Pass the mouth of Chimoré river—White cranes—Rio
Mamoré—Woodbridge's Atlas—Night watch—"Masi"
guard-house—Pampas—Ant-houses—Cattle—Religion—Sugar-cane—Fishing
party of Mojos Indians—River Ybaré—Pampas of Mojos—Pasture
lands—City of Trinidad—Prefect—Housed in Mojos—Don
Antonio de Barras Cordoza—Population of the Beni—Cotton
manufactures—Productions—Trade—Don Antonio's Amazonian
boats—Jesuits—Languages—Natural intelligence of the
aborigines—Paintings—Cargoes of foreign goods in the plaza.
We ran down the river by the light of the moon; sounding in from three
and a half fathoms to four; half the crew pulled at a time, until we
passed the mouth of the Chimoré river, which empties into the Chaparé
from the south. We were obliged to come to as the morning became cloudy
and dark, which made it unsafe for us to pass through the drift wood
flowing from the Chimoré.
Canoes ascend the Chimoré in the rainy season to the town. Near its
mouth, the river resembles the Chaparé in width, color of water, and
swiftness of current; but, from what I can learn, the Chaparé is the
largest stream, and deeper at the head.
The rains have been to the southeast; therefore we find more drift-wood
coming out of the Chimoré than we have in the Chaparé.
The country at their junction is all low, uninhabited, and unfinished.
The current of the Chaparé continues the same below the junction. Unless
we had seen the Chimoré enter, we should probably not have known that
the quantity of water was nearly double, the width of the river and
soundings being the same.
Lightning flashes to the south during the night; and, as the clouds
thicken, thunder roars among the distant mountains.
_May 30, 1852._—We have a strong wind from the east this morning, with
light rain and thunder to the south. The drops are small compared with
those which beat against the Andes in the boisterous region.
Files of white cranes of equal size stand in good order on the
mud-beach, with a tall one at each end of the file, of from fifteen to
twenty individuals, like sergeants. As we approach, a sergeant steps
proudly out, gives orders by a "quack," and the party either faces back
over the mud-beach into a hollow, or flies down the river. The manners
and habits of these birds are very amusing. A large crane walks through
the drizzle, holding his head and body as straight as possible, which
gives him the air of an elderly gentleman leisurely walking out for his
health, with hands crossed under his coat-tail.
We entered the river Mamoré, which, at Cochabamba, is called "Grande;"
and where the Chaparé empties into it, is named Rio "Sara." It seems
the inhabitants upon the banks of this great stream call it by a name to
suit their own neighborhood. Those who lived on its more slender parts
called it "Grande," probably without knowing where it flowed, or if it
was a tributary to the Paraguay or Madeira; while those inhabiting the
lower waters changed the name again and again. "Grande" is the Spanish,
and "Mamoré" the Indian name.
We find it interesting to see how the people on the Andes supposed
the rivers of South America flowed towards the Atlantic. The Beni, for
instance, is represented as the source of the Amazon, while it is only
the second tributary of the Madeira. The headwaters of the southern
tributaries of the Amazon, over which we passed, are laid down in
ordinary maps too far to the westward. They are made to appear to the
student too near to the Pacific; there is a mountainous strip of land
between the headwaters of the Amazon and the Pacific shore.
The long travel of Lieutenant Smyth, of the royal navy, before he
reached the navigable waters of the Marañon from Lima, and the still
longer journey taken by Lieutenant Maw, royal navy, over the mountains
from Truxillo, in Peru, to the same point, show that these officers did
not find the head of navigation as soon as was generally supposed they
would, by the appearance of the maps they had studied in 1829.
Not only the Beni, but the Mamoré, is made, by recent publications,
to flow into the Amazon, not through the Madeira, but by an imaginary
course, through a ridge of mountains, distinctly laid down. This map
represents the Paraguay and Madeira both flowing from the same source
in Brazil, while the source of the Madeira is on the Andes, in Bolivia.
Some credit is due to Mr. Woodbridge for endeavors, twenty-four years
ago, to lay before the schools a map, which is useful and truthful, with
only such errors as are consequent upon an existing want of information.
The Mamoré, at the junction with the Chaparé, being the smaller of
the two streams, surprised us; but the rainy region explained the
difference. All the tributaries of the Chaparé are within the rain-belt,
while most of those forming the Mamoré, above Santa Cruz de la Sierra,
are beyond the rain-belt.
Canoes ascend the Mamoré to the mouth of the Piray river, and up that
stream to Puerte de Jeres, or "Quatro Ojos," as it is more frequently
called. Thence travellers mount on horseback, by a road through the
forest, to the city of Santa Cruz, where the Mojos cacao is sent
to Market. During the latter part of the dry season, in the month
of November, travellers from Trinidad to Santa Cruz go on horseback
entirely through the country; in preference to _poling_ and paddling
against a rapid current, which in the descent often endangers the safety
of the cargo by upsetting the canoes against snags.
The banks of the Mamoré are the same as the Chaparé. Our soundings are
now thirty feet, and the Mamoré has a width of four hundred yards below
the junction; this stream flows in a northerly direction. The current
of the Mamoré runs at the same speed as the Chaparé—one mile and a half
per hour.
While the porpoise bows his back in the air above the surface of the
river, and spouts like the porpoise of the sea, small parties of seal
whirl round and bark at us daringly. The seals are very small; not near
so large as those we have seen on the river La Plata.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 73°; wet bulb, 70°; river water, 75°. As we
passed near the perpendicular bank a moderate-sized tree came down with
a terrible crash just before us. The bank broke and the current washed
away the earth, and we left the tree struggling with the river, which
in time will either give way and follow us down, or stand stubborn as
the foundation of another island.
We met with a fishing party of Indians in a canoe, with two women as
cooks for twelve men. As we had been feasting on wild turkeys, ducks,
and geese, we offered to purchase fish, but they were as much in want
as we, and showed a disposition to keep at a distance—very likely on
account of our cases of small-pox.
