only meant going two miles
an hour, and six hours a day, with forced delay in between.
Perez also told me that a fortnight before we got to the Toro an Indian
messenger whom he had sent from Sorata with important letters to his
son, at the Tipuani, and all the rest of the mail from the Post Office
of La Paz and Sorata, fell off the rope seat, as he was being pulled
across, and was swept away. All the mail was lost, and some money as
well, and the body of the poor chap has not yet been recovered. This is
why one of the men shouted to me not to look down. Meanwhile, Manuel and
his wife and son were driving the llamas to a ford, three miles further
up, where the water was shallow, and they could cross, and Miguel and I
waited for them. They turned up at 2 p.m., and we walked on, along a
narrow track, near the river for a mile, till we reached the home of an
Indian rubber picker, who was then down the river picking. His wife and
children were at home, and we camped near their ranches for the night; I
fixed my bed up on the balcony. On this ranch they grew maize, yams,
sweet potatoes, bananas, pawpaw, pineapple and oranges. There was
another ranch some hundred yards away, belonging to another family,
where they grew sugar. The mistress of the house, a rather good-looking
Indian woman, from the Tipuani River, was very good indeed to me, and
sold me all the fruit and eggs I wanted cheap, as well as some corn
meal, some delicious tortillas, made from maize meal, and the meat of
young deer that had been shot by her neighbour, the day before, and
nicely seasoned, for the equivalent of a penny each. Next day I shot
some young parrots for my stew. I saw several toucans here, gaudy
scarlet, black and yellow birds with pelican beaks. Orchids of different
varieties were growing on the trees close by. The Indian woman told me
that her maize field was often troubled by monkeys and bears, but every
now and then they managed to trap a bear. The weather still kept fine,
and, in the morning, we started off over the hill, and down again over
the other side. At the foot of every hill was a river, which we had to
wade across. The best foot-gear for marching through the tropical forest
is canvas alpagatas, with strips of hides for soles, and one soft broad
strap running from the heel to fasten over the instep, and passing in a
loop through another strap, which is attached to the straps on either
side of the alpagata. A pair of large strong, hob-nailed shooting boots
should also be carried for boggy ground.
It may be of interest here to say something about how the traveller can
best make himself comfortable on a journey in these parts. Socks should
be of llama wool, and pulled well over the bottom of the trousers. No
coat or waistcoat should be worn, and all clothing should be taken off,
and a towel kept handy, when crossing rivers. It is always advisable to
put on one’s coat while sitting down to rest, before getting thoroughly
cool. For head gear, a big panama hat or pith helmet is the best, and a
large umbrella is very useful. The best way to avoid fever is to change
into dry pants and shirt each day, as soon as camp is reached; I was
never troubled with fever, I think for this reason. It is quite safe to
drink as much water as one likes, on the way, from the streams running
over stones. On reaching camp or resting place I advise a tot of whisky,
gin or rum. The Indian men never drink water on the march, they always
suck coca leaves instead, but I think my way is the best.
Next day we had a rough uphill march nearly the whole time, and when we
got to the top of another small mountain, at 3 p.m., the rain began to
fall again, so heavily that we were unable to cross the river, and reach
the Solis Coffee estate that day, but were forced to spend a very
uncomfortable two nights and a day waiting for the rain to stop, and the
river to go down. There was no shelter, whatsoever, and we had to make
the best of it. When we did cross, we had only three miles to go to
reach the coffee estate. I gave the man in charge the letters I had from
Solis, and he at once let me have two nice rooms, that were generally
kept for the proprietor’s use only, a nice shed and kitchen. I gave his
wife plenty of whole meal flour, which she started immediately to make
into dough and knead for bread. I was told that I could have the use of
Solis House as long as I cared to stay, and could buy eggs for 1/-a
dozen, and fowls for 1/-each.
