Manto silver mine—Trade—Shores of Lake Titicaca—Rush
balsas—Animals—Loftiest mountains—Aymara Indians—Mode of
cultivation—Bottled fish—Frontier of Peru—Rio Desaguedero—Rush
bridge—Bolivian military and custom-house—Southeast trade
winds—Tiahuanaco ruins—Evaporation and precipitation—Planting
small potatoes—Difficulty among postillions—City of
La Paz—Population—Cinchona bark—Beni river and Madeira
Plata—Transit duty—Gold washings of Tipuani—Productions
of Yungas—Dried mutton and copper mines—Articles of the
last constitution—A Bolivian lady's opinion of North
Americans—Illimani snow-peak—Church performances of the
Aymaras—Benenguela silver mines—Growth of cedar bushes.
The silver mines near Puna, with the exception of one, are standing
idle. Manto, the principal mine, is situated two miles south of
the town. It has been worked for twenty years; the vein ran nearly
horizontally west-southwest, rising a little as it passed through the
mountain. Water flowed out after the miner had gone in some distance,
and a dam was built at the mouth of the mine, which backed it up. Iron
canal boats navigated the stream, and brought out cargoes of rich silver
ore; as the miner travelled on, he found the more use for his boat. The
canal was locked, and the water dammed up by the gates; some distance
farther back, when a second and third gate were built, the stream became
smaller, and the vein rose much above the level of the entrance to
the head of navigation. Pushing on into the bowels of the Andes, the
miner built a railroad of iron from the canal to the head of the mine,
continuing to lengthen it after him. When the train came down loaded
with metal, it was embarked and floated out by boats with lights burning
at the bow and stern, as the canal is winding and narrow, with just room
for the boat to pass between the rocks.
A steam-engine turns a large stone wheel of twelve feet diameter,
under which the ore was ground. It was washed by water from the canal,
and separated from its quicksilver by the heat of fires made from
the excrements of llamas, the only fuel known here. Meteorological
observations at each lock in Manto canal, show at No. 1—air, 70°;
water, 60°. No. 2—air, 68°; water, 60°. No. 3—air, 64°; water, 59°. The
distance to the head of navigation is about half a mile, though the
workmen say more than a mile. An Englishman has been engaged here of
late years, and after spending much time with little gain, has left.
Manto, with all its machinery, stands a ruin. The mine is falling in;
the canal-boats leak; the engine is rusting, and the last boat-load of
silver ore was scattered over the ground. I am told that the vein has
been gradually decreasing in richness as the expensive works have been
going on. The machinery was brought from England, and transported over
the mountains from the coast on mules' backs, at great expense.
The necessity of bringing proper workmen with the machinery is also
costly. Provision is scarce in Puno, and people from other parts of
the country complain of the market. Thick clothing is required in this
climate, and tailoring appears to be the best business. Englishmen
are generous in their expenditures on machinery and preparations for
mining. There certainly has been a great deal of labor expended at the
Manto mine. There are a number of other mines in this department, and
some in this neighborhood; but, with the exception of the gold mines of
Carabaya, there is very little profit gained under the present system
of management.
The annual yield of silver in the departments of Huancavelica, Ayacucho,
Cuzco, and Puno, has been decreasing for some time. The custom has been
to abandon the mine as soon as the chisel struck below the water-line,
and seek for a new vein; until now, when we want silver more than ever,
it is all under water. There are few new discoveries made, and mining
seems to have become, year after year, a less profitable business.
Merchants are afraid to advance large sums of money, lest it may be lost
by the vein running out, leaving expensive machinery on their hands.
Yet there is undoubtedly immense riches in the different metals of these
departments, which might be extracted after a scientific exploration of
the country, and with a judicious system of mining.
From what we see, there is no reason to expect so large an amount of
silver to flow from South Peru as heretofore. The creole portion of
the population shrink from all kinds of labor; they sit at the mouth
of the mines to receive the silver, and live a life of ease upon it.
To the poor Indian mining is an harassing labor. He seldom reveals
to the creole any new discovery; he never seeks work at the mine, but
turns to the cultivation of the soil in the congenial climate of the
valleys; tends his flocks on the mountain-side, where he is better fed
and clothed, and where his wild and honest feelings are gratified. The
wool of sheep and silver are the chief exports from these departments.
Besides Peruvian bark, copper, alpaca wool, vicuña skins, matico, gold,
hides, and chinchilla skins, there were exported last year over five
hundred thousand quintals of nitrate of soda from the seaport of Arica.
The mail from Puno to Callao goes by the English steamer from Yslay
in eight days, leaving Puno every two weeks. The creole portion of the
population is not very great, except in the army. There is a college of
science and art here, like that of Cuzco. We found the boys practising
the broad-sword exercise with single sticks.
In the larger towns the _government_ has established public schools.
In this department there are sixty-three for boys and three for girls.
In these schools Indian children are admitted and taught as well as the
creoles. There are few African slaves in South Peru.
The country is over populated; I mean for the productive portions of
the land. There are many square miles in these departments barren and
unproductive, unpopulated, and utterly worthless, so far as cultivation
goes, though they may contain great mineral wealth. The inhabitants
are confined to the valleys among the mountains, which are generally
narrow, and crops are principally raised by irrigation. The Puna country
is higher, and better adapted to wool growing, but very thinly peopled.
There are many places so high above the level of the sea that people
cannot live there with any sort of comfort, nor can they gather from
the earth a living. The ant will die an unnatural death, placed where
the llama naturally lives and flourishes. The llama, again, will perish
with heat where the ant builds its nest. In the deep valleys are the
most children, the greatest amount of vegetable life, and more of the
animals known in different parts of the world, such as the horse, horned
cattle, domestic cats, dogs, bees, and humming birds.
People have said that the population of these departments do not
increase in proportion to the increase in northern portions of the
world, and ask, why it is. People upon the Andes do not multiply if they
do not seek the rich lands.
As we ride along the shores of Lake Titicaca, the Indians are seen
sucking the juice from the lake rush; they also make salad of it. The
cattle and horses wade up to their backs in mud and water after it.
The sheep who seem, here in their native soil, glad to get a bite of
something green, run down from the parched hills, and feed along shore.
The hog, too, comes in for his share. The whole animal kingdom run to
the lake for a living. It is a written invitation to navigation and
cultivation. The mountainous parts of Peru are very dry.
_November 15, 1853._—At 1 p. m., half the heavens are covered with
cumulus clouds. Air, 56°; lake water, 64°. Thunder to the northward,
and rain falling there; the east wind blows fresh. The beach is of
gray sand, and in places muddy swamp. The rush grows along shore. Here
and there the lake is shoal to the nearest island, about a mile off.
The rush grows thick on these shoals, which gives them a meadow-like
appearance.
