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Title: Up the Amazon and Madeira rivers, through Bolivia and Peru
Author: Edward Davis Mathews
Release date: September 6, 2024 [eBook #74382]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1879
Credits: Peter Becker and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UP THE AMAZON AND MADEIRA RIVERS, THROUGH BOLIVIA AND PERU ***
UP THE AMAZON AND MADEIRA RIVERS.
[Illustration: MAP TO ILLUSTRATE “UP THE AMAZON & MADEIRA RIVERS”
by E. D. MATHEWS, Assoc. Mem. Inst. C. E.
W. & A. K. Johnston, Edinburgh & London.
London: Sampson, Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 188, Fleet St.]
UP THE
AMAZON AND MADEIRA RIVERS,
THROUGH
BOLIVIA AND PERU.
BY
EDWARD D. MATHEWS,
ASSOC. MEM. INST. C.E.
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1879.
(_All rights reserved._)
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
DEDICATED TO COLONEL GEORGE EARL CHURCH, F.R.G.S., CHAIRMAN OF THE
MADEIRA AND MAMORÉ RAILWAY COMPANY, BY HIS OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL SERVANT
EDWARD D. MATHEWS, ASSOC. MEM. INST. C.E.
PREFACE.
A few years ago I was Resident Engineer of the projected Madeira and
Mamoré Railway, to be constructed in the Province of Matto Grosso, in
the Empire of Brazil, and as nearly as possible in the centre of the
Continent of South America. From various causes the prosecution of the
enterprise fell into abeyance for some considerable time. When the works
were temporarily stopped, several reasons combined to induce me to
return home by way of Bolivia and Peru. During that journey I kept up
my ordinary custom of keeping a rough diary, and I have since dressed
up my notes into something of a consecutive form. The resumption of
the railway works has led me to think that some interest would attach
to a description of a route across South America that has yet been but
little travelled over. It has also occurred to me, that nowadays, when
the Eastern trip to India, China, Japan, and home _viâ_ San Francisco
and New York, has been done by so many there may be adventurous spirits
in search of new worlds to conquer, who would be pleased to know of a
journey offering the combined attractions of canoeing on the magnificent
affluents of the Amazon and a journey in the saddle across the Andes. My
endeavour therefore has been to give all the information in my possession
regarding the method and expense of travelling over the route indicated.
In grateful remembrance of many kindnesses received, I have dedicated
my labours to the indefatigable worker who, for many years past, has
devoted his life to the noble enterprise of opening a way to the markets
of Europe for the many and varied products of the Republic of Bolivia and
the Province of Matto Grosso in the Empire of Brazil.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Brazilian coast—True and false Salinas—Dangers of the mouth of
the Amazon—Pará—Steamers on the Amazon—Amazon Steam Shipping
Company, Limited—Vicinity of Pará—European residents—Climate 1
CHAPTER II.
Bay of Marajo—Lighthouses—Rule of the road for
steamers—Vegetation on the Amazon—Rubber trees—Boa
Vista—Corralinha—Breves—Parainha—Gurupá—Mont
Alegre—Cattle-feeding grounds—River Tapajoz—Santarem—American
settlers—Obidos—Manufacture of charqui—Villa
Bella—Serpa—Navigation of the Amazon 7
CHAPTER III.
Manáos—Trade direct with Europe—Obelisk commemorating opening
of the river Amazon to all flags—Climate of Manáos—Absence
of mosquitoes—River Madeira—Rubber-collecting preferred
to agriculture—Mode of collection and preparation of the
rubber—Guaraná 12
CHAPTER IV.
Borba—Tobacco—Island of Araras—Piedras de
Uruás—Cachoerina—Exaltacion—Manicoré—Mundurucu
Indians—Marmélos—Bayetas—Juma—Mission of San Pedro—Crato—Old
penal settlement—Umaitá—Parententin Indians—Missionary efforts
unable to reclaim these savages—Praia of Tamandoa—Turtles—San
Antonio 18
CHAPTER V.