The river was so clear of snags and drift-wood that the men wanted to
continue on all night, which promised to be clear, though the day was
wet and unpleasant, with an easterly storm, which seemed rather to
encourage the musquito tribe. We therefore had dinner cooked early.
After the sun went down the bright moon lit up our water-path through
the wilds. The earth seemed asleep as we watched the nodding Indians
at their paddles, which hung dripping over the sides of the canoe. At
one moment a rustling noise was heard among the canes. We swept close
in towards the bank by the current. The burning piece of wood which the
old captain kept on his part of the boat disturbed the black tiger, or
a serpent slipped softly from a cluster of canes into the water to avoid
us. As we turn, the moon shines directly up the river, and the sheet of
water appears like a silvery way. We think of obstructions, and fear we
are not going fast enough to see the glad waters of the Atlantic.
[Illustration: DESCENDING THE RIVER MAMORÉ, Bolivia.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
In the dead of night the owl calls, as though surprised at our daring,
and a fish, by mistake, jumped into the boat. As it flapped its tail in
the water, on the bottom of the canoe, every Indian was roused from his
sleep. After joking awhile, they dipped their paddles into the stream,
and away we went again.
Midnight passed; the watch was called, and while Richards fought
musquitoes, the first watch slept. The sounding line was kept going by
night and by day; the turns of the river mapped by the points of the
compass; the distance made marked down at the end of each day, and all
the streams entering the one we navigate carefully drawn in.
_May 31._—At sunrise we ran alongside of a perpendicular bank of red
and blue clay, eighteen feet high; by steps we ascend to see a great
pampa stretching out before us, or an ocean of grasses, herd-grass
from five to seven feet high, gently waving to and fro by the morning
breeze, which came from the east. As we stood upon the bank the sun got
up behind us; we looked towards the west over the bottom of the Madeira
Plate, which is shallow and extensive.
A shed stands upon the bank, and as there was nothing under it, we took
a well-beaten path leading from the river, and walked over a level,
among ant houses built five feet high and three feet in diameter at the
base, made of clay and shaped like sugar loaves.
The ants ascend to the tops of their houses when the pampa becomes
overflowed, and there await the falling of the waters. This pampa,
however, is not flooded every year, and we have pretty certain
information from the ants that the rise is never as much as five feet.
Every house is exactly the same height, though they may differ a little
in thickness.
We came to a large wooden two-story building, the "Masi" guard and
custom-house, at which all traders and travellers must show their
passports and papers. We walked up the wooden steps to the second floor,
to call upon the commander of the station. In the lower story was a
sugar mill, and we found the commander of the guard in bed groaning
with stomach-ache under his musquito net. He seemed glad to see us, and
while he sat up in his night-cap reading our papers, we walked out on
the balcony to look round.
To the north was a row of small trees which gave the pampas the
appearance of cleared lands, but the commander came out and explained
to us that those trees grew immediately on the bank of the Securé
river, and that they marked out for me the true course of that stream
as far as I could see, showing that the rivers in this low country are
beautifully curtained in with thick foliage, while behind the curtain
is a great flat, an extended stage on which wild animals roam. The tall
crane stands admiring his reflected whiteness in a pool of clear water,
which lies like a mirror on the bottom of this magnificent green floor.
The lands are beautifully hedged in by the line of forest trees. Man has
set before him here the hedging and ditching of nature. This pampa looks
like a great pasture-field, enclosed by the Mamoré ditch on the south,
and the Securé on the north. Under the shade of those trees stand the
cattle of the field. They have gradually clambered over the Cordilleras
from the flats of Guayaquil, through the table lands of Oruro, and from
the salt district of Charcas. The creoles drove them down by the side
of the Mamoré river, and let them out into the grassy prairie lands of
Chiquitos and Mojos. From this balcony we see one Indian holding a calf,
while another milks the cow.
When the cattle came among the Indians, they knew not what to make of
them. There were no such animals in their wild lands. The fierce tiger,
which they worshipped along with the poisonous serpent, were outdone.
The cow interfered with the belief they previously had that the largest
animals were God's favorites, particularly those which had the greatest
means for active aggression or self-defence.
The cow helped to change such a religion. She was larger than either;
and to be attacked by a bull on the open prairie was quite as dangerous
as the tiger or the serpent. Great horns stood out boldly in defence of
a powerful body.
By degrees they learned that she neither bit, clawed, or stung; that
she carried a bag full of milk; that her teeth were given her to cut the
pampa grass, and not to devour the flesh of a human being. That she was
docile and friendly to man, and not his enemy. The Jesuits taught the
Indians how to milk a cow, and how to use its milk. They soon learn how
to tend cattle; to lasso them; yoke them by the horns, and fasten long
poles to them, so that they might drag along a bundle of drift wood from
the edge of the river to the middle of the plain, and to give up their
first impression that the tail was the most appropriate and convenient
part of the animal to attach the sticks of fire wood to.
In this way they kept gentle cattle by them, while herds roamed through
the pampas, became wild, and are now so scattered through the lands that
it is difficult to count them.
The horse travelled the same way from Spain with the horned cattle.
The ancestors of the five mares with their colts, which we see grazing
before us, crossed the Isthmus of Panama more than three hundred years
ago. This beautiful and useful creature caught the eye of the Indian,
but as he had never seen an animal fit to straddle and ride, he little
knew the true value of the horse who fattened on the pampa grass. When
he mounted and found himself flying at full speed across the plain,
he must have been quite as much pleased with the invention as more
civilized people are with the movements of modern machinery.
The introduction of these animals among the Indians by the Spaniards
had a powerful influence over them. It is said that when first the South
American Indians looked at a man on horseback, they supposed both _one_
animal, and it was not until they saw the man dismount that they knew
his distinctness from the horse.
Accounts have been written of an Amazonian race of women defending their
country with bows and arrows in their hands. The dress of the Indian men
of this warm climate is the same as that worn by the women. The Indians
use bows and arrows altogether. It seems reasonable to suppose such was
the origin of these stories.
A few Mojos Indian families occupied the only habitations on this pampa.