The road lies along the foot of the hills, very near to the water. There
are a few potatoes planted in the sand; the patches extend to the road,
which is just at high-water mark in the wet season. The potato plant is
the only water gauge available; wherever the ground allows, the Indian
carries his row, far from the rocky base of the hills, towards the lake,
and the height of the eastern edge of his potato patch, above the level
of the lake, is one foot. The potatoes are just coming up, sometimes
accompanied by beans. A pig's tail was seen sticking out, as he had
rooted down after the seed. The potatoes are small, but good.
The blue-winged teal, black diver, white and black gulls, feed in the
water. Large and small snipe skim along the beach before us; while
the tall white crane, with beautiful pink wings, legs and tail, with
a black bridged bill, proudly strolls through the water. Green rushes
and different colored feathers present a refreshing contrast to the
dry rocks and dusty hills. In the small gullies may be seen a scrubby
bush, some dry tufts of grass, and by very close search we did succeed
in adding two specimens of flowers to our small botanical collection,
which we hoped to have reported.
The Indians are going to town to celebrate the birth-day of the
President of the Republic; old men are mounted on stunted little horses;
young ones carry drums, fifes, and large feathered head-dresses, of pink
and white, plucked from the crane; while the old women carry babies
slung in cotton ponchos over their shoulders. The young girls bring
provisions; and donkeys loaded with live chickens, to be sold in the
plaza, jog along ahead of the families. On the lake a rush balsa, with a
rush mat for a sail, loaded with fish and potatoes, presses on to meet
the load of the donkey. An old woman is at the helm, which is a long
pole; the wind seems a little too fresh for her; as she broaches to,
her sail lifts, she loses command, and has to pole out of the rushes.
The land party laugh at her, but she pushes and works with a will,
though the heaving and setting of the craft makes it rather wet work,
she finally smoothly sails into port.
From the small town of Chuiento we see the snow-capped mountains in
Bolivia, on the other side of the lake—the loftiest mountains in the
New World; with their silvery heads they cool the eastern winds; we are
bewildered amidst these great works, while looking on with awe. José
cannot understand the language of these Indians. We are among the Aymara
tribe, who were subdued by Capac Tupanqui, the fifth Inca, but never
adopted the Quichua language. José thinks there is little use in going
among people that we cannot talk to. He says that his countrymen have
often told him these people are very savage, or they might speak Spanish
or Quichua! Richards tried English, but it was of no avail; they only
laughed! Their manners, customs, dress, and general appearance is nearly
the same as those of the Quichua tribes. The women are a little more
chunky and rather better featured; they are cheerful, and they look up
more—the usual effect of beauty all the world over. The men chew less
coca, are stronger for it, and have a much more healthy appearance than
the men of Cuzco. As far as I can see, there is very little sickness
about Lake Titicaca.
The governor of the town sent to the post-house for our passports; they
seem to be very particular with persons going south; he read, signed,
and returned it by the postman. Inquisitive people go to the governor's
house on an arrival, and after he reads the passport he passes it round.
This is the way the arrivals are published here. On one occasion I
unintentionally offended a roomful of men, by pocketing my papers as
soon as the proper person had read them. It is the custom for travellers
to present and read each other's passports on the road; you thus tell
your nation, occupation, whence you came, and your destination—a very
good foundation for a travelling conversation. Through the United States
chargé d'affaires in Lima, passports from the government of Peru to
all prefects in the departments through which I passed in South Peru
overtook me. Passports from the supreme government are rare in these
inland towns, and are read with the more interest.
The post-houses are becoming more respectable; some of them are papered,
and near the bed and on the seats pieces of carpets are laid. The
postmen are white creoles, with pretty wives; and the arrieros are
dignified as postillions. Passing through the towns of Ocora and Ylave,
we put up at Juli, which is situated, like the other towns along the
lake, on a knoll with a perpendicular bank, rough and rocky, standing
out into the water. The lofty Nevada de Sorata is in full view, said to
be 25,380 feet above the level of the sea.
[Illustration: VIEW OF NEVADA DE SORATA, FROM THE WEST SHORE OF LAKE
TITICACA, Peru.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
_November 17, 1851._—At mid-day, air 51°; lake water 65°; wind east,
right off the snow ridge opposite; temperature of a spring 54°. After
leaving Juli the road turned among the hills to the right. We passed
the night at Tambilla post-house, which stands alone at the base
of the hills between us and the lake, inhabited by the postman, his
postillions, and some Indian women cooks, who made us mutton soup, with
potatoes. The plain is alive with cattle, sheep, llamas, horses, mules,
and jackasses. The pasture is somewhat fresher. The wind draws through
the valley from the north and is uncomfortably cold.
An Indian spade was leaning against the door-post, and while Richards
stood intently looking at it, with his hands in his pockets, the
Indians were closely watching him and talking to each other, as though
surprised a spade should attract so much attention. At the end of a
crooked stick of wood a rude iron plate, narrow and long, was fastened
by a strip of raw hide; near the lashing was fastened, also in the same
way, a cow's horn, on which the digger placed his foot. This spade is
used for digging the soil on the side of the hill where the plough and
oxen cannot go. In the wet lowlands long poles, shod with small iron
plates, are used. One man pushes his pole into the earth, another puts
in crosswise, and while they both pry up, a third, on his knees, turns
the sod over with his hands. In this way they ridge the meadows and sow
on the polled ground. The barley comes to head with very long beards,
but bears no grain.
From the small town of Zepita the contrast between the snow-capped
mountains to the east and the dark blue waters of the lake is
remarkable. Here we succeeded in bottling two fish from the lake,
without scales, about eight inches long, designed for Professor Agassiz.
The town of Desaguedero has a population of five hundred. At 11 a. m.
we arrived, and found the governor busily employed at a fish breakfast.
He was a cheerful, fat, polite, three-quarter-blooded Indian. In return
for fish we gave him our passports; after reading them, he ordered the
Indian servant to fetch a bottle of Ica wine. As he drew the cork he
told me the Indians believed Lake Titicaca emptied its waters into the
Pacific ocean by a subterraneous passage under the Cordillera range.
They had found the Titicaca rush lying on the coast near Cobija, which
differed essentially from weeds growing in salt water. A difference of
opinion seemed to arouse him, and he said: "There are more than twenty
different streams of water flowing from the mountain sides into this
Titicaca basin, and not one has been seen flowing out; now, if I keep
pouring wine into this cup, it will overflow and run down the sides,
won't it?" Provided you do not drink it up as the sun does the waters,
we answered.
After breakfast the governor walked to the river Desaguedero with us.
This river is the southeastern boundary line of Peru. We were detained
a short time at the bridge to allow one hundred unloaded llamas to pass
from Bolivia to Peru. Rush balsas are secured side by side, bridge
fashion, and a quantity of rushes piled upon them. They are kept in
place by large rope cables fastened on each side of the river to a stone
foundation; The distance from the shore of Peru to the Bolivian side
is fifty yards. The river three fathoms deep under the bridge, with a
current three-quarters of a mile per hour running south. The color of
the water is blue; it is fresh and cool—temperature of 60°; the Indians
drink it here. This is the only stream flowing out of Lake Titicaca.