Next day he was going to send an Indian to a man, who had two small
mules, and ask him to come and see me, and make a bargain for going the
rest of the way to Tipuani. Manuel and his party were returning next
day, and taking with them a cargo of coffee to Solis at Sorata. However,
it began raining again in the night, and kept on for three days and two
nights, so that Manuel could not start back for five days, and the
Indian could not go for the mule man either, but it did not matter much,
as we were short of nothing, and had plenty to eat and drink, and some
nice fresh pines and oranges for fruit.
On the fifth morning Manuel left, and I was sorry he could not go
further. He had been very obliging and civil, and most abstemious and
unobtrusive, and I shall always look back with pleasure to the weeks
spent with him, and his llamas and wives. Two days after he left, the
man with the mules turned up, and agreed to come with me, carrying
50lbs. himself and 100lbs. each on his animals, as well as the blankets,
and my bed kit, for twenty-eight bolivians (56/-). He told me there were
three Indians living near him who were glad to take carrying jobs, when
opportunity offered, and one of them had come with him to represent the
others. They agreed to come for six bolivians each (12/-), and to carry
50lbs. apiece, but could only be ready to leave in five days time.
While I was waiting for them to arrive, I shot a few parrots and doves;
they make a very tasty stew when cooked with plantains and eschalots,
with a dessert-spoonful of Liebig’s as a flavouring, and some rice to
thicken it. I also did some prospecting here, and panned out a little
gold. Nobody appears to have worked on this stream, but there is no
doubt it contains gold. It would be quite easy to work, as it runs down
at a good gradient to the river below, and there is plenty of grass for
animals. Small mules or donkeys could get there without difficulty, and
there is plenty of game in the forest, and some Indian families living
near. This time we left behind in Solis’s room all the heavy rugs and
clothes for mountain wear, and I had a small sack of bread made to carry
with us. Antonio and the Indians carried their own food, but, as usual,
there was always a little left over from the big stew Miguel and I
prepared every night, which they appreciated very much.
When we started Antonio began to drive his animals at about four miles
an hour. I told him not to go so fast, but to keep to my pace, which was
more like two miles an hour, and six or eight a day. He said we should
be more than a week getting to Tipuani at that pace, but it would not
matter, as the mules would be fit to take a cargo of rubber back for
Perez.
On the way down we heard many toucans, mocking birds, parrots and
monkeys, and saw plenty of guavas; we gathered a lot of these, and the
mules kept munching at them all the way. At the bottom of this hill
there were some beautiful big butterflies with wings half orange colour
and half a bright sky blue. I decided to get a few on the way back. On
the way up the next hill we saw more butterflies, some light blue,
others almost purple, but I noticed that this little valley was the only
place, on my whole journey, where the orange and blue winged ones were
to be seen, and there were dozens of them. That day, too, we saw several
wild turkeys, and came across the spoor of peccary and bear, and
occasionally the track of a deer. We made camp that afternoon at 4 p.m.,
and, as soon as we arrived, I gave the Indians a tot of cheap rum each,
[Illustration: AN INDIAN WOMAN OF THE BOLIVIAN INTERIOR]
and had a gin and bitters myself. Our camp was four sheds of bamboo,
with palm-leaf roofs, inhabited by a half-caste and his wife, who were
growing sugar cane, to make rum to sell. He told me he was practically a
non-drinker himself, and only took a tot in the morning, and another at
night, to ward off fever. I hired one shed for myself, and another for
the men, at the usual price of 2/-. I managed to get another wild turkey
here, quite close to the camp, to take on with us the next day. In the
morning we had to go up a very steep hill; the path was cut out of the
slippery, red, clayish soil, and was so narrow in places that there was
barely room to pass one foot over the other. There were puddles of water
all the way up and the trees were so lofty that they often hid the sun
from view altogether. We were glad to get to the top of this pass, only
to find that the path going down to the river, on the other side, was
just as bad and twice as long. The Indian saw two deer on the way down,
but I did not spot them. The woods were full of all sorts of gaudy