Around the bed-room door of the commander were very light-colored Indian
children. One of the several dogs running about, being impudent to
Mamoré, received a thorough shaking.
We obtained a large bunch of plantains and bananas, with some yucas and
jerked beef, and a cow was milked for us. As we were from Cochabamba,
the native place of the bald-headed commander, he was exceedingly kind
to us, hoped we would come back and remain with him, as he found it
very lonely on the pampa. He says it is very seldom that the lands are
completely covered with water, though he lives up-stairs for fear he
might be caught asleep. Like the ants, he keeps in the upper part of
the house until the water falls, and this is the most elevated land in
the neighborhood.
On the wave of the land along the river bank the Indians are encouraged
to cultivate sugar-canes. The government has put up a mill under the
custom-house for the accommodation of such as choose to pay contribution
in sugar. The route of the sugar-cane was originally from China, by the
way of the Cape of Good Hope, into Brazil at Rio Janeiro, thence across
the interior to the head-waters of the Paraguay river, where the Mojos
Indians got it, and carried it up stream to this pampa, and even bore
it to Yuracares.
The best sugar-cane in Peru, it is said, came from the South Pacific
Islands. So did that of Yungas, which adjoins Mojos at the base of
the Andes in the Madeira Plate. The inhabitants there have received
this plant from different sides of their continent, and the sugar-cane
emigrants have met nearly in the centre of it.
The sugar-canes which have travelled from the West India islands, over
the Isthmus of Panama into Peru, are thought not to be of as good a
quality as those from the South Pacific islands. We suppose this is
owing to the difference of soil and climate. The best sugar-canes on the
plantations in South Peru come from the Society islands on a parallel of
latitude due east through longitude. The plant kept in nearly the same
latitude on the same side of the Equator. The line of longitude which
passes through the Cuba plantation, runs due south into the Peruvian
field, with a great change of latitude. The Cuba plants, in 20° north,
were carried through 35° of north latitude, from near the Tropic of
Cancer towards Capricorn. Yet, from personal observation while cruising
among the Pacific islands, the richest sugar-cane and the most beautiful
white sugar was produced among the Sandwich islands. The midshipmen of
our mess declared they never saw such molasses as the caterer purchased
at Maui—it was like honey.
As the Island of Maui is in the same latitude as the Island of Cuba—both
near the Tropic of Cancer—we judge that the canes of Cuba are not
less sweet than the canes of the Society islands, until after they are
transplanted into South Peru.
The Mojos Indian never would have known there was such a plant in the
world, if the sugar-cane had not been carried to him. He does not travel
abroad himself, but remains in his own district, as the wild animals
do, living upon whatever may from time to time be passed over into his
plate. The hand that brought him sugar was the hand of the Ruler of the
winds—those winds, the southeast trades.
The old Indian seems perfectly comfortable now that he has milk and
sugar. If he was wise enough to know anything about the advantages of
commerce, it is doubtful how far he would exert himself. He is rather an
indolent fellow. The Indians _want_ nothing particularly; clothing they
get from the bark of the tree, or the produce of the cotton plant. Yuca
is their bread; there are fish in the stream, and beeves on the pampa;
coffee, chocolate, and sugar.
The kind old commander said they only produced a little sugar for house
use; "there was only one other Creole with him; he had no guard, and
the Indian population was but a handful."
There was a time when this pampa was unfitted for man's habitation; when
the water lay deep over the land. We are led to believe that the bottom
of the Madeira Plate was a great lake. It appears to us like the bed
of an uplifted sheet of water. Water flows into it all round the edge,
except at the head of the Madeira, its outlet to the sea.
All the streams that flow from the mountains are confined between high
banks; the water is deep; cultivation and navigation join hands. Here
we found the first signs of trade and of a friendly exchange.
We floated down the stream, passing the mouth of the Securé, which was
two hundred yards wide, flowing in from the westward, and landed to
enjoy breakfast. The disappointed governor distinguished himself this
morning by making excellent coffee, with milk which we brought along in
an earthen pot, manufactured by the Indians from clay of the pampa.
On the sides of the river there are several bays, which the schoolmaster
calls "Madres." Some of them are quite large. As the water falls in the
dry season these madres supply the river, and in the wet season fill
up again. From the name they are considered mothers to the river, from
which it obtains sustenance when it gets dry.
We encamped for the night on a sandy beach, from which I judge the
Securé river is not navigable far up, and that the distance between its
mouth and the rocky formation is not very far. The lands to the west of
the mouth of the Securé are wild and little known. Cattle roam upon the
plains, and the cinchona trees grow in the woods.
We found a party of fourteen men and boys encamped on the beach. They
had been up the river fishing and hunting. A fire was built by them;
their canoe lay by the shore, and their white cotton hamacs were slung
to poles stuck in the beach in a circle. They all go to bed by word
of command, otherwise the hamacs would all come down by the run. They
hang their hamacs out where the night breeze, as it comes sweeping up
the river, will drive the musquitoes away. Near the trees they are very
troublesome, and in the bushes insufferable.
The intelligent bright faces of the boys pleased us. They looked like
little girls in their long cotton frocks of white, standing round the
campfire watching yucas roasting. The youngsters noticed us much more
than the men of the party, who were generally from twenty-four to thirty
years of age. These were Mojos Indians, from the town of Trinidad. Our
Canichanas crew spoke a different language, though they only live a
short distance apart on the pampa. The Canichanas came from the town of
San Pedro, and yet these people do not understand the language of each
other.
When our men landed, I noticed they said nothing to the others. Our
fire was built and camping ground was near theirs, but the Mojos boys
and North Americans were the only ones disposed to be sociable. Mamoré
seemed the favorite of both parties; they both fed him, and as be ran
back and forth, receiving kindness from all sides, the dog became the
cause of jealousy between the two crews.
The boys had little bows and arrows and small paddles, but they
carried no game or fish—nothing but yuca to eat and water to
drink. They were fat, straight, well-built figures, with a clear
molasses-and-water-colored skin. When they smiled, their white teeth and
handsome black eyes gave them an agreeable and healthful appearance.