After running southwardly some eighty leagues, the water spreads over a
flat, forming what is called Lake Pampas Aullagas, from which there is
no flow into either ocean.
We were told that in the year 1846 there were heavy rains to the
south of Desaguedero; the river flowed for thirty days north into Lake
Titicaca; with that exception it is reported to flow as we saw it.
In the rainy season the river rises about nine feet, the rapid current
often sweeps away the bridge; at the same time the flats on both sides
of the river are overflowed. The width of the Desaguedero valley, at the
outlet from the lake, is three-quarters of a mile, nearly all overflowed
in the rainy season by the waters seeking an escape between the small
hills on both sides.
At the southern end of Lake Titicaca the water is clearer, sweeter, and
cooler, than it is on the north side. There is no offensive odor from
the lake here. There are nine kinds of fish caught near the outlet, and
as many of water fowl. Fish are found on the tables, while in Puno they
are seldom used. We know on the ocean that currents of warm water pass
through cold water like oil, refusing to mingle. The streams of cold
water are quite as exclusive.
When Lake Titicaca is at its lowest it receives more water from the snow
peaks on its eastern shore, than from any other source during the dry
season. As the snow streams are generally clear, we concluded the cold
water runs through the lake in _streams_ towards the outlet. In the
wet season, as the muddy streams till up the lake, they deposit their
loads of earthy matter on the western and northern side, which disturb
animal life. The fish seek a quiet retreat and are, therefore, found
more plentifully on the southern and eastern sides of the lake.
All the dead rushes, driven by the east winds to the west side, lodge on
the flats and beach, manure the dry places, and deposit their seed; more
rushes grow there to catch the sediment as the water filters through.
Year after year the growth dies off, breaks down, and helps the upward
levelling law. The rush grows from six to eight feet long. It is called
_totora_ by the Indians. The stalk is of the size and shaped like the
blade of a bayonet, with a head and flower resembling clusters of ripe
buckwheat. It supplies the place of wood, iron, canvass, and greens. The
Indians were taught by the Incas to make bridges of it, over which they
passed their armies; besides their boats and sails, houses and beds are
sometimes made of it. An old Indian was seen refreshing himself with
the juice at one end of a stalk, while his little child tickled another
one's nose, and made it laugh with the flower. Such is the value and
uses of this wild vegetable production.
We cannot understand why the population of those mountains have not
cleared more lands at the base of the Andes, where their children
would find beautiful flowers, and the men the real sugar-stalk; where
they might tickle their noses with the fragrance from rich pine-apples
and oranges, and where their tables might be loaded with the choicest
vegetable productions. At the headwaters of the Madre-de-Dios Peru has
a garden, but the lands in all directions seem almost a desert.
When Pizarro came with his followers, they found the mountains filled
with silver; they helped themselves, and the Indians assisted them
in doing so. Little or no attention was paid by the Spaniards to the
cultivation of the soil, to the manufacture of wool, or the commercial
resources of the eastern country.
As we step across the totora floating-bridge, we feel grateful for
the many hospitable favors the kind people of Peru have extended to
us as strangers. We shook hands with the old Indian governor, who was
polite enough to introduce us to the custom-house officers and military
commander in Bolivia. He laughed when told he was not a good Inca,
because he did not believe that the evaporation was great enough to
carry off all the surplus water from Titicaca, and that his ancient
deity drank the water from this uplifted basin, and kept it from
overflowing. He lit his paper cigar, and wanted to know when we were
coming back.
There are only three or four government houses in sight on the Bolivian
side of the river. The military commandant was very civil; he requested
the custom-house officer to let us off easy, saying "they came to serve
our country." The baggage was all taken off the backs of the mules;
one or two trunks examined. The commander took great interest in our
instruments; a woman in her riding dress begged permission to examine
a needle and thread case which struck her fancy; she seemed to think it
hard that a man had to do his own sewing.
Our road, dusty, rocky, and rough, lay along the southern shore of
the lake. On the right were dry, barren hills; on the left, deep blue
waters; and ahead, the heavy snow-capped range of the Andes, looked as
though their weight was too much for the world to bear. The noonday sun
is hot, but the east wind blows in our faces from among the snow peaks,
which may be called the South American fan.
The winds from the Atlantic ocean rapidly run through the ravines
and gorges of the great mountain range. The eternal glaciers cool the
tropical atmosphere. Our animals travel with ease; as they breathe the
refreshing breezes, they seem full of life and ready for a long journey,
even after their day's work is over. These easterly winds on the table
lands of Bolivia meet currents of air from the hills and mountain
valleys. The different streams form whirlwinds, which draw the dust
under our mules' noses, and run it up to the cumulus clouds above, where
the dust seems to float about in the air. Some of these dust columns
are of immense height, standing for many minutes, like waterspouts of
the ocean. Infusoria, found in the blood, rains, and sea dust of the
Cape de Verde islands, resemble that found on the Andes, in Venezuela.
A scientific examination of this dusty road may possibly compare with
a similar one in the southern parts of Africa. There is a battle-ground
not far south of us, where there were left a number of dead, whose dust
is carried heavenward by these winds.
Persons have seen hundreds of waterspouts standing on the water of the
lake at one time, as though the columns were supporting the weight of
the clouds. The Indians' balsas are built with so much beam, and being
a bundle of rushes, shaped like a canoe before it is dug out, that the
falling of one of the waterspouts only washes the dust off the Indians
as they pass through this wonderful phenomenon. We are nearly suffocated
at times with the whirling up of the dust all around us.
As we entered the small town of Huaqui, a man in uniform came out into
the street, and requested to see my passport. He said he was not the
governor, but the military commander. He was informed that we had none;
we had not met with his government. As he assured us Peruvian papers
were sufficient, they were handed over. Upon being returned, we received
a pressing invitation to remain in his house and take coffee; but as
José had prepared tea for us in advance, the commander joined us. He
was a young man in a soldier's coat, which seemed to have seen service
before he was born. It is amusing to see how much uncomfortable time a
man can spend in a tight-fitting uniform, on the arrival of strangers.
Outward show seems to be the sole object with the creole portion of
the population. This man's employment is to read all passports of
persons passing through this town, and he seems to be the only active
business man in the place. He may be seen, long before the traveller
arrives, standing in the street ready to demand, with a bold front, the
license to walk or ride about over ground not crowded with population
or vegetation. We change mules at Tiahuanaco.