coloured birds, especially yellow and green parrots, which the Indians
always take with them to sell, when they go into Sorata or La Paz; they
are considered to be the best talkers, especially those with a red patch
on their heads. Down by the river there were some fine orchids growing
on the trees, and many bright coloured butterflies. After walking up
another steep hill and down another long one, we crossed a stream and
pitched camp, making use of two small open palm-leaf shelters and
putting up a third. Nobody was living there, but there was plenty of
long grass about for the mules, which Antonio tied up, and kept shifting
to fresh feeding ground. The weather was still fine; in the rainy
season, after a good spell of rain, it always holds for a week or ten
days. The next day was up and down hill going all the way; the woods
were still full of toucans, parrots and mocking birds. Our camp, this
time, was in another coffee estate; I found the owner there, and he said
he had a farm on the banks of Lake Titicaca, and only came there for a
few weeks every year, to load up some small mules with coffee. He did
not take much trouble with the place, as though the coffee was very good
the transport was difficult. He told me he went to his farm by a
different route from the one I had come; it took two days longer, but it
avoided the Quillapatuni Pass, and most of the rubber coming from the
interior to La Paz and the coast went that way. He thought the Indians
would make me turn back when I got to the border. I promised to put up
again at his place on my return journey, and he called his wife and his
head man, and caretaker, and told her to open his rooms for me when I
came back. He advised me, when I came back, to branch off and take the
path he had told me of, to avoid the Quillapatuni Pass, but I said I
thought it would be much easier walking up that path than down, and
would rather return by the same road. The next day our midday stopping
place for lunch was a small orange grove, where the owner grew a lot of
coffee as well. As soon as he saw me he handed me a note, and said:
“This was left by an Indian from Challana, who asked me to look out for
you, and deliver it. I knew it was you coming along by your size.”
The note read: “Take the advice of a friend, who wishes no harm to come
to you, or any other foreigner. I beg you not to persist in your attempt
to enter Challana. The inhabitants say you have been sent by the
Government to spy on them and their country, and if you cross the river
the same fate will befall you as befell Philip Barbari and his
companions. Be warned in time, and turn back.”
It was written in Spanish, and there was no signature. In the afternoon
we continued on, over the same kind of ground, through fine tropical
scenery, to the banks of another river, where we saw some people were
washing for gold. They owned a farm and cattle, and grew maize, bananas
and other fruits. At the farm-house on the top of the hill, for nothing
they lent me a big palm roofed shed, and sold me some fresh milk and
bread. I slept outside that night.
In the morning we walked down a hill, crossed another river, then up and
down some more steep hills to the banks of the Tipuani, the great gold
river. We camped at a beautiful spot called Gritado, where a man called
Ricardo Rodriguez lived, the owner of several small huts of bamboo and
palm-leaf roofs. He told me he came from La Paz, and introduced me to
his two wives, who were sisters. He was growing sugar and coffee,
bananas, oranges, pines and pawpaws; this fruit is delicious and very
good for the health, and pepsine is made from the seed of it. He told me
there was plenty of gold to be washed out all along the banks of the
river near his place; he himself only worked for gold seven or eight
weeks in the year, and often got as much as twenty ounces and more in a
week. He wanted to go to La Paz when the dry season set in, and offered
to let me hire his three small mules, to take my cargo back as far as La
Paz, for £3 each, and expenses for food; he said there were some bad
Indians about on the road, looking out for travellers whom they could
attack and rob. I told him we had met none, but should be very glad to
accept his offer for our return journey. From here to the village of
Tipuani was only seven hours’ journey, through a forest, mostly easy
going by a path that kept near the big river all the way. We passed two
small holdings, inhabited by two Barbadian blacks, who had married
Indian women; they were growing sugar, chiefly for rum, also maize,
bananas and other things. In the afternoon we reached Tipuani.