They were washed of dirt and paint. The savage custom of boring great
holes in their ears and noses had been cast aside, and they appeared
neatly in simple frock, with straw hat, bows and arrows. The dress is
certainly an awkward one for a man, but it is a great protection from
the musquitoes, while it keeps off the sun and night dews; they are cool
and comfortable also.
The ancient bark dress seems to have been the custom all through the
interior of this plate. The Indians of the lowlands dress in bark and
cotton cloth, while those of the mountains use wool and the skins of
animals. Leather is best in a dry climate and rawhide in a wet one.
Straw hats are seen in the truly tropical regions, while cloth caps and
fur hats are wanted in the mountains and cold countries. Where there
are the greatest diversities of climate, there are required the largest
assortment of goods.
Soon after leaving Masi, the banks of the river are seven feet high,
with the appearance of an overflow of as much as five feet.
One of the Mojos Indians informed the ex-governor we could get up to
the town of Trinidad by a small stream which flowed by the town. This
interested our men, as they would be obliged to carry the baggage some
distance over the plain on their backs.
They pulled with a will, and entering a small channel we crossed, with
the current, from the Mamoré to the river Ybaré. The channel was four
fathoms deep and just wide enough to pass.
The Ybaré is sixty yards wide, and has very little current, with
twenty-four feet depth of water, though it is said this stream becomes
very shallow in the dry season. Descending the Ybaré a short distance,
we entered a stream only twelve feet wide, where the men found great
difficulty in forcing the canoe against the current. The land on the
left hand side of the Ybaré is an island formed by the channel we came
through from the Mamoré.
After the men had been working for some time up stream, they rested,
got breakfast, and cut several long poles, which were carefully stowed
away in the canoe for the purpose of carrying baggage. A trunk is slung
to the middle of the pole, and each end is placed on a man's shoulder.
At 9 a. m., June 1, 1852, thermometer 77°, wet bulb 72°; a short time
after breakfast, we suddenly came where there were no trees. The men
took their bow and stern lines and mounted the bank, and we followed;
on gaining the top, there, stretched out to the far east, was a perfect
sea of herd grass. As far as the eye could reach the land was as level
as a floor; scarcely a tree to be seen except along the little stream we
had been following, with a belief we were amidst a great wilderness of
woods; but the clear light of day shone down upon an open pasture-field.
While the Indians towed the canoe by the path, "Padre" turned to inquire
whether we wanted to go farther down the country; if so, the captain
and crew still desired to serve us. But, señor, said he, "should you
engage us to take you, please pay us and not the authorities, who keep
the silver themselves and make us take cotton cloth." Here, for the
first time, I discovered the crew were dissatisfied with the way the
governor of Yuracares had treated them. Under the circumstances, I
considered it a duty to pay them extra, in silver coin, for valuable
and faithfully-performed services.
There are two characteristics in the Indian we particularly notice—his
honesty and his truthfulness. We have never lost the least thing from
our baggage or persons by dishonest Indians; whenever they offer
information it must be asked for, and what they say may be relied
upon as correct. We have never found this to be otherwise among any of
them—of the high or low countrymen—these traits are observed among all
the tribes.
The schoolmaster told me he never knew a boat's crew volunteer to take
passengers; that they preferred to go alone, and no doubt they offered
to take us because we did not interfere with them. He said it was
customary for the prefect of the Beni to "whip the Indians" when they
delayed on the voyage up the river. This reminded me that on the way
down the disappointed governor told me, if the men did not work fast
enough, by threatening to have them whipped at Trinidad they would pull
more rapidly.
We arrived at a wooden bridge thrown over the narrow stream, where a
number of canoes and Indians were collected. The bridge is on a road
leading from a plantation to the town of Trinidad. It was arched ten
or twelve feet above the prairies, to prevent its being washed away. In
the rainy season the lands overflow every year two feet deep. The road
travelled by horses and on foot may then be navigated in canoes nearly
up to the town. It is now a dusty road; then it is a narrow channel
through the herd-grass, which grows eight feet high. The floods come
loaded with earth from the mountains, and overflow these lands. The mud
settles on the surface of the soil as it filters through the herd-grass.
The clean water gradually drains off, leaving a coat of earth behind.
The old crop of coarse grass has fallen; the seeds are planted in the
old deposite, and up it grows again. Here we have an annual deposite of
earth and one of grass-stalks.
The bridge stands so high we can see afar off in all directions. There
are a few clusters of trees here and there where the river upheaves the
land.
Thousands of birds that fly in the air or walk on the plain are
_water_-fowl. Away on the eastern horizon we see a long black line. As
it approaches we hide in the grass, for the motion of the wings are
those of the wild duck. As the gun goes off, wild geese rise up with
cranes, as they do from the edge of a great lake. Snipe and signs of
snakes are visible.
Mamoré enjoys being let out of the canoe. He dashes through the grass
after the cattle; while he chases the calf, the cow rushes after.
Suddenly he comes to a stand in front of an angry-looking bull. Some of
these cattle are in good order, while others look small and thin. The
land is all new formation; not a stone is to be seen in the soil nor a
grain of sand. We now understand why the Indians gather up flint from
rocks about Vinchuta. Here is a great market for salt and flints.
We find the sun warm as we walk along the stream. In the distance we
see the red-tiled roofs of the town of Trinidad.
Flocks of large blue pigeons are flying by us, and feeding upon the
seed of a weed that grows in marshy places. These pigeons are wild, yet
they are the same in appearance as the common tamed pigeon. There are
a number of large birds we never saw before. One of them I supposed to
be an ostrich; but it flew up in the air, spreading a larger wing than
the condor, and of a spotted gray color. Among the grass-tops are some
of the most beautiful little scarlet and blue birds, all feeding upon
the seed.
A deer bounded through the grass; the country seems to be alive with
animals.