To the northwest of us, and a little south of the centre of Lake
Titicaca, is situated the Island of Titicaca, from which Manco Capac and
his wife travelled to Cuzco. He was a navigator. The Island of Titicaca
is surrounded by the Aymara tribe of Indians, whose language was not
understood by José, who spoke Quichua as well as his own. The valley
of Cuzco is the first inviting spot to the northwest of this lake,
and the road from it to Cuzco is level enough for a railroad. Manco
Capac and his wife were carried by east winds, which blow every day
across the lake, to the western shore, and travelled on foot the road
we took between Cuzco and Puno, according to Indian tradition. Among
the scattered stone remains of the ancient edifices of Tiahuanaco, we
observed no resemblance to the stone-work of Cuzco, and were surprised
to find that, although the ruins were in such a dilapidated state as
not to enable us to make out the character of the structure, we could
perceive, and were convinced of the higher order of mechanical art over
that displayed in Cuzco. The stones, immense in size, were hewn square;
one of them had an arched way cut in it large enough to drive a mule
through.
The cura of the town told us there were no stone to be found in the
neighborhood of the same sort, and that he did not know whence they had
been brought. We have reason to believe Manco Capac had nothing to do
with the ancient works of Tiahuanaco. Both the hewing of the stone and
structure of the language of the people are different from his, though
his first appearance was among these people.
We have faith in the peculiarities of the winds to aid the great work
of populating distant portions of the earth. The northeast trade-winds
of the North Atlantic ocean are fair winds for the emigrants of Europe
to North and South America; and the southeast trade-winds in the south
Atlantic ocean hasten the passage of the African to Brazil, the West
India islands, and the shores of North America. Ships sailing around
Cape Horn are headed off sometimes a month by the westerly gales.
We are disposed to chart Manco Capac and his wife's track by the
instrumentality of winds in the South Pacific ocean, from the far West
to the Bay of Arica.
At the gateway, near a Catholic church, was standing two heavy stone
idols, with their hands crossed on their navels, as though there had
been—as is now—a scarcity of food.
Tiahuanaco is a small town, situated upon a rise, in a wide valley, with
a long view to the east. The ruins are close to the town, and from the
level low ground towards the lake, no doubt the palace was originally
built upon the shore, now out of sight. By a rough calculation, Lake
Titicaca contains three thousand square miles. While we look upon the
parched hills and table-lands on the one hand, and eternal ice on the
other, it would seem this basin of ice-water was uplifted more than
twelve thousand feet above the ocean, for the daily use of the sun as he
passes. The evaporation is great, from the numerous streams which flow
into the lake; and was the wet season withheld awhile, the basin would
be emptied; but the precipitation and evaporation are now equipoised.
As the lake is at its lowest, the rains will soon commence and fill it
up again.
As the sun passes on south, he draws the rain-belt after him. He is now
nearly vertical. When he completes his tour to the north of the equator,
he returns next year to find Titicaca brimful, which is evaporated
before the rains commence again. Were it not for the flooding of the
lake every year, we might find the water salt instead of fresh.
We leave Lake Titicaca for the dry table-lands of Bolivia. On the
road-side, at the base of the Sorata range, we halted to look at the
Indians plough in their potatoes. The women were the planters. They
plant the small potatoes of last year whole, instead of cutting the
larger ones for seed. We attempted to explain to one of the women why
she always raised such small potatoes; but she evidently misunderstood
us. Running off to the end of the row, where there was a large earthen
jar, she returned with a cup of chicha.
At Tambillo post-house, after passing the night, the postman was
disposed to charge us double. His mules, like himself, look very poor.
Half a dozen old houses stood out on the plain, with nothing about them
to admire but the lofty snow-peaks. I hired mules to take us all the way
to La Paz, but at Lapa they gave out. The postillions had them changed
in the post-house, and wanted to continue with the fresh mules; but the
Lapa postillions objected; and as ours refused to pay them that part of
the fare which had been advanced, the subject was debated in the middle
of the patio. A very respectable-looking old Indian walked in, and after
speaking some time to the parties, our men paid, and we pushed on over
the plain, in company with Indians and loaded jackasses on their way to
market, and droves of unloaded mules on their return towards the coast,
after having brought in loads of foreign manufactures.
Suddenly arriving at the edge of a deep ravine, we saw the tile-roofs
of the city of La Paz, near the base of the great snow-capped mountain,
Illimani. Descending by a steep, narrow road, and passing the cemetery,
the air was found loaded with the perfume of sweet flowers. Springs
of fresh water gushed out by the road-side, into which our mules sunk
their noses before we could get a drink. As we entered the town, some
one called out from a shaded piazza for our passports. We kept on,
answering we had none for Bolivia; but on looking back, a man was seen
stopping our baggage, which was a pretty effectual way of bringing us
to. After showing our Peruvian papers, an Indian was sent with us to
the custom-house, and the police officer directed the man to show me
the house of the gentleman to whom I had letters of introduction.
The most tiresome and troublesome part of the journey is the day of
arrival in a large town, where we generally remain long enough to rest
and pick up information. There are no hotels to which a traveller may go
and make himself independently comfortable. Walking into a man's private
house, bag and baggage, and handing him a letter of introduction, which
plainly expresses that the bearer has come to make his house his home,
is the custom of the country. We entered the most elegant house I saw
in South America.
The gentleman of the house was not at home; he was engaged
superintending the Indians at the gold mines and washings of Tipuani,
situated north of La Paz, on a tributary of the river Beni, and to the
east of the Sorata mountains. His daughter received the letter, smoking
a large cigar, and invited us to join. Her husband was prefect of the
province of Yungas, where is gathered the best cinchona bark. As it was
Saturday, and 4 o'clock, the officers had left the custom-house, and the
baggage could not be examined before Monday morning. Notwithstanding
the lady of the house sent our letters to the prefect, and asked that
we might have our clothing. We were in a house with four young ladies
and no gentleman, so there was a poor chance of borrowing.
The party was a good deal sun-burnt, dusted, and harassed over the hot
plains since leaving Cuzco, and all well tired out. Richards suffered,
though he stood the travel better than was expected. José's beard had
grown, and he had pulled an old white hat about so much to get it on the
sunny side of his head, that he at once applied for part of his wages
to purchase a new one. When we arrive, José always goes at once to pay
his respects to the lady of the house, and through him a general sketch
of our duties and characters are obtained. He is so polite, and of such
an obliging disposition, that he seems to attract attention wherever
he goes. He is fond of travelling, and, for so old a person, bears his
part well, sleeps sound, and enjoys good health.
La Paz, the commercial metropolis of Bolivia, has a population of
42,849. It is the capital of the department, which has a population of
90,662 creoles, and 295,442 Aymara Indians. The small stream of water
flowing through the city at the bottom of the ravine may be stepped
across without wetting one's feet. As it dashes down through the Andes
to the eastward, other streams join it, and after swelling out and
gaining the base of the mountains, it is called the river Beni, which
flows, in a northeast direction, through the territory of Bolivia. Some
parts of the Beni are navigated by wooden balsas; but there are many
falls, and the river-bed is rocky and rough, with a rapid current. The
Beni is not navigable for steamboats. It flows through the wild forests,
inhabited by uncivilized Indian tribes. On the tributaries of the Beni,
gold is found, and the best quality of cinchona bark. By referring to
the map, it will be observed that the tributaries of the Madre-de-Dios,
in Peru, and those of the Beni, take their rise very near each other,
in a line between the gold-washings of Tipuani and Carabaya. The waters
of the former flow into the Amazon, while those of the latter go to the
Madeira river. There is a ridge of mountains and hills between them.
