ACROSS THE CORDILLERA TO THE RIO TAMBO
Professor Edward Alsworth Ross in his book _South of Panama_ says of
Peru:
"Were I to be exiled, and confined the rest of my life to one country,
I should choose Peru. Here is every altitude, every climate, every
scene. The lifeless desert and the teeming jungle, the hottest lowlands
and the bleakest highlands, heaven-piercing peaks and rivers raving
through canyons--all in Peru. The crassest heathenism flourishes two
days in the saddle from noble cathedrals, and the bustling ports are
counterpoised by secluded inland towns where the past lies miraculously
preserved like the mummy of the saint in a crypt."
The greatest part of Peru lies east of the Andes. It is also the least
known part of Peru for it is rarely visited by strangers or mining men
or commercial travelers. The part they see is the desert coast line
with its dirty, poverty-stricken towns, the bleak barren peaks that
fringe the Pacific littoral, here and there a spot of verdure at the
mouth of a river, and Lima, the capital. A few others, mostly mining
men and engineers, take a trip to the summit of nearby mountains on
the Oroya railroad, sojourn in the mining towns, suffer from cold and
lonesomeness, and swear that Peru is the damnedest country on the face
of the globe, and are heartily glad when the time comes for them to
leave, vowing never to return again. Barely a handful of these people
ever cross the passes of the eastern cordillera, and descend the banks
of the rivulets formed from the melting of the perpetual snows until
these rivulets become streams, the country opens out, and the climate
changes from that of the arctic regions to that of the temperate
zone and finally changes again to that of the tropics. If the tourist
journeyed farther he would find himself in a vast forest of tropical
trees, impenetrable, and the home of wild Indians of the blowpipe
variety, who roam the great swamps and jungles clad not even in a loin
cloth. He would meet mighty rivers as wide as our widest ones, would
observe flora such as is only seen in our hothouses, and would see many
species of fauna which he has never seen except at a zoo. This great,
and for the most part unexplored, section of Peru is part of the Amazon
watershed and forms a wilderness of forest which is the continuation
of that of Brazil. The Amazon and many of its tributaries rise near
the summits of the Andes, and cutting their passage in deep gorges and
canyons ever widening in their descent down the eastern slope of the
great barrier range of mountains, finally reach the lowlands and flow
peacefully in the direction of the Atlantic Ocean, their volume of
water being continually augmented by an inpour of thousands of similar
smaller streams.
A person who is at the mouth of a great river longs to follow it up to
its source, likewise a person standing at the source or at the side
of a little stream which he can step across and know that thousands
of miles away it flows into the ocean as a mighty river, is fascinated
and a longing comes over him to descend it and follow it to its outlet,
especially if it happens to be in a country that is new to him and the
course of the flowing road lies through a stretch of the universe that
to him is an unsolved mystery. Twice before I have stood at the sources
of tributaries to the Amazon, and each time I could hardly resist the
temptation of following them downward. Once was at Huancayo on the
Mantaro. This river flows eastward and joins the Apurimac, forming
the Rio Tambo. The latter joins the Urubamba, forming the Ucayali.
The Ucayali joins the Maranon, forming the main stream of the Amazon.
The other time was at La Paz at the headwaters of the Chuquillampo.
This river descends very steeply through a wild gorge named the Yungas
and flows into the Altamachi. The latter flows into the Beni which in
turn empties into the Madeira. The Madeira flows into the Amazon. As
I was limited for time on each of these previous occasions I had to
forego the pleasure and excitement of such a thrilling expedition. Also
the descent of either of these rivers would have been impracticable
without a large expedition because their courses lie through a country
inhabited by savage Indians which would make traveling extremely
dangerous.
In Lima this time the idea occurred to me, since I had been twice
thwarted in my desire to descend the length of the Amazon basin and
might never have another chance if not at present, that it would be a
good stunt to obtain all possible information about what route to take,
and if feasible to make another attempt. I spoke about it to Prat who
did not fall in with the idea very well as he had a wholesome fear of
the wild tribes which he was told infested the whole forest region of
Amazonian Peru. After a considerable palaver he finally agreed to take
a chance and since we were told at the American consulate that the best
way to make the trip would be by the way of the Chanchamayo and the
Perene Rivers, we determined upon this last-mentioned route and then
started to make preparations.