If we had come down the Andes in the wet season, we have some doubts
if we should have found much of the province of Mojos above water; for,
from the accounts of the men, they cross the country in every direction
in their canoes, while the horses, cows, and other anti-amphibious
creatures, take to the high spots for safety. They remain on what, in
the wet season, become islands, there patiently to wait the going down
of the annual deluge. Many cattle and horses are lost by not knowing
where to go.
As we approached the town of Trinidad, the canoes lying at the bank of
the stream, logs towed up from the wooded country, with the resemblance
of the cathedral to a ship-house, added to the number of white cotton
hamacs hung under sheds by the canoemen, reminded us very much of a navy
yard.
The Indians were all dressed alike, in white cotton frocks; some
carrying jars of water on their heads from the stream to the houses;
others washing. Carpenters hewing logs for houses, or digging out canoes
with North American tools. One of the men was somewhat astonished at
the interest we took in his chisel, manufactured in New England, and
from hand to hand passed to this Indian carpenter, who used it tolerably
well, and took great care of it. He had no idea from whence it came,
except that the canoemen from Vinchuta brought it with them. His mallet
was of home manufacture. His adze came with the chisel. He had no nails
for fastening his timbers; wooden pegs were used. Some of the canoemen
were loading with chocolate and sugar for Santa Cruz and Vinchuta;
others were unloading salt, flour, and foreign goods. Women were digging
clay out of the bank for pottery. The men are industrious, and the women
quite as good looking and as pleasant in expression of face as they
are active and handsome in figure. The exterior of the town and people
was remarkable for neatness. There was life and activity here. What
particularly pleased us was, that no shabby-looking policemen came to
demand our passports. We walked into town undisturbed by the side of a
fine-looking Indian driving a yoke of oxen.
The streets were cleanly swept, wide, and perfectly level; they ran at
right angles; each square had been nicely measured by the Jesuits who
came into the wilderness, called the savages together, and instructed
them how to build a city.
The houses are all of one story, roofed with tiles, which extend over
the sidewalks and supported on a line of posts, by which arrangement
every house in town has a piazza, and, in the wet season of the year,
people walk all round one block under cover, or all over town, only
exposed to the rain at the crossings. The floors are on the ground,
raised a very little above the level of the street. The hollow of the
square is open to all on each side, so that oxen or horses may be driven
through. One of these squares is the market place, with buildings all
round. One square in the centre of the town is perfectly open—it is
the plaza. A large wooden cross stands in the centre, directly in front
of the cathedral. At each corner of the plaza there stands also small
wooden crosses, roughly hewn. Next the cathedral stands the government
house, the only one of two stories in the place. Here we met the prefect
of the department of the Beni. As we knew him before he was appointed,
in Cochabamba, he received us as old acquaintances.
One of the government houses was put in order for us, that is to say,
a small table, three chairs, and bedsteads, with hide bottoms, were
put in, with a jar of water, and the floor well swept. Our baggage was
brought up by those of the crew not sent to the hospital, some distance
from town, where numbers went every day with the small pox. Our hamacs
slung up, Mamoré lay down at the door, and we were housed in Mojos.
The crew came to take leave after every thing had been brought from the
boat; they were going home to San Pedro, to their wives and families,
after being absent on a voyage of over a month. We have been seven days
descending from Vinchuta; they were twenty days on the river from this
place up.
The old captain made a short speech of thanks for the crew, who seemed
perfectly satisfied with what they received in addition to the cotton
cloth. "Nig" was more pleased than any when presented with the hide rope
he used to lasso the alligator. "Padre" was sent to the hospital; the
remainder left immediately.
The doctor of the town is down with the small pox a few doors from us,
and one hundred cases at the hospital. We have come into the midst of
it, and are obliged to remain to make arrangements to get out of the
Madeira Plate, which is considered difficult. There are three ways to
reach the Atlantic ocean; one by the Paraguay river; the other across
the empire of Brazil, from the town of Matto Grosso to Rio Janeiro, and
the third by the Madeira to the Amazon. These roads all pass through
tribes of savage Indians. We must try all three before we turn back
towards the Pacific.
We dined with the prefect and all the officers of the prefectura,
besides some of the correjidores of the neighboring towns in the
province. The correjidor or governor of Trinidad, under the immediate
eye of the prefect, is an Indian; but those of the smaller towns are
creoles, appointed by the prefect, and approved by the government.
[Illustration: HOUSED IN MOJOS.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The beef was tough and insipid; yucas watery. The correjidores
particularly fancied boiled cabbage, baked plantains and yucas served
as bread, except on particular occasions, when corn-cake, made of grain
mashed into paste between two stones, was presented. The corn is raised
on the pampa near the river banks, and the stones sold in market, after
being transported from Yuracares.
A row of large glasses containing chicha was set in the middle of the
table, to which the government officials paid particular attention.
One of the young men at the table had the goitre very badly, though the
swelling was so low down on his neck that he could tie his cravat over
it, which gave him a most strange expression. We attribute the insipid
taste of the beef of dinner, and the swelling in this man's neck, to
the same cause—the want of salt.
The coffee was excellent, but the tobacco not so good as some we found
in Cochabamba from Santa Cruz, where the plant grows under a drier
climate.
Don Antonio de Barras Cordoza, a native of Pará in Brazil, came to see
us. Don Antonio seems a clever person. He had more resolution in the
expression of his face than any man we had met with, while he looked as
if he had seen some hard service as a sailor on the Amazon. The quick
and pleasant flash of his eye, when I told him I wanted to descend the
Madeira and Amazon to Pará, gave me hopes. He told me he had been seven
months on his voyage here from Borba on the Madeira river; that he had
dragged his boats over the land on rollers by several of the falls on
the Madeira, unloading his cargo at the foot of each fall, and, after
carrying it by the fall, launched his boat and embarked again. His
father had made a trip of the same kind some years before. He advised me
not to take a Mojos canoe or crew; that the boat would be broken among
the rocks, and that the Indians of Bolivia were so inexperienced they
would be of no use to me, even if they did not desert me as soon as they
came within the sound of the roaring of the waters of the first fall, as
they had already done with some Bolivians who attempted to descend the
river with them. It was very clear that our only way was to give up all
idea of aid from the canoemen of Bolivia in this respect, and look to
Brazil. The prefect might order men to descend the Madeira, and we might
go at once; but Indians are unwilling to go a great distance from home.