A knot or hump seems to be raised in this part of the back-bone of
South America, from which the water flows in different directions. The
loftiest peaks of mountains are near, and the large lakes are found
here. We see a cluster of wonders, from the hot springs of Agua Caliente
post-house to the frozen peaks of the Sorata; extremes of heat and cold,
large mountains, and small streams, dry winds, and lakes of water, in
the richest gold region of South America.
The Beni creeps along the ridge of mountains as though seeking an outlet
to the north. A passage letting the water through into the Amazon basin
at the base of the Andes would probably make the Beni a tributary of the
Madre-de-Dios, as it is erroneously laid down on some maps. It finds
no outlet until it reaches the Madeira, to which it is obliged to pay
tribute. Though the waters of the Beni do eventually find their way to
the Amazon through the Madeira, yet the Beni, properly speaking, does
not flow through the Amazonian basin, but through what we consider is
correctly called the Madeira Plata.
The map will show that all the water flowing north, from the edge of La
Plata river-basin, passes through this range of hills at one place—the
head of the Madeira river. The countries drained by the tributaries of
the Madeira comprise an area of 475,200 square miles—nearly as large
as the basin of the Nile, and more extensive than either the Danube
or the Ganges. The Madeira Plata is a step between the Titicaca and
Amazon basins. It is separated from the Titicaca basin by the Andes, and
from the Amazon basin by the range of mountains and hills at the foot
of which the Beni flows. Its bottom is above the bottom of the Amazon
basin, and should be treated of independent of that water-shed. With the
exception of a small portion, which lies in the territory of Brazil, it
belongs exclusively to Bolivia.
La Paz is a most busy inland city. The blacksmith's hammer is heard. The
large mercantile houses are well supplied with goods. The plaza is free
from market people, for there is a regular market-house. The dwellings
are well built, of stone and adobe. The home and foreign trade appears
to be possessed with a life seldom met with in an inland town, without
shipping or railroads. The people appear to be active. There is less
lounging against the door-posts. The place has a healthy appearance.
There is a theatre, museum, library, book and cigar stores, handsome
stone fountains, well-paved streets, hospitable people, and a number of
foreigners, a beautiful alameda, where there are lovely women, stunted
apple trees, and sweet flowers. The Illimani snow-peak standing before
us, is a cooler of the tropical winds which pass over the Madeira Plata.
Strawberries, beans, onions, barley, and lucerne are produced in the
ravines, but in very small quantities, as the space is very narrow. What
attracted our attention among the people were new French bonnets the
ladies were learning to wear, and the new French uniform caps the army
had just received from Paris; both fitted like a new mountain saddle,
rather uneasily.
In mid-day, when there is little or no wind, the inhabitants wear thin
clothing; but as soon as the cold wind comes from the Illimani, bringing
with it a shower of drizzling rain, the whole population change to
thick cloth clothes. The climate is very changeable, and a consumption
of thick woollen and cotton cloths are required, as much as thin cotton
goods.
There is a police on the lookout for passports in the day, but I doubt
if they are as strict in the performance of duty at night. Wines and
spirits are the only articles Bolivia pays a transit duty to Peru upon.
Bolivia receives most foreign manufactures through the port of Arica,
in Peru, and as Peru is interested in the sale of her home-manufactured
wine, she charges a transit duty upon all foreign wine introduced
into Bolivia through her territory. Yet, while the duty and cost of
transportation on the backs of mules from Arica triples its value, there
seems to be more of this article used in La Paz than anywhere else, to
judge from the noises made in the streets at night by parties of men and
women, who roam about dancing and singing to the music of guitars; some
of them play very well. Just opposite my window there was a wine store.
In the door-way was chained a young tiger, and I noticed that nearly all
the people who stopped to play with the tiger entered and paid transit
duty to Peru.
The tailors are found seated along the pavements here in great numbers,
but there are fewer churches than generally in a city of this size. The
man who gets the contract to supply the standing army of Bolivia with
clothing, accumulates a large sum of money. This is the business of
importance in La Paz next to that of the trade in cinchona bark.
The largest portion of the department of La Paz is situated on the
table-lands, which, like the hills and lofty mountains within its
border, produce a scanty supply of vegetable growth—ocas, potatoes,
maize, barley, beans, and quinua. Horned cattle, horses, and sheep are
small and few. The llama is less used on the level roads of the Puna
than on the rough roads of the mountains; mules are more valuable. The
Indian nearly always walks to town in company with a jackass. Except a
little dove dusting itself by the road-side, there are few birds to be
found; no snakes nor ants; neither flowers nor trees. But that part of
the department situated on the eastern side of the Andes—the province
of Yungas—surpasses other spots in South America for natural wealth.
Standing up to his waist in the snows of the Illimani, amidst heavy
storms of hail, with thunder and lightning, and a wind that dyes his
nose and ears scarlet and blue with cold, the traveller descends to
the east, plunging and tumbling among the drift banks. He passes sheets
of ice formed by the melting of the snow at its lower edge, and after
slipping and sliding down these glistening slabs, he reaches a green
sod of grass, while the snow melts from his clothes as he thaws in the
tropical sun. Behind him, above rages the winter storm; below a land of
flowers in everlasting summer; and far off to the east, the whole earth
looks blue and broken like the ocean. The drops of snow-water from his
own coat join the trickling stream from the melting ice, and with him
they move on down the rugged mountain. This stream, increasing as it
advances, is finally lost in the waters of the Beni. He pulls off his
overcoat, seats himself under the shade of a bush surrounded by sweet
flowers; humming-birds attract his attention, and as he fans himself
with his hat, a swarm of bees interferes somewhat with his comfort.
He soon reaches the shade of lofty trees; an old ring-tailed monkey
walks slowly along a limb; a cunning little one jumps on her back,
twists its tail round her hind legs, lays down its head on her back,
sticks its fingernails into her skin, and rides its mother off at a full
run, jumping from limb to limb and from tree to tree; while the father
follows after, chattering in a loud voice the alarm for a stranger.
A long train of ants, disturbed in their march from one side of the
path to the other, occasionally afford the intruder a bite through the
stocking. He stops to change his clothes from winter to summer. Birds of
most brilliant plumage sing all around him; some of them scream with joy
as they fly across the mountain torrent; others are seated quietly in
pairs on the branches, among the thick green foliage, as though admiring
or making love to each other. The forest stretches down the side of the
Madeira Plata. The woods are ornamental and dye; the cacao tree, from
which the best chocolate is made, grows wild. Coffee, tobacco, cotton,
with all the tropical fruits, and the coca plant, are cultivated.
In the beds of the streams grains of gold are found. Among the hills
there are two species of the cinchona bark, the best in the world.