Madeira and Mamoré Railway—Ocean steamers can ascend to the
first rapid—Brazilian outposts—Difference between high and low
water below the rapid—Rainfall—Temperature—Scenery—Marks on
rocks—Glossy black deposit on rocks—Trees of the forest—Brazil
nuts—Alligators—Peixebois, pirahybas, pirarucus, and other
fish—Tapirs, how shot—Onças, and other animals—Birds, wild
turkeys, ducks, etc.—Insects, mosquitoes, ants, etc.—Snakes,
etc., etc. 23
CHAPTER VI.
Rapids of the Madeira River—Journey undertaken—Canoes, Indians,
and other requirements for the journey described—Articles good
for trading with savages—Provisions, etc. 32
CHAPTER VII.
A start made—Canoe heavily laden—San Antonio rapid passed—Slow
progress made—Method of passing over strong currents—The current
of Macacos—The Bay of Theotonio—Canoe nearly swamped in same—The
Falls of Theotonio—Fish at foot of falls—Franciscan mission to
the Pamas—The portage of Theotonio 39
CHAPTER VIII.
Currents above Theotonio—Loss of a small canoe—Theft of rum at
night by one of the Bolivian boatmen—The rapid of Morinhos—Crew
turn out to be very weak and slow—Plan for securing a good
crew—The river Yaci-Paraná—Morning fogs—Igarapé of the Caripuna
savages—Capitan Cinco’s Island—Buena Esperanza—Rations given to
the boatmen 45
CHAPTER IX.
The rapid of Calderão do Inferno—Attacks of fever and
vomiting—Caripuna savages—Death of a Bolivian boy—Earth-eating
practised by the Indians—Death of Mariano, a Bolivian
boatman—Peculiar custom prevailing amongst the Indians—The Falls
of Girão—Miseries of a wet night 51
CHAPTER X.
The rapid of Trés Irmãos—Meeting with the Pacaguara savages—The
river Trés Irmãos—Wild turkeys 57
CHAPTER XI.
San Louise—Track across the big bend of the river—Corrientes
and Remansos—The rapid of Paredão—Violence of one of the Indian
boatmen during a fit—The rapids of Pederneira—La Cruz—Probability
that the country is level in the interior on the right bank of
the river—As Penhas Coloradas 63
CHAPTER XII.
The rapid of Araras—Farinha and sardines for supper—Difficulty of
treating the Indians successfully when they are sick—The current
of Periquitos—Arrival at the Rabo do Ribeirão—The Bolivian
Indian’s chaunt at night—Passage of the Rabo do Ribeirão—Quantity
of farinha consumed by boatmen, in the form of “shebee”—Canoe
aground in the bay below the main fall of Ribeirão—The river
Ribeirão—The portage of Ribeirão—Curious marks on rocks 69
CHAPTER XIII.
Bad arrangements of the Bolivian patrons for rationing their
men—The rapid of Misericordia—Tradition attached thereto—Meeting
with canoes from Bolivia—The Madeira rapids and the junction of
the river Beni—Nomenclature of the river Madeira in its different
sections—The rapids of Layes—Wild cocoa trees—The Falls of Pao
Grande 78
CHAPTER XIV.
The river Yata—Meeting with another party descending from
Bolivia—The rapids of Bananeiras—Abandoned settlement—Variability
of the Bolivian character—The cabeçeiras of Bananeiras—The Sierra
da Paca Nova—The rapids of Guajará Guasu and Merim—A few hints on
leaving the last of the rapids 85
CHAPTER XV.
Start made up river above rapids with drums beating—The islands
of Cavalho Marinho—A party of Baure Indians met with—Rate of
progress calculated at two miles per hour—Otters, alligators, and
monkeys shot—Steam navigation practicable on the river above the
rapids—Stock taken of food-supplies left—Long hours worked 93
CHAPTER XVI.
Junction of the river Itenez—Short description of the Itenez
or Guaporé and its affluents—Fires at night prohibited on
account of savages—A capybara shot—Abundance of game above the
rapids—False alarms of attack by savages—Cooking-stove rigged
up in the canoe—The river Matocari—Hard work towing canoe—Open
pampas—Strong gale from the south hinders progress—Chocolotales
of Exaltacion—Falling banks—Estancia de Santiago—Value of oxen in
the Estancias of Mojos 102
CHAPTER XVII.