There lives in Lima one of the best fellows that I have ever become
a chance acquaintance of. His name is Tomas de Mandalangoitia and
by occupation he is an official of the Peruvian line of steamers
plying between Ilo and Panama. He gave me much information about my
prospective trip and as his intentions were to sail the next week
for Panama on business for his company, he offered to see that all
our baggage would get through safely to that port. This he did, and
to him I am extremely thankful as otherwise I would have never been
able to make the trip. I left the details of the first stages of the
trip to Signor Francesco Sansoni, the courier of the Hotel Maury, who
telegraphed to the different stopping places en route as far as the
Perene Colony, making reservations for me for horses, and accommodation
for me, with guides. He arranged my itinerary and also made in Lima
what necessary purchases we would require. The latter consisted of
a portable stove, tent, blankets, rifles, revolvers, sack of beans,
salt, sugar, molasses, and buckskin shoes. I also carried a camera
and medicine chest. I might as well mention that I went to all this
expense for nothing because on the Rio Tambo our boat upset and we
lost everything in the water excepting the clothes we had on, our
money which with our letters of credit we had tied around our persons
in a belt, and our revolvers with a box of cartridges which we had in
our pockets. Prat even lost his hat and was obliged to buy an Indian
piece of headgear from a native boatman which he wore until we reached
Iquitos a month later.
[Illustration: Llamas at Casapalca
Casapalca is about 14,000 feet above sea level]
The railroad to Oroya, the highest in the world, has been described
so many times that it is unnecessary to do so now. In even hours one
is taken from Lima to an altitude of 15,865 feet and then dropped
down 3686 feet to the junction town of Oroya, from which place a
railroad runs northward to Cerro de Pasco, and another one southward
to Huancayo. At Casapalca near to the summit of the Andes west of the
divide there was a herd of llamas numbering about three hundred behind
the railroad sheds. I obtained a good photograph of them which is here
reproduced. Most of the people on the train suffered from _soroche_, a
mountain sickness akin to vertigo and nausea which is due to the rapid
change in atmosphere that the traveler undergoes when he is whisked
into the high, nitrogenous altitudes. It commonly takes several days
before the unaccustomed person feels all right again. At Oroya there
is a fair hotel, the Junin, where I was obliged to stop over night and
where the raw air nearly chilled me through on account of my previous
sojourn in the sub-tropics. Oroya is 12,179 feet above sea level and is
a bleak, dismal place at its best. The wind blows something fierce and
chills one's very marrow. I told Prat that he had better dress warmly
but the Spaniard said that since we were only to endure a few days'
frigidity he could stand it. It was laughable to see him shiver in his
Palm Beach suit and watch him chase his straw sailor hat which a gust
of wind would occasionally blow off. Even though I was warmly clad, I
was obliged to crawl under four blankets with all my clothes on when I
retired that night.
At six o'clock the next morning we were awakened and upon emerging
from the front door found a cholo guide, who Francesco Sansoni had
telegraphed for, awaiting us with four mules, one for the baggage. We
had so much paraphernalia with us that it would have been impossible to
load it all upon one mule, so I had it divided somewhat in order that
the three mules which we were to ride would bear some of the burden. We
were ready to start out at any time after breakfast was served, which
we had ordered for 6.30 A.M., but seven o'clock slipped by without
any of the servants having prepared any. I went into the kitchen and
asked the cook to hurry with it, but he said that the proprietor was
asleep and had the keys of the pantry. I told him to awaken him, but
the cholo cook was evidently afraid to disturb the sleep of his Italian
master. It was nearly nine o'clock before we got away after we had
partaken of some stale rolls and several cups of poor coffee. For an
hour and a half after starting we climbed a broad, well-traveled path
up the western slopes of the barren mountains, until we reached the
summit where there was a pass at an altitude of 13,975 feet above sea
level. This pass is the dividing line between the Mantaro and the Palca
watersheds, both of which belong to the Amazon basin. The Mantaro flows
in a southeasterly direction out of Lake Junin and as a creek flows
past the towns of Oroya and Jauja, ever increasing in volume so that
it is quite respectable in size at Huancayo. Beyond the summit was a
large uneven plain from which rose many rounded hills and stony buttes
and which was sprinkled here and there with coarse tufts of bunch
grass at which we saw llamas grazing. These mountain plateaus are in
Chile called pampas, in Bolivia and Southern Peru, _punos_, but here
and farther north as far as Colombia, _paramos_. It took us an hour to
cross this plain which sloped gently to the east; then began a rough
descent over stony ground on the eastern slopes of the mountain till
we reached a formation where a depression of the ground showed us was
the beginning of a valley. The grasses became more abundant and a few
shrubs appeared. The lower we descended, the more these shrubs took on
the appearance of trees so that now the country had a totally different
aspect from the barrenness of Oroya and the high plateau. The path had
broadened considerably so that it nearly assumed a road-like width, and
we met many droves of llamas followed up by drivers on muleback. All
were carrying merchandise to the railroad. In a few days they would
return with the products of the civilized world imported from North
America and Europe. We now came upon the south bank of a fastly flowing
stream and followed this for about five hours, riding very slowly and
taking in the landscape which was becoming less wild all the time. A
few miles before reaching Tarma the banks of the creek were clothed
with patches of calla lilies, growing wild, in their original native
state, the dark green of their arrow-shaped leaves forming a brilliant
color contrast with the creamy whiteness of their blossoms and the
golden yellow of their petals. A cleft in the mountains was seen ahead,
which showed us that our creek here joined another river, which was
true for here the Acomayo was reached. Presently the red tile roofs of
Tarma were seen among the eucalyptus groves and soon we clattered down
an avenue bordered by trees and on each side of which ran irrigation
ditches. At the end of this avenue was an ornamental gate built into
the solid walls of the buildings and which looked like a triumphal
arch. Under this we passed and then entered the narrow streets of the
city, drawing up at the Hotel Roma on the plaza, where rooms reserved
for us by Sansoni were awaiting our occupancy.