The forest is common to all persons who choose to employ themselves in
gathering bark, and the impression is that the value of the forest in
this article of trade is annually decreasing. The bark taken from the
trunk of the tree "tabla" is the best; that from the larger branches,
"charque," second in quality; and that from the smaller or upper
branches, "canulo," the least valuable. A man may cut two quintals per
day, which makes one quintal (one hundred pounds) when dried ready for
market. The woodman will sell it at the stump of the tree at from eight
to ten dollars the quintal.
By law of Congress, all bark gathered in Bolivia must be sold to a
company having the monopoly of this trade, who pay, according to law,
the following prices to the Yungas woodsman for his cinchona bark,
carried over the lofty Andes and delivered at the bank in La Paz:
"tabla," sixty dollars per quintal; "charque," thirty-five dollars,
and "canulo," thirty dollars. The company pay twenty-five dollars per
quintal on "tabla," and eighteen dollars upon "charque" and "canulo,"
duty to the government.
The bark is put up in cotton bales, each weighing one hundred and fifty
pounds, covered with raw hide. Two bales, or three hundred pounds, being
a mule load over the Cordilleras to the sea-port of Arica, where it
arrives in ten days from La Paz, paying a freight of twelve dollars per
mule load, so that a quintal of "tabla" has cost the company eighty-nine
dollars.
The price in Arica varies from fifty to one hundred and fifty dollars
per quintal, according to the demand for quinine in fever and ague
countries. In 1851 it was worth one hundred and ten dollars the quintal;
in May, 1852, it was as low as eighty dollars. At Arica it is shipped,
and carried around Cape Horn, to the chemists in the United States and
Europe, where it is manufactured, bottled, and some of it re-shipped and
sold in the apothecary stores of La Paz to those who enter the province
of Yungas, where the disease for which it is intended as a specific
frequently prevails. The woodsman pays for one ounce of quinine the same
price he sold one quintal of bark for at the tree.
Those who swallow quinine throughout the world are supposed to consume
ten thousand quintals of cinchona bark per annum. We consider this a
very low estimate.
The bank at La Paz has for some years past received as much as fourteen
thousand quintals per annum, and the government of Bolivia issued a
decree or proscription, forbidding the gathering of this bark from the
1st January, 1852, until the 1st January, 1854.
Gold was found in Yungas more than two centuries ago. The gold mines and
washings of Tipuani are worked with some profit in the present day, but
the wealth of the people engaged in gold hunting does not compare with
that of former times. Hundreds of Indians were employed, turning the
Tipuani stream from one side of its bed to the other in the dry season,
and large quantities of gold were collected. Seven gold mines are at
present worked in Yungas, and five hundred have been abandoned.
The roads to Tipuani are narrow, precipitous, and in an unimproved
state, like most of the roads into Yungas. They require an annual
expenditure of money, after the rainy season, to put them in order.
Merchants pay wages in advance to the Indians who consent to enter the
mines, and provide them with provisions, which are carried in on mules.
The expenses are very great in comparison to the yield of gold. The
Indian is often sick, when his wages and the expense of feeding him
are lost to the miner; many of them leave before their time, so that
the work of the season is lost, the miner giving up poorer than he
commenced.
Besides gold, there are silver mines in Yungas abandoned, filled
with water. They are situated higher up than the gold mines along the
eastern sides of the Andes. This side of the Madeira Plata is made of
silver, washed with gold, filled with oranges, pine-apples, granadillos,
bananas, beautiful flowers, and rich green leaves, refreshed and kept
in perfection by the sheets of ice and clusters of white snow resting
on its edge. Streams of clear water, habited by fish, flow through
the lofty forest trees, turning and winding among the hills, while the
fish-hawk perches himself on the overhanging branch to watch them. The
parrot, with his green leaf-like plumage, winks an eye as he digs his
curved beak into the banana. The monkey helps himself to oranges; the
humming bird feeds upon the product of the flowers. All are employed,
joyful, and happy. Their songs echo through the hills, and die away
among the dashing streams; but the ferocious tiger shows his teeth as he
turns aside, snarling at the sight of the forked tongue of a dangerous
serpent.
At the rising of the moon, swarms of bats fill the air, and insects
float about in the heavy atmosphere, seek their rest and all is still.
The white wild goose sits by the side of the snow-water pool on the top
of the Andes, and the dove sleeps on the puna by the side of the cactus
thorn.
The most inveterate chewers among the Indians say, that the coca raised
on the tributaries of Madre-de-Dios is superior to that produced in
Yungas, on the waters of the Beni—the Yungas plant being at a greater
elevation above the sea. In Peru, the planter goes well down into the
flat lands, where the coca plant seems to flourish better than on the
side of the Andes, in the ravines. Yet, seven thousand baskets of Yungas
coca have been sold to Peru in one year; the usual price is five dollars
the basket. Fruits, coffee, chocolate, tobacco, cigars, and about five
hundred thousand dollars in gold and silver, are also exported to Peru;
in exchange for which the department of La Paz imports from Peru rum,
wine, sugar, sweetmeats, peppers of different kinds, meats, potatoes,
and cheese.
The value of the imports of foreign manufactures into this department,
in silks, coarse cotton and woollen cloths, calicoes and fine cotton
goods, iron, earthen, and glass-ware, amounts to about five hundred
thousand dollars. The value of the Cinchona bark and copper exported is
three hundred thousand dollars, with two hundred thousand dollars in
gold and silver. The difference is exported to keep up the balance of
trade, which makes the foreign trade of this department worth about one
million per annum, exclusive of the internal traffic with Peru.
The city of La Paz is the largest in Bolivia, and has the most trade,
owing to its position between the provinces of Yungas and Arica. But the
foreign manufactures imported by this country, do not all pass through
La Paz. The roads from Arica and Cobija lead direct to the southern
department, and the trains of mules and jackasses cross floating totora
bridges on the Desaguedero, such as we saw the llamas pass near the
Lake of Titicaca. The distance from La Paz to Cobija is two hundred and
thirty-two leagues.
In the first part of December, when the flowers begin to bloom in the
ravine, it is the custom of the inhabitants of La Paz to repair to the
alameda before breakfast. Some go on foot, dressed in silks and satins,
broad cloth and white kid gloves. The ladies without bonnets, their hair
parted in the South American style, appear to much more advantage than
those in French fashions. The gentlemen are also more natural in their
vicuña-made hats than in those of Paris. Indian servants walk behind the
family with rugs, which are spread for the ladies to sit upon. Gentlemen
make a grand show with spirited horses, but are completely outdone by
ladies in the management of their animals, and in graceful riding. Some
of the countrywomen ride on men's saddles.
The girls ride off at full speed through the alameda, like a frigate's
complement of midshipmen on a day's leave of absence. More of the men's
stockings are exposed to view than those of the ladies.