One month to them is considered a long voyage, therefore they would want
to return in that time; but, by Don Antonio's account, it will take
them at least seven months to return alone. The Indians keep count of
the number of days absent from their wives by cutting a small notch in
the handle of their paddles every seventh day, and a crew that returns
with over four notches has been absent a long time from Trinidad, it is
thought.
Don Antonio explained to me how it was that the canoes of Mojos were not
fitted for the route down the Madeira. They are all hewn or dug out of
one stick, long and narrow. When the crew drag the canoe over shallows
in the river, she may lodge on a rock under the centre; the heavy
weights fore and aft, on a boat forty feet long, break her back in two.
The heft, as well as the length of these canoes, make them unmanageable
among the rapids. When we come to navigate the land, he said, she might
go along as well as other boats, but they were unfit for the waters of
the Madeira.
Don Antonio was a trader; he had brought up a cargo of fancy glassware;
liquors of different kinds—French wines, brandy, gin, and sweet wines.
The Indians drink chicha; they are unaccustomed to the taste of good
wine, and care little for it; they also use earthenware. For four months
he has been here with goods exposed to view in a house on the corner
of the square. He has sold but little. The iron he brought sells at
eighteen and twenty cents the pound. He has but a few pounds that is not
sold. Sweet oil is used among the few creoles, but they refuse to take
it by the bottle; so he retails it out, six cents a wineglassful.
He invites the people to purchase fire-rockets by setting off a few now
and then at the corner of the plaza. A Creole comes along and gives him
so many pounds of cacao for so many rockets, which he takes, knowing he
will have to send the cacao to Santa Cruz to get money for it.
I lived with Don Antonio, and mention with confidence and respect, that
when we had eggs they were purchased with a handful of salt for two;
a wineglass four times filled with sweet oil paid for a chicken; two
glasses bought a pound of sugar. A jar of molasses was offered us as a
present from the correjidor; and a lady sent a pair of ducks, for which
a bottle of sweet wine was returned. In this act Don Antonio displayed
the most exquisite gallantry and generosity, so considered by her lady
friends next door.
Don Antonio owned the only two boats from the Amazon on the upper
waters, which were of the proper build for the falls in the Madeira.
He offered me one of his small boats when it returned from the Itenez
river, but he had no men. I was obliged to wait and go with him to
Brazil to get them.
We met an Englishman here who had made a voyage over the falls in the
Madeira and back with Señor Palacios. He also advised me not to trust
the Mojos Indians on such a journey. This was discouraging, for I was
uncertain how long we might be kept without knowing whether we would
eventually succeed or not. This was the dry season, and the proper time
to move forward. Should we be delayed until December in this plate, our
chances were over until next year.
The Department of the Beni has a population of 30,148 friendly Indians
and creoles, of which 6,732 Indian men, between the ages of eighteen and
fifty years, and only 325 creoles, pay contribution to the government
of two dollars each a year. There are 985 men in this department over
fifty years of age, and they are excused from paying this tax, as well
as the women and children.
The government of Bolivia settles accounts with the church for the
Indians out of the annual income of $13,464. The Indians pay this tax
in cotton table cloths, sheets, hamacs, towels, ponchos, and pieces of
cotton goods made by their own hands. They cultivate maize and coffee,
tobacco, yuca, oranges, plantains, lemons, and papayas; cocoa grows wild
along the rivers; rice is raised in small quantities.
A home-made tablecloth is worth three dollars; there were over seven
hundred exported last year from this department. A pair of sheets costs
five dollars and fifty cents; a hamac, five; a towel, two. Over three
thousand yards of Indian domestic cotton cloth were also exported last
year, at thirty-one and a quarter cents a yard; dry hides are valued
at twelve and a half cents; tiger skins, two dollars; straw hats,
from fifty cents to one dollar; coffee, three dollars; tamarinds, two
dollars; tobacco, one dollar and twenty-five cents; and cocoa, two
dollars the arroba of twenty-five pounds; prepared chocolate is worth
eighteen and three-quarter cents a pound.
It is difficult to estimate the annual yield of cacao—last year over
eight thousand arrobas were sent to the people on the Andes. Horned
cattle on the pampa are worth two dollars a head. A few Brazil nuts are
brought into the market of Trinidad, where they sell at one dollar the
arroba.
This is a list of the exports from the very bottom of the Madeira
Plate—all of which are sent out against the current and up the sides
of the Andes. There are a few Indians in Yuracares who pay contribution
in cinchona bark; it has to be entered at the sub-treasury here; forty
arrobas have come down in a year. The Indian is allowed eight dollars
and seventy five cents the arroba when it is forwarded to the Pacific
ocean.
While the door of this interior is at the head of the Madeira river, the
people go back up-stairs, and pass their goods and chattels over the
roof, down through the chimney, to the Pacific; stemming the current,
and struggling against difficulties among the clouds, through storms
and dangers, passing through cold, frozen regions, on the way to market;
leaving a most productive country road, and passing through one less and
less valuable, until they get into a desert, the off-side of which may
be approached by a ship; while Don Antonio has brought his vessels from
the Atlantic ocean, and is trying to sell them the very articles they
are struggling for at such great expense from the other direction. He
has brought a cargo of glassware and Pennsylvania iron up the Madeira,
while they seem to insist upon getting New England tools over the Andes.
He expresses to me the great difficulty he finds in selling his cargo.
The creoles seem perfectly contented with the trade as it is; some of
them have gone so far as to express an opinion that, should commerce
be made to flow through the Madeira, it will _destroy_ their present
_prosperity_.