[Illustration: Tarma, Peru]
Tarma is a very pleasant town of five thousand inhabitants in an ideal
location in a narrow valley which it seems to fill at the base of high
mountains. Its altitude is 10,010 feet above sea level but it lacks the
chill of such highly situated towns east of the cordillera. Here the
cold winds from the high paramos and ice peaks do not reach owing to
its sheltered position. The air is fresh, but not raw and reminds one
of the first breezes of spring. I was told by the accommodating Italian
hotel proprietor that the climate is that of a perpetual spring.
The city is compactly built with one- and two-story adobe houses, those
on the main streets being painted light colors or whitewashed. In the
center of the town is a treeless plaza but beautified with shrubs in
which is a round cement fountain and an octagonal frame bandstand. At
one side of this plaza is the parish church in charge of an amiable
fat priest, a cholo who has but a slight strain of white blood as can
be observed by his dark, heavy jowled features. He was clad in a white
robe of coarse wool over which hung a dark cape. He seemed very much
interested in us and gave us letters of introduction to other priests
along the road which we would follow. These he handed to Prat who
accidentally lost them on purpose; the Catalonian in his heart was an
agnostic, and a Roman Catholic only in his bringing up. He would walk
a block out of his way to avoid meeting a priest, yet when he was sick
would always want to have one about him. He would never enter a church
and would make sacrilegious remarks, yet when a thunderstorm would
come up, he would cross himself and mumble prayers only to forget them
as soon as the sky became clear again. Padre Troncoso was the name of
the Tarma priest and he delighted in having me take his photograph.
He teaches in the parish school and asked me to take a picture of his
highest class which consisted of sixteen boys, most of whom were white.
The Hotel Roma is a two-story structure with a carved wooden balcony on
its second floor; its exterior is much like many buildings in Stamboul.
It is a very comfortable and clean place with good food. There is
another hotel in Tarma, the Umberto, which is well spoken of. The most
curious sight in the small city is the cemetery. It reminds one of a
Chinese burying ground. It is filled with many grotesque monuments,
some of them having tiled roofs. These individual tombstones are of
adobe, and are whitewashed over. They contain several niches into which
the coffins are placed and they are so narrow that the gruesome burdens
may be put in them at either end.
[Illustration: Cemetery, Tarma]
We left Tarma early in the morning and followed the Acomayo River
a couple of hours to the town of Acobamba, a pretty village much
resembling Tarma only smaller. We watered our mules here, tarried about
an hour, and then continued for another two hours to the city of Palca
which is very much like both Tarma and Acobamba, although smaller than
the first-mentioned place and larger than the last-mentioned one. It is
a poorer place than Tarma, but it has a larger church. This building
is several hundred years old; it is of adobe, and has a broad façade
from one side of which rises a four-story belfry capped with a steeple.