The men of Bolivia are better developed and more spirited than they are
found near the equator. Their horses are generally small; some of them
are full of life and spirit, and prance about more like little goats
than a well-trained blooded animal.
Milk is drank at the end of the exercise, and the meeting of the
families is very agreeable. The degree of politeness and pleasantness of
manner is remarkable, while the milk of cow kindness is passed around in
large glasses. The fresh complexioned Spanish beauty rides up, tosses
off a bumper, calls to her indolent escort in her sweet language, and
off she goes again, followed by the eye of a fat John Bull, luxuriating
over his glass, with a broad brimmed hat on one side of his head, and
a walking stick under his arm.
The foreigners of La Paz purchase the dried mutton of Peru, and supply
the Indians, who work near the town of Corocoro, where copper is found
in great quantities in its native state, and is worked with great
difficulty for want of proper tools. The export duty, paid by the
merchants to the government, is six cents per quintal on ground ore,
and twelve cents on bars of pure copper.
The Indian men are not muscularly strong, though they accomplish a great
deal in their own way of working. They are slow and sure men, when well
treated. The stone-work of the fountain in the plaza, carved by the
Aymara Indians, compares well with the best we have met. It is admired
by the Italians, Germans, French, and English residents of the city,
and however much we respect the Quichua tribe, we must give the Aymaras
the preference in this mechanical art. They are more musical, and seem
to possess a more independent character than the Quichuas; yet they
cannot compare with the North American negro slaves in health, strength,
happiness, comforts of life, or liberty. African slavery existed in
Bolivia before the meeting of the National Convention in September,
1851, when the fifth Bolivian constitution was sanctioned; the first
article of which declared that "All men are born free in Bolivia." "All
men receive their liberty upon placing their feet upon her soil; slavery
does not and cannot exist in it."
In this convention, a member of intelligence and experience—a man as
popular as any, and respected by most of his countrymen; well acquainted
with the history of Bolivia, and who had been a public man from her
birth as a nation—offered an amendment to that constitution, proposing
to establish religious liberty in Bolivia. The whole convention at once
opposed him, as did the two little public journals in La Paz; and when
the bishops, priests, and church of Bolivia came out against him, it
became a question, whether a patriotic, aged, and tried senator was a
freeman!
The fifth article of that constitution declared, "The Apostolic Roman
Catholic religion was that of Bolivia. The law protects and guaranties
the exclusive worship of it, and prohibits the exercise of whatever
other," recognising notwithstanding the principle, that "there is no
human power over the conscience."
With political affairs the Indian has little or nothing to do. When the
creoles side off on the level plains of Bolivia and fight the battles
of their country, the Indians seat themselves on the brows of the hills
around, and quietly witness changes or continuance of administration.
They seem to be the philosophers of the country, and to take the world
very easy. After the struggle is over, they come down and pursue their
daily occupations under the new constitution, laws, and powers that be.
The beautiful house in which we are was, on one occasion, turned into
a barracks for the soldiers of the victorious party, and the ladies
driven out, because they agreed in their political opinions with their
father and brothers. The officers were thought kind because they had the
most expensive furniture put into their own rooms, that it might not be
entirely ruined before the family had been sufficiently punished.
At the dinner table a young family of fourteen are seated, full of life
and gayety. Our place was next the lady of the house, who presided.
She was very intelligent, and had greater advantages of education than
most of her countrywomen. She seemed particularly fond of the United
States—asking many questions—expressing her admiration of the people,
but disapproving of some of their actions. She thought the country
too warlike; and although we had conceived our answers satisfied her,
with regard to Texas and California—of which she had very incorrect
ideas—she asked me to explain to her the meaning of all the articles
she saw published in the newspapers of La Paz, upon the subject of
Cuba. Turning suddenly, she looked up and said: "What are you doing
here, Señor Gibbon; do you want Bolivia, also?" After setting forth the
advantages of trade through the rivers of Bolivia, and the difficulties
the people of her country now labored under to avail themselves of
foreign commerce, she approved of the enterprise, and expressed herself
friendly to it; but concluded by saying—"I believe the North Americans
will some day govern the whole of South America!"
Our conversation was disturbed by the entrance of an Indian servant
girl, with her mistress's youngest child, which was seated between us.
The Indians teach the children their own language. The habit of using
the most easily pronounced words in Aymara and Spanish had produced a
very curious mixture. The Aymara for baby is "wawa." A gentleman seated
opposite inquired if I was fond of them. Never having heard the word
"wawa" before, and believing he said "guavas"—a fruit upon the table—he
was answered in the affirmative, with the addition that they "were much
better when preserved than when eaten raw." This brought forth a shout
of laughter.
The daughter of the lady, with tears in her eyes from merriment,
inquired whether I had ever eaten one? Being told that I had devoured
hundreds, and would take one now if she would be so kind as to give
it to me, the Indian girl seized the wawa, amidst continued roars of
laughter, when Havana cigars and Yungas coffee were introduced.
The markets of La Paz are well supplied with fruits and vegetables from
Yungas. Near five hundred thousand baskets of coca are produced there
annually—a basket contains twenty pounds. Some twelve hundred baskets
are exported to the Argentine republic; the remainder, after the sale to
Peru, being consumed at home. The organized national guard, or militia
of this department, amounts to about fifteen hundred creoles, regulated
by special laws, independent of the standing army of the country.
The prefect of La Paz was friendly to the expedition, and assured us his
government would be so. His duties correspond with those of the prefects
in Peru. His department is divided into provinces, which are ruled by
governors; there are no sub-prefects in Bolivia. The most intelligent
men in the country are found among the prefects. The impression is, that
preference is given to this office over that of a ministership in the
supreme government.
With a fresh supply of passports and letters, we mounted our fattened
mules, and bidding farewell to our kind friends, we ascended the steep
side of the Quebada to the table lands, which slope down from the
Illimani to the westward, towards a low range of mountains. The wind
was fresh from the southeast; thunder in the north, and a cold drizzling
rain falling. The plain is covered with round stones, such as are found
on the shores or in the beds of rivers.
[Illustration: ILLIMANI SNOW PEAK, VICUÑA'S PASTURING WITH THE SHEEP
ON THE PUNA OF BOLIVIA.
Sketched by L. Gibbon
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
_December 2, 1851._—At 4 p. m., we halted at Ventilla post-house.
Thermometer, 52°; wet bulb, 42°. The fat postwoman was picking seeds
from a bag of raw cotton. She gave us a specimen, but said she did not
know whence it came. From her external appearance, we judged she had
not travelled much about the country.
The house stands on a barren plain; not a living thing to be seen
growing, except a short tuft of grass here and there. The post-dogs
are miserably poor. The baggage-mules look as if they ate round stones
and drank bad water. As the dogs and children came to us for supper, we
are at a loss to know how it is the old woman keeps so enormously fat.
Possibly upon happiness, for she seems perfectly contented.