“El Cerrito”—Small steamer, the _Explorador_—“Taita Crusa”—The
town of Exaltacion—The fifteen missions of the Beni and the
tribes that belong to them—Some numerals and words in Mojeño,
Cayubaba, Canichana, and Yuracaré—Education of the Indians 119
CHAPTER XVIII.
Festival of St. John the Baptist—Water-throwing—Morning
mass—Church of La Exaltacion de la Santa Cruz—“Macheteros,”
or Soldiers of the Cross—Decrease of the Indians of the
Beni—Suggestions for the re-population of the department—A crew
for Trinidad obtained with difficulty—Desertion of an Indian
lad—Landslip and dangers of the port of Exaltacion—Changes in the
courses of the rivers—Richness of the soil—Prices of provisions 128
CHAPTER XIX.
Leave Exaltacion—Improvement in crew—Mobima Indians of Santa
Ana—“Mani” planted on sandbanks—The river Yacuma—Trading up
the Yacuma to Reyes, San Pablo, San Borja, etc.—Multitudes
of mosquitoes, etc.—Shoal of fish—Storks, ducks,
flamingoes—Canichana Indians—The river Apiri and the village
of San Ignacio—Poling over the shallows—The river Jamucheo—San
Pedro—Traders haul their canoes over a portage to San
Pedro—Weather turns very cold—The river Ybari—Arrival at Trinidad 139
CHAPTER XX.
Pampas of Trinidad—Oxen of the Beni—Merchants of
Trinidad—Carayanas—Cholos—Indios—Chicha, general drink in
Bolivia—Baile and Spanish dance—Bolivian drinking—Bolivian
peculiarities—The old maid’s black cat—Smallpox amongst the
Indians—Depopulation of Trinidad—Wages of the peons—Drills,
hammocks, shirts, and hats made by Indians—Prices of
provisions—Trade in Trinidad—Depreciated currency—Melgarejos 151
CHAPTER XXI.
Start from Trinidad with convoy of nine canoes—Hacienda de San
Antonio—Shifting of the river’s course—The river Securé—Bella
Vista, the port of Loreto—Siriono savages—State and ceremony
in preparation of meals—Excellent character of Bolivian
chocolate—Junction of the river Grande—River Piray—The
Mamoré left, and the Chapari entered—The Chimoré route to
Coni preferable to that of the Chapari—Class of steamers
suitable for the Upper Mamoré—Difficulties of navigation in the
Chapari—Scarcity of game—Number of Indians available in Trinidad
for navigation of the upper rivers—The raya fish—Jaguars—Mountain
ranges approached—Bamboo trees seen—The river Coni 165
CHAPTER XXII.
Coni and its trade—Yuracaré Indians—Their bark shirts,
ornaments, and dyes—Musical instruments—Tradition of Cain
and Abel—Difference between the Indians of the interior and
those of the plains—Bravery of the Yuracarés—Start from
Coni—Pachimoco—River San Antonio—Cristal Maio—Continuous
rains—Zinc-roofed houses—Coca plantations—Minas
Maio—Metalliferous character of district—Coffee and cotton—El
Chaco—Cuesta of Lina Tambo—Los Jocotales—Inca Corral—Cuesta de
Malaga—Snowstorms 185
CHAPTER XXIII.
Total change in the appearance of nature—Cochi-janchi—Barley
and potatoes—Chuño—Road to Coni by Bandiola—Sacába—Approach to
Cochabamba—Tambos—Apartments—The city and people—Luxuriously
furnished houses—Fruits, flowers, and grain crops—Douche
baths—Alaméda, or public garden—Sweets and ices—Tertulias and
rocking-chairs—Commercial firms and their trade—Cascarilla,
or cinchona bark—Hospitality of foreign residents
and others—Moonlight ride—Climate—Want of sanitary
arrangements—Mineral wealth of the district 212
CHAPTER XXIV.