The valley is here very narrow but beyond Palca there is a widening
where the Acomayo flows into the Rio Palca. This river we followed
the rest of the day. The scenery between Tarma and Palca is much the
same, and is distinguished by the number of century plants along the
roadside and the abundance of calla lilies along the river bed. Some
of these lilies were spotted and likewise had light spots on their
leaves. Leaving Palca there was a much more varied vegetation. This
was noticeable when we crossed the river and we proceeded along its
south bank. The mountains were still barren but were beginning to show
unmistakable signs by the increased number of bushes on their slopes
that we were approaching a wetter climate. The river itself had all
the attractions of a clear, rushing mountain torrent working its way
among the rocks and bowlders; its banks of shale rock were steep and
thickly clothed with vegetable life of many species. Among the latter
were wild verbenas of the brightest scarlet, purple begonias, several
varieties of fern, wild tobacco plants, and a creeper much like the
wild cucumber. An hour beyond Palca we arrived at the hill of Carpapata
down whose sides the road zigzagged in many windings. The natives have
made a short cut between the zigzags which saves a couple of kilometers
but which is too steep to be descended in comfort. Up and down this
short cut they drive their llamas which take readily to its steepness
like mountain sheep. Arrived near the bottom of the hill the road leads
along the ledge of a cliff high above the turbulent river. To look
down or up is apt to cause giddiness. This is the famous scene that
is portrayed in the geographies of half a century ago where a llama
train is meeting a mule train on a curve at the side of a precipice.
The view with the river flowing at the bottom of the gorge is truly
impressive. The mountains on either side are sheer and rocky, their
upper slopes covered only with grass, their bases clothed with shrubs.
Straight before us leading to a veritable land of promise lay the road,
threading its way on a gentle downward grade, perpetually alternating
from the convex to the concave on the ledge of the mountains. Ahead of
us on the other side of the canyon a single mountain appeared clad with
forest trees up to its very summit, the first that I had seen in Peru.
As we drew nearer it became a scene of enchanting beauty, with its
colorings of light green and gray. From the underbrush near its summit
there was poured forth a large waterfall, which dashed down its entire
height in three separate cascades for several hundred feet.
Towards evening we reached the rest house named the Huacapistana Hotel,
at an exact altitude of 5600 feet above sea level. This is the real
gateway to the tropics. The hotel, owned by an Italian, is built on
a narrow shelf of land in a flowery meadow above the river and below
the road. It is a clean well-kept two-story building with half a dozen
guests' rooms. Adjoining it and separated from the meadow by a stone
wall is a barn and a corral for horses and llamas. The climate is fresh
but it is much warmer than at Tarma. A mist gathered over the river
that night which made the atmosphere rather chilly. This is frequently
the case and it does not lift until the sun is well out the next
morning.
We got an early start the next day and found the road, which was now
smooth, wet, and slippery from the mist. The tree trunks and branches
were rich in symbiotic life, with ferns, lianas, and orchidaceous
plants of many species. The wild cotton trees were laden with festoons
of roseate blossoms, and from the extremities of their slender branches
would be seen hanging large wasps' nests. Other nests such as those of
bees and ants of a gray color spotted the rocks or any available bare
space on the smooth bark of a tree. The effect of the giant tree fern
spreading its graceful fronds over the path was enchanting; beneath
its shade grew seemingly every other species of fern which one has
ever noticed in hothouses at home. We passed several small coffee
plantations; in the clearings near the houses were banana, orange, and
papaya trees. The tit-shaped fruit of the latter is so common that it
is left unpicked for the birds to feed on. The pods attain maturity
in regular sequence from the lowest to the highest, swelling in size,
changing from green to yellow, and becoming soft and possessing an
insipid sweetish odor. In the matter of vegetation generally, the
above description may be fairly said to characterize the whole region;
orchids, scarlet cannas, the broad-leafed caladium or elephant's ear,
purple, white, and pink begonias, scarlet verbenas; creepers, ferns,
and mosses; forest trees, reeds, grasses, and plant life generally,
interspersed with huge bowlders and masses of weatherbeaten rock of a
chalky whiteness, all contributing to the formation of the most perfect
fairy scene imaginable.
Occasionally one would meet with a blaze of color from some wild cotton
trees, laden with flowers, pink, yellow, and even blue; and equally
striking was the effect of a species of wild runner bean with dark
green leaves and thick bunches of vermilion flowers hanging in tresses,
and appearing to nearly smother the tree which gave it support.
The road made a sudden double turn to reach a lower level by the side
of the river, and then became a low-roofed passage cut beneath an
immense wall of overhanging rock, open and unsupported on the river
side, and in plain view of the turbulent stream below. The softest and
most luxuriant vegetation covers this rock, and it is overhung in many
places with the graceful tape fern, and the snakelike roots of trees.
Here I saw a large toucan fly across the ravine and its brilliant
plumage of scarlet and black added a still further charm to the scene.
The next view after passing beneath the rocky projection is one which
can never fail to arrest the attention. At a distance ahead, sufficient
to enable one to take in the whole picture, rises the Pan de Azucar
(Sugar Loaf), a mountain in the middle of the now broadened river bed.