It has been a matter of surprise how the globe is so well balanced,
while the greatest proportion of land appears on the north side of the
equator. After a view of the lofty mountains, corpulent bishops, and
portly postwomen, it seems more comprehensible.
We are now travelling on the edge of the Titicaca basin. The water on
the west side of us flows into the Desaguedero river, and that on the
east side into the Beni. The rich copper district lies to the west
of us, near the Desaguedero. There is snow on the mountains in all
directions, the Illimani appearing high up in the east. Three vicuñas
were pasturing with some sheep near our path. At the small town of
Calamarca, at 4 p. m., thermometer, 48°; wet bulb, 40°. A rain-storm
from southeast, accompanied with thunder and lightning, hauled round
by south to the west, when the small drops of rain became frozen, and
fell in hailstones, the size of very small peas; after which the whole
country in sight was covered with snow.
The scene is a cold and dreary one, made more so by the strange noise
of wind instruments and drums in the plaza, as the Indians march through
the church after the storm, dancing with war-clubs at the doors, while a
cracked bell chimes a deafening summons to prayers. The wind instruments
are made of a succession of reeds of different sizes and lengths, upon
which they blow a noise, little resembling music to our ear, keeping
time with the drummers, the slow-motioned dancers respecting them both.
The Indians are dressed in large feathered hats, white cotton shirts,
short trousers, decorated about the knees with red, blue, and white
ribbons, while one in deep black walks before the procession in the
character of drum major. Except a priest, not a creole face was to be
seen.
In the morning the procession marched into the patio of the post-house.
After they had played and danced some time, the Indian women came out,
and being joined by the postillions, formed a ring inside the musicians,
and the dance was continued. We seated ourselves, with our tin pots of
tea, in the doorway, looking on. After the dance, the women retired,
and the postman, a fine-looking old Aymara Indian, hat in hand, made
a speech, in a grave and earnest manner, to which they all listened
with silent attention. The speech was responded to by a long blast
from the wind instruments and a few heavy taps on the drums. Then the
postillions, one by one, made short speeches, and were answered in the
same way. The women again appeared, each bringing with her a jar of
chicha, which they served out in cups, giving to each individual as
much as he could drink, which was no small quantity, for the morning
was cold. The music again struck up, and the women again joined in the
dance. One of them came out with her sleeping "wawa" slung to her back,
which was soon blown up, and commenced a laughable discord; but not a
smile could be discovered in any of their faces; neither did the woman
stop till the dance was ended, when she swung the child round in front
of her, where it found cause to be quiet.
As we could not understand the language or the meaning of the speech,
nor the propriety of chicha being introduced into the religious service,
we supposed the intention was to serenade the women, but were left in
doubt; for they seemed to be so serious, formal, and earnest that it
could scarcely be a frolic. At first we were disposed to appropriate it
to ourselves, but gave in on the appearance of the chicha.
These Indians are very polite and attentive to us. We find no difficulty
in getting what we want, notwithstanding José is as perfectly ignorant
of Aymara as ourselves. When we were ready to leave, the old Indian took
out of his own pocket, and laid upon the palm of his hand, the amount
of our bill for the night. Being paid, he nodded his head, smiled, and
uttered something that seemed to us satisfactory.
The town is small and wretched, both in its external and internal
appearance. Not a foot of the country in sight around it is cultivated.
The principal production seems to be chicha; but the maize it is made
of is brought from the Quebradas to the eastward.
To the west of Calamarca, between the Desaguedero river and the
Cordilleras, near the town of Benenguala, in former days, were worked
a number of silver mines. Seven hundred mouths are open and filled
with water, having all been abandoned in the present day, though they
are reported to be rich. To the east of Calamarca, in the province of
Inquisivi, five silver mines are worked, and one hundred and sixty stand
idle. Near the town of Araca four gold mines are worked, and many more
exist.
Crossing a dry, rocky country, we came to where the plain was covered
with green cedar bushes, about two feet high; the dry, dusty road was
made more cheerful by cattle, sheep, and llamas crossing our path. They
were feeding upon the fresher grass that springs up under the shade of
the cedars. The change from the barren, unproductive places on the Puna
to that of a vegetable growth is so sudden, that the traveller is, at
first sight, struck with wonder and surprise, because evidently no human
power has been brought to work here. It is all the result of original,
natural laws.
Man seems the most unnatural creature we meet with. He builds his
house in a desert, settles himself in a country he cannot cultivate;
while other animals are seen in numbers the moment we come in sight of
vegetation, nor do they leave it for the barren places unless forced to
go by the more intelligent creature.
The southeast winds that we meet here come across the South Atlantic
ocean; passing over the lowlands, they strike against these mountains.
Rising from the vapors of the sea, they are wet; but after travelling
over dry lands, their dampness is distributed on the soil, and there
springs up a growth of forest trees and wild flowers, which otherwise
would be burnt down by the fiery rays of the sun.
By the time the winds reach these lofty mountains they are comparatively
dry. The little dampness remaining in them, meeting with the cold
atmosphere of the mountain peaks, freezes and falls in the shape of snow
or hail.
Being relieved of their load, they come down on the table lands now,
where we meet them after having performed their work, as on the west
of the Illimani; there the plain is barren; not a living bush is to
be seen. As the winds have no moisture to give to the soil, the soil
has no vegetation to give to animal life; therefore, man appears to
be struggling against this law, by living all his life to the west of
the Illimani, where the winds are on a frolic, dancing over the plain,
forming whirlwinds, and shooting up to return from whence they came.
These winds go back to the South Atlantic by an upper current. But, to
return to the cedar bushes. We can only account for them by supposing
an opening in the Andes range to the southeast of us, through which the
winds come, before meeting with mountains high enough to push them above
the perpetual snow line. We cannot see far enough to tell, but have to
feel our way. Yesterday we had the Illimani to the east of us, and by
the reflection of a barren soil, the rays of the sun scorched the skin
off our faces. To-day, although the sky is equally as clear, we do not
feel it, the atmosphere is more moist, which protects the skin from the
influences of the sun.
But there stands a more convincing proof of this natural law, and of
our supposition of an opening in the Andes to the southeast of us. The
mountain peaks to the west are covered with snow. The remaining moisture
in these winds has not yet been turned into hail and snow, but is still
doing its summer work. The moment it strikes those mountains to the
west, however, then it will all be grasped by the cold hand of winter.
We have heard the people of this country complain that there is less
law in Bolivia than in any other part of the world. We doubt if there
ever was a law more plainly written than is here seen on the face of
the soil, directing attention to the countries east of the snow.
We observe an alteration in the color of the people on the Puna, who
differ again from those of the forests. The Indian who lives on the west
side of a snowy-peaked mountain is burnt black; those among the cedar
bushes, to the east of the snow, are lighter in complexion. The women
are better looking. The sun-burnt man falls in love as soon as he gets
to the east side of the snow peaks, although the people of the forests
in the Madeira Plata are whiter still. We have seen no curling of hair
produced on the Puna by the excessive heat of the sun.