The department of the Beni is considered by the government the dungeon
of this country. When a man's opinions are thought by the president to
endanger the public peace, he is banished to the Beni. He leaves his
domicil on the tops of the Andes, and comes down under the tamarind
trees of Mojos. This band of exiles settle here amidst an industrious
tribe of Indian planters. By their superior intelligence and greater
recklessness, as a race, they out-trade the Indians. The Indian
produces all the necessaries of life—he makes hats, cotton cloths, and
leather shoes; tends the cattle; manufactures sugar; raises coffee and
chocolate, yuca and plantains; builds houses; bakes the pottery, and
lassoes the horse on the prairie for the creole to ride. He is brought
under control, and obeys as a servant.
We find our enterprise less popular here than anywhere upon our route.
The prefect of the department tells me he doubts if one of the people
will consent to go down with me to the Amazon; that Señor Palacios
was one of the government authorities, and the Indians did not dare
to disobey when they were called upon to go on his expedition; but the
Englishman says the men had such a rough time of it on that occasion,
that when they returned and told their families and neighbors, it made
such an impression they refused to go again, and deserted from the
canoes. One of the correjidores fitted out an expedition for Pará; when
the Indians ran, he confessed he had to run with them for fear of being
left to starve in the wilderness. They have less fear of savages, it is
said, than of the roaring sound of the falling waters.
I rode two leagues over the pampa with Don Antonio, to visit his
vessels, which we found moored by the bank of the Ybaré river. The
largest, the size of a line-of-battle ship's launch built upon, had a
covered cabin, and a roof over the forward part of the hold, called
by the Amazon sailor "Coberta." The second one was also covered,
but smaller, called "Igarite." They are without masts, propelled on
the river by paddles or poles, and prepared to pass over the land on
rollers. The largest one mounted a small four-pound iron gun, which
Don Antonio fired off when the new prefect arrived; and the sound of
that little gun was echoed through the whole of this country by the
newspapers.
On the Andes we found two languages spoken by the Indians of the great
tribes, the Quichua and Aymara, both in the days of the Incas under
the same government. But in the Madeira Plate, the Indians living on
the same plain are divided into small tribes, and speaking different
languages, between the Inca territory and uncivilized tribes of
savages below them. Here, in the city of Trinidad, the tribe is called
_Mojos_, speaking the same language as the Indians of the three nearest
towns—Loreto, San Javier, and San Ignacio. In Santa Ana the language
differs; the Indians speak _Mobimos_; in San Pedro, _Canichanos_;
in Exaltacion, _Cayuvaba_; in San Ramon, Magdelina, and San José del
Guacaraje, _Itonama_; in San Borja, _Borgano_; in Reyes, _Reyesano_; in
San Ivaquin, _Baures_ and _Yuracares_.
Here are nine different languages or dialects in the same district of
level country, and we recognise a difference in the physiognomies of the
Yuracares, Mojos, and Canichanas tribes. The Yuracares are more lively,
cheerful, and talkative; they are lighter colored, more fond of hunting
and rambling through the woods than the others. The Mojos Indians are a
grave, sedate, and thoughtful people. They are larger than the men of
Yuracares. The women are considered handsome; those of Yuracares are
very homely. Here the girls are large, well developed, and pleasant;
there they are small and cross-tempered, looking as though they wanted
to quarrel with men. Here they take their rights without asking. The
Mojos Indians are particularly fond of cultivating the soil; they drive
the ox-team well. The boys run away from school to the plough-field,
where they seem to enjoy the labor, or paddle the canoe with a load
of fruit to market. They have little fancy for the town or house; the
older ones like farming the best, and the women seem satisfied to stay
at home. These Indians carry no bows and arrows about with them, except
on long voyages up and down the river. Since domestic cattle were
introduced, they have put aside the arrow and taken up the lasso, which
they handle well. They know nothing of fire-arms, never having used
them. The Spanish race has stripped them of all means of defence, except
the war-club, should they choose to cut one. They are civil, quiet, and
peaceable; seldom quarrel among themselves, and are already taught the
consequences should they do so with the creole, who treats them worse
than slaves. The humble Indian obeys the meanest creole. The laws are
made for the creole, not for him; he pays the same annual tax, yet he
has no vote. He is ignorant of the laws by which he is governed. But
one case has been known where the correjidor had been so overbearing and
cruel in his treatment of them that they put him to death and burnt the
government house. These sent to say they would obey any one else the
President might appoint over them. They built a new government house,
and were ever after quiet. These were the Canichanas, the same as our
faithful canoemen, who appear to be spirited fellows.
The province of Mojos extends to the east as far as the Itenez river,
which is the boundary line between it and Brazil. The country is
inhabited by wild tribes of savages, upon whom the Jesuits never could
make any impression, for they will neither hold friendly intercourse
with the Spanish race nor with the friendly Indians. They are warlike in
disposition, and meet all overtures on the part of others at the point
of their arrows.
The labors of the Jesuits, here, were much more difficult than on the
mountains, where the whole nation seemed as one man to fall under the
new order of things after the Spanish conquest. Here all the different
tribes had to be approached with distinct care, for as their language
and dispositions differed, their forms of worship also in some degree
varied from each other. The Jesuits were untiring in their efforts, and
made advances to them all. Many of the priests were murdered in their
moral struggle with the red man.
The few Spaniards who followed down the eastern slope of the Andes at
the heels of the priests, and settled near the line, have not assisted
the workings of the church; for, wherever they have met the savage, a
difficulty between them have caused continuous wars, and now the savage
deposition of the red man excites a constant desire for revenge.
The Spanish schools are drawing the children of these different tribes
closer together by teaching them lessons from the same language. The
Bolivian government has adopted a wise plan to bind these ignorant
people together. The fewer number of languages the more friendly
disposed people become towards each other.
We have seen on the mountains the effect of the Quichua speech taught by
the Inca family to the wild tribes that inhabited those regions. There
remained but two languages from the equator to the southern boundary
of Potosi, and the highest state of civilization. From what we see of
the Mojos Indians they are quite as intelligent, and even more so, than
the Quichuas or Aymaras, who never manufactured the wool of the alpaca
or vicuña so well as the Mojos Indians do the cotton. The stone-work
of the Quichuas or Aymaras does not surpass the wood-work of these. The
stone chisel in the hand of the Cuzco or Tiahuanaco Indian was skilfully
used; but we see at a glance in how superior a manner the Mojos Indian
employs carpenter's tools. The mountain Indians have been praised for
their natural talent in painting. Some of the productions in Trinidad
would amuse the critic; yet the highest taste is found here. The lesson
in colors is nowhere more plainly set before the eye. We have seen in
the hand of a Mojos Indian a bird the size of a sparrow, with seven
distinct colors among its feathers; probably there is no part of the
world where there are a greater variety of beautifully-colored birds
than in the Madeira Plate.