Its marvelous shape and mantle of green forest trees, which extend to
its summit, remind one of the Pitons at Castries, St. Lucia, although
on a much smaller scale. We came to a place where there used to be a
swinging bridge but which was some time ago abandoned because the road
crosses the river by a new stone one farther down. Here on turning
around in our saddles is a view different in character but equally
impressive and grand. This is a great perpendicular patch of white rock
regularly stratified but wrinkled and most strangely contorted into the
form of an elliptical curve.
The bridges over the river which we had to cross at different stages of
the journey deserve a word of praise for their construction, combining
lightness with strength. They are of the suspension type, built of
strong cables with plank footboards, and sufficient to meet the needs
of the present light and limited mule traffic. When crossing, it is
advisable to dismount and walk, because they sway considerably and are
open at the sides. One such bridge some twelve miles below Huacapistana
leads to the hacienda of Naranjal, a sugar plantation. The only bridge
that I know of in North America similar to these swinging bridges of
Peru spans Capilano Canyon near North Vancouver, in British Columbia.
Naranjal has an old-fashioned garden with a fountain surrounded with
mango and orange trees, the latter giving the name to the place. Three
miles below Naranjal is the ranch house of Milagro, belonging to a man
named Horquiera.
San Ramon is a little village situated in the heart of the Chanchamayo
district. The country is here more open and is surrounded at varying
distances by undulations and rounded hills, thickly covered with virgin
forest; their lower slopes were, however, cleared for sugar, coffee,
and cocoa plantations. After the mist had cleared in the early morning,
the day had been hot, but full of novel interest, and although we had
made an early start we had progressed at a speed not exceeding three
miles an hour and had now only completed fifteen miles. The settlement
of San Ramon although somewhat scattered consists chiefly of one
street, the houses on which are no more than huts. They are built of
wood and have thatched roofs, the latter slanting downward in front
from the ridge of the pole. The hotel is the only substantial building
of the village. It is a two-story stone and adobe building set back
from the road in a field which is somewhat overrun with castor beans.
The six miles between San Ramon and La Merced was over fairly level
ground and through less imposing scenery. On the way we passed through
several hamlets inhabited by Chinamen and cholos, and small _chacras_
on which grew papayas and other fruits. All the buildings were of
mud or cane, thatched and of that rustic and simple character which
not only harmonizes with a natural environment, but suits the country
and climate and seems in every way to meet the needs of a primitive
population. Over the door of one such edifice was the sign which
denoted that it was used as a school. At the time of our passing, the
only scholars visible were a boy and a girl, who with their backs to
the open door, sat at a desk gazing at a monstrous colored diagram
demonstrating the evil effects of alcohol upon the human system. We
crossed the very fine Herreria suspension bridge and two hours after
leaving San Ramon entered La Merced.
La Merced is situated on a flat-topped eminence and commands a good
view of the surrounding country, but in itself it does not seem to
possess any characteristics of special interest. It is merely a small
country town with typical parish church and plaza and is in telegraphic
communication with the outside world. The inhabitants of the town have
suffered considerably from malaria which is visible on their wasted
and parchment-colored countenances. Leaving La Merced it took us three
hours to reach the Peruvian Corporation's headquarters. This is located
at the junction of the rivers Paucartambo and Chanchamayo, the combined
river taking the name of Perené. The road, which was fair, wound
around the left bank of the Chanchamayo, now a river of considerable
breadth, and the scenery once more became increasingly beautiful. Tree
ferns and tree palms of different kinds were again abundant; from one
of these species, fanlike in leaf, is made the local straw hat, but
little inferior to the so-called Panama variety. Butterflies, both
large and small, were omnipresent. The whole distance from La Merced
to the Peruvian Corporation's headquarters is about fifteen miles. The
bridge over the Colorado River, a tributary stream, was under repair,
so leaving the path we saved time and distance by fording it. In the
rainy season this would have been an impossibility, for it becomes a
raging torrent, as evidenced by the huge rounded boulders, and width of
its bed, along which we had to ride. This part, bordered by tall reeds,
towering above our heads, was now dry and led us to another arm of the
river, where a fairly strong flow of water wet our mules up to their
bellies. Regaining our path, we eventually regained the Paucartambo,
which we crossed by the means of a primitive log raft, while the guide
took the mules across by a bridge a mile down the river.
Here among the clean-washed stones of the river bed, I got my first
view of the uncivilized Indian. This was a male Chuncho native,
rifle in hand, returning from an unsuccessful hunt. At first he hid
behind some brushwood but was finally induced to come out. He was a
well-built, sturdy fellow of medium height, attired in a loose brown
robe of native manufacture. His skin was of the same hue, and his head
of thick black hair was encircled and held in place by a plain band of
cane. Sunday is a market day at the Peruvian Corporation's camp; it was
then that I saw more of these Indians. From them I obtained for a few
centavos several of their chains of colored seeds, and monkey teeth,
and ultimately procured a complete outfit, headband, more aboriginal
ornamental finery, parrots' wings with feathers attached which serve as
a loin cloth, bows and arrows. They are painted with a facial adornment
of vermilion, with the occasional addition of grease to keep the flies
and insects off. This red paint is found ready made in the seeds of
the achote, a bush of two varieties which produces maroon-colored
pods and which grows wild in the chacra clearings. These Indians who
live in the neighborhood of the settlements are mild, peaceful, and
intelligent, skilled in domestic industries which is the manufacture
of bows and arrows. They are excellent marksmen. They are somewhat
small in stature but well built. They take readily to the water and
learn to swim, and are cleaner in their habits and customs than the
cholos and mountain Indians. Filial affection is a not deeply implanted
instinct with them, and among them human life is but lightly esteemed.
While few serious crimes are committed among them, murder is accounted
as nothing. If a widow with a young family remarries, it is the all
but universal practice for the second husband to kill her children
by a previous marriage. It is also a common occurrence for a family
to throw their parents into the river when, through the infirmity of
advancing years, life becomes a burden, either to themselves, or to
those on whom they should look for support. The manager of the Peruvian
Corporation's headquarters told me that on one occasion he had the
greatest difficulty in restraining some Chunchos from throwing into
the Perené, a man who was suffering from a bad abscess, and who was
eventually cured by having it lanced. This is the fate they mete out to
all members of their tribe who are suffering from diseases which they
consider incurable.
Eighty miles below the camp, where the rivers Perené and Ené unite
to form the Tambo, dwell a colony of Campas Indians known as the
Ungoninos. Owing to the outrages perpetrated upon them by the rubber
gatherers, they offer a stout resistance to the approach of a stranger,
for they have learned not to trust the white man. Though they are not
cannibals, it is impossible to enter their territory, and in making the
cross-country journey to Iquitos, it is necessary to go by the way of
Puerto Jessup and Puerto Bermudez if one wishes to escape with one's
life. The Cashibos, on the other hand, are a distinct race of Indians
who inhabit the plains on the left bank of the Pachitea. They are
cannibals. These people wear no clothes, shave their heads, and wage
continual warfare on all the surrounding tribes. Their cannibalistic
propensities have been explained in the attempt on the part of the
Cashibo to absorb into his system qualities of the white man which
he considers to be superior to his own. They, like other tribes,
have undoubtedly been made worse by the shocking treatment they have
received at the hands of the caucheros (rubber gatherers), some of whom
are the lawless descendants of European immigrants whose ostensible
occupation is the gathering of rubber, but who, at the same time,
carry on a lucrative trade in the sale of human beings. From what I
have heard, there prevails a state of affairs which in its recorded
and unrecorded atrocities, falls nothing short of the darkest page
of slavery practiced in the days of Leopold II. in Belgian Congo. The
Cashibos have been a fierce and warlike tribe; now they have learned
what the crack of the carbine means and quickly get out of the way when
they hear it. They are, however, very treacherous, and a small party
traveling through their country would run a great risk of serving as a
banquet for them. They kill off all the men of the other tribes down
the Ucayali and sell the women and children whenever they can get a
market for them. The method may not be humanitarian but it is at least
practical and remunerative to them.
Coffee does not grow at the Peruvian Corporation's headquarters camp
but at a half-dozen different chacras some distance from it. This plan
was adopted to obviate the possible exigencies of blight, but it is
an unfortunate one, because not only does it augment the difficulties
of transport but militates against anything like direct personal
supervision. These haciendas, which produce the most excellent coffee
and cocoa, are known as La Magdalena, La Margarita, and San Juan.
These are the largest and most important as well as being the farthest
away. The difficulties of intercommunication are increased by the
character of the roads which in the rainy season are nearly impassable
on account of the mud. The road to La Magdalena needs constant clearing
to prevent it from becoming an overgrown track; those leading to La
Margarita and to San Juan are toilsome zigzagging ascents which after
heavy rains furnish stretches of mire and clay knee deep. In addition
to this, streams cross the road in many places, and when swollen
frequently wash it entirely away. All the haciendas are in the Perené
division of the country, bounded on the south by the main river and
on the west separated from the Chanchamayo region by the Paucartambo.
From here eastward stretches two hundred miles of hilly land before
the general level of the Brazilian plains is reached, and the whole is
covered with a dense forest, uninhabited excepting by wild Indians.
It is a wonderful country, stored with natural wealth and capable of
immense development when it will be opened up. Its climate and general
conditions are, with the exception of malaria and blackwater fever,
healthy, and there are but few drawbacks in the way of insect pests.
For four solid days, after arriving at the headquarters' camp, it
rained, which kept us indoors or near the shelter of the buildings. The
fifth day broke cloudless with the sun shining, and as we had spent
enough time loafing about the buildings of the Peruvian Corporation,
we decided to start out, and try to make the mission station of Jesus
Maria at the junction of the Perené and the Pangoa Rivers in three
days' time. From there we could hire some natives to take us in a canoe
in three more days to Puerto Raimondi, a settlement on the Ucayali
River at which place we thought it would be possible to board a steam
launch to take us down the stream to Iquitos. We later on discovered
that we were wrong because we had to canoe down the Ucayali as far
as Cumaria a distance of one hundred miles below Puerto Raimondi.
The trail down the Perené lay through level country, the mountains
having somewhat receded from the river. Sometimes a spur would extend
to the banks, but after the first day out they were for the most part
several miles off to the north. They were diminishing in height, and
those to the north were called the Cerros de la Sal. The guide that
had come with us from Oroya returned home from the Perené Colony, but
the manager at headquarters' camp, Señor Villalta, provided us with
horses, and sent along with us as far as Jesus Maria, a half-breed and
two native Indians. He did this because these Indians belonged to the
tribe that lives beyond Jesus Maria, and through them we would be able
to continue our journey in safety since they would procure for us at
the mission station an escort which would see us through to the place
where we were to board the launch. There were quite a few small chacras
on the first two days' trip and both nights we managed to find lodging
at one of them. The first night out, I noticed that the bag of Ica
beans and most of the canned stuff which Sansoni had bought for us in
Lima was missing. I spoke to Prat about this because he had carried the
sack of beans with him on his mount. He professed surprise and gave out
his theory that the cholo guide from Oroya had stolen them and had gone
back home with them. I had my doubts about this because the Spaniard
had been complaining a dozen times every day about the load that he
had to lug along with him. I said nothing about it until five weeks
later when we were in the hotel in Manaos awaiting a Brazilian Lloyd
steamer to take us to Para. Prat was in the barroom slightly under
the influence of vermouth and bitters, relating to Colonel Constantino
Nery, governor of the State of Amazonas, our adventures in crossing the
continent. The governor asked him how we had fared for food, to which
Prat answered that we had done well considering that we were obliged to
eat Indian concoctions that the ordinary white man would not sniff at.
I added that we might have lived better if Prat had not left behind at
the Perené Colony the sack of beans and the canned goods. The latter
then went on to relate that the cholo guide from Oroya stole them. I
interrupted saying that since the trip was now over and we had reached
civilization safely that it did not matter what had become of them,
but that I believed Prat had left them behind because he did not want
to be bothered with them. The Spaniard called for another vermouth
and then laughingly owned up that he had left them behind saying that
the temperature was hot enough the way it was without being hampered
with any burdens. Nery told him that he was quite right and that he
would have done the same had he been there. This trick of leaving our
provisions behind has always since appealed to Prat as a huge joke.
Our water trip from Jesus Maria to Para, thence to Cayenne, Paramaribo,
Georgetown, Bridgetown, Willemstedt, and to Colon is full of enough
material to fill another book which will appear in the near future.
This book is only meant to deal with the southern countries of South
America such as Chile, Argentina, and Paraguay. I have added to
it a few chapters not dealing on the original subject, but which I
refrained from leaving out as they were a series of consecutive travel.
At Jesus Maria we hired a canoe which took us down the Rio Tambo to
Puerto Raimondi which is situated on the west bank of that stream at
its junction with the Urubamba which here forms the Ucayali. Behind
us inland was the Cashobi country so in continuing our canoe trip
to Cumaria we always camped on the right bank of the river. It took
us one week of stiff paddling to reach Cumaria. One day our canoe
capsized, making us lose everything we had with us, necessitating us
to partake of such delicacies as stewed monkey and parrot which the
Indian stomach craves for and which are nearly always to be purchased
at the Indian encampments on the right bank of the Ucayali. Cumaria is
the head of river navigation. It is an Indian settlement at which a few
_caucheros_, or rubber gatherers, live. Here we were fortunate enough
to become passengers of a gasoline launch which took us in a week to
Contamana. We had been told at Jesus Maria that the launches were steam
power, but were surprised when we arrived at Cumaria to find that they
were gasoline ones, and this in the wilderness, many hundred miles from
civilization. At Contamana we changed into another gasoline launch.
Here we entered that part of the river which is called the Bajo or
Lower Ucayali. It differs much from the Alto or Upper Ucayali in so far
that the distant mountains have altogether disappeared, the stream is
much broader, has many channels, and is filled with large islands some
of them being fifty miles long. Also settlements are more plentiful,
and at the docks near the hamlets crude rubber in balls is waiting
for exportation. Two days before reaching Iquitos the Bajo Ucayali is
joined by the Maranon and the Amazon itself is entered.
Iquitos is a fever-stricken port of twelve thousand inhabitants on
the left bank of the Amazon. It is built on the high banks above the
river opposite to some islands of the same name, and not far above the
confluence of the Nanay and the Amazon. Above the town is a fair-sized
stream, the Itaya, which makes the city located on a peninsula. It
is the capital of the Province of Loreto, which comprises the entire
Peruvian Amazonian lowlands, and has a wireless telegraph communication
with Puerto Bermudez (which is only a three days' trip from the
Perené Colony). From Puerto Bermudez telegraph wires run to Lima via
La Merced. Iquitos is the center of the rubber industry of the Upper
Amazon and is a booming town in spite of the yellow fever which is
nearly always prevalent. It has steamship communication with Manaos,
Para, and the outside world.
Up to a decade ago, if a man in Lima had business in Iquitos, he was
obliged to take a steamer to England, tranship to Para, and there
tranship again to Iquitos. He had the alternative of going to Panama,
across the isthmus to Colon and thence take a steamer to Barbadoes.
From Barbadoes he would go to Para, and thence to Iquitos. These were
long trips, several months being endured in the passage. Now Iquitos is
reached across country from Lima; the trip takes anywhere from three
weeks to six months, according to which route the traveler chooses.
It has been done in sixteen days, but from four to five weeks is the
average allowing time for misconnections. I believe that the shortest
way to reach Iquitos from Lima is to take a steamer to Pacasmayo,
which is a day and a half north of the capital. Thence go by rail and
horseback to Cajamarca. From there go by horseback via Chachapoyas to
Moyobamba. From Moyobamba one can go in two to three days to Yurimaguas
on the Huallaga River, whence one can go by launch to Iquitos in a week
and a half. I know a person who went from Cerro de Pasco to Iquitos.
He followed the Huallaga to its mouth and it took him six months.
The common way of reaching Iquitos from Lima is to go to La Merced;
thence overland through Puerto Bermudez to Puerto Victoria on the
Sampoya River down which one descends on a canoe to the Ucayali, taking
a chance of making connection with the launch at Santa Rosa de los
Canivos, which is about one third of the way downstream between Cumaria
and Contamana. There is also a northern route which takes about five
weeks. The eastbound traveler goes from Paita to Piura by rail; thence
via Huancabamba to Jaen by horseback. Jaen is a day's stage from the
Maranon which one must descend by canoe.
In the night after the day on which the steamer left Iquitos, the
Napo River was passed. It flows into the Amazon from a northwesterly
direction. One of its tributaries is the Curaray which rises in
the Andes of Ecuador. Along its course live a tribe of head-hunting
Indians. These savages after they capture a white man or an Indian of
another tribe, behead them. They boil the head in a concoction which
loosens the bones. These they take out and fill the cavity with hot
stones. By some process of their own, they shrink the head until it
becomes no larger than a large orange, yet retaining the features
that the victim possessed during life. These they offer for sale, and
are to be purchased in the curiosity shops of Lima and Guayaquil on
the Pacific Coast, and even in Para at the mouth of the Amazon. From
the savage to the curiosity shop proprietor they pass through many
hands so that it is impossible to arrive at the source of the murder.
A certain Swede once left Guayaquil for the interior on an exploring
expedition. A year afterwards a head was purchased in that city which
was found to be that of the Scandinavian. Since he was never heard
of after he crossed the Cordillera, it is assumed that his party was
beset by savages and he was murdered, his skull boiled down, and hawked
about until it reached the hands of a Guayaquil dealer. The September,
1918, number of the _South American Magazine_ published in New York,
has an article which says that there is believed to be a head factory
in Guayaquil. The dealer in this sketch is undoubtedly in league with
body-snatchers who supply him with corpses, which he beheads and boils
down, having obtained the recipe from the Indians. These heads he
places on sale. One of his relics was the head of an employee of the
Quito-Guayaquil Railroad who had died the previous year of yellow fever
in Guayaquil and was supposed to have been given a decent funeral. This
horrid trick of the Indians cannot be eradicated until the law puts a
stop to the purchase of these heads. By punishing the dealers and the
middle-men, the Indians will cease to find a market for these gruesome
souvenirs.