The aptness of these people in learning is not second to those of the
mountains. They cultivate the sugar-cane quite as well as the others
do the barley, and when we examined the woollen goods of the mountain
girls, and compared them with the white cotton dresses of the fair
ones on the banks of the rivers in the lowlands, both made by their own
hands, we must give preference to the manufactures of Mojos, with all
deference to the memory of Manco Capac's wife, who taught the mountain
girls to net and knit, to spin and to weave. The Mojos women are few in
number, and the people of the next tribe being as exclusive as those
of Japan, the manufacturers of the one tribe had no opportunities to
exchange with them ideas.
The Mojos Indians have a natural fondness for painting human figures
and representing birds and animals, particularly the common chicken and
the cow. The latter seems to have made a deep impression upon them at
first sight; they often paint the cow fighting or chasing a man. These
Indians describe the novel sights. I have not seen a single painting
of an Indian or of an animal which originally belonged on this pampa.
The white man, the cow, and chicken cock, are their favorite studies.
On the white walls of their houses, inside and out, such figures
appear as a decoration. In the rooms of the government houses the best
artist displayed his talent, and those drawings on the walls of the
market-place are admired by all who go there. So much taste and caution
have the boys and little children, that none of them are known to
disfigure any of these paintings in the public market-place.
The Indians of Cuzco have had some of the most beautiful, large, and
costly paintings hung before them in the churches of that ancient city.
The church encourages this taste; yet we saw nothing there like what we
find among these people who have never had lessons set them, and the
natural scenery here is less calculated to draw upon the imagination.
The whole country is a dead level; the view only extends to the horizon,
the sky above, and one continued sheet of herd grass below.
The Mojos Indian makes a scene for himself, and describes it with
colored paints. On a windy day he strikes light and puts fire to the
dry prairie-grass. As the wind carries the fire swiftly along, and the
sheets of blaze shoot up under the heavy cloud of smoke, the Indian
sketches the effect produced upon the cattle, who toss their tails into
the air, and rush in fear with heads erect at the top of their speed in
an opposite direction to that from which the wind comes. He decorates
the inside wall of his house with this scene, which is a common one on
these prairie lands.
The Mojos Indians have musical talent also, what the Quichua Indians
want. The Aymaras have a little, but the Mojos are decided by natural
characteristics: they play the guitar, violin, and flute; blow their
organic pipes, and beat the drum. They accompany the instruments with
a sweet voice, and read music with ease. They all take part in church
music, while on the mountains a regular choir is employed.
The altar of the cathedral is beautifully carved out of ornamental
woods, adorned with hundreds of dollars' worth of silver. The
candlesticks are made of tin, and the candles are tallow. The silver
and tin came from Potosi. The wood and tallow are close at hand.
We are ignorant of the means used by the Jesuits to incline the savages
to collect together on a swell of the pampa, and plant the corner post
of this cathedral. They could not understand the white man's language;
they worshipped what they saw before them on the plain, in the heavens,
and among the woods; and yet they were induced to erect a church, kneel
in it, and worship the God who made them as well as the animals. All
this was accomplished by a series of signs of the hand.
Don Antonio brought among his cargo some gold ornaments manufactured in
France and Portugal; amidst other similar articles, a number of gilded
beads. The Indian women of the town of Exaltacion fancied and purchased
a quantity of them. They were sold as gold beads, just as a jeweller
disposes of such things. The Indian women put one of them into the
fire, and after heating it well and then cooling it, placed it by the
side of some others. The change of color proved to them that the beads
contained alloy. They were at once deposited in the hands of the police
and sent back to Don Antonio, who had left for this place. He laid the
case before the prefect, and informed him the beads had not been sold
as pure gold, but as ornaments. The beads were forwarded to a jeweller
in Cochabamba to determine their true value, which was as Don Antonio
said. But the Indians would not receive them. They answered that the
beads were not pure, and for that reason they did not wish them, nor
would they wear such things if they were manufactured in Paris. He had
to return their money.
Gold manufactured into ornaments in this country is generally worked
up just as it comes from the river, without the application of any
artificial alloy. The Indians do not understand this art of mixing.
The Spaniards often do; and the Indians have their own way of proving
the impositions sometimes practised on them. The Brazilian merchant was
exceedingly annoyed at the idea of being considered dishonest by those
he had been dealing fairly with. He tried in vain to show that he sold
the beads for less than if they had been pure. It was of no use; the
Indians had their ideas of what they should be; they did not want the
reasoning, but pure gold beads.
Don Antonio made a young mestizo girl a present of a gilded chain,
because she had purchased a number of ribbons and silk handkerchiefs
from him. She brought it back a short time after, and thanked him for
it, saying it was of no use. They had put it into the fire, and it very
soon turned copperish. He was much displeased with her, because he had
made it a present; but she answered, "Had your present been pure, I
should have valued it."
Shot-guns are valuable; but the people refuse to pay coin for them;
there is very little here indeed. The Amazon trader, who comes from
a cacao-producing country, is invited to accept so many pounds of
chocolate for a shot-gun, or to exchange shot for the same article.
The copper coin and paper money of Brazil are of no value here. The
smallest coins in Bolivia are three-cent silver pieces. There is no
copper currency. The metal is found on the plains of Oruro in too great
abundance. Neither have they paper money in Bolivia as in Brazil.
The authorities mentioned to Don Antonio he would be expected to pay
a duty for every thousand dollars he may collect in silver and gold in
the country. The people seem jealous of the foreigner who brings them
goods and carries off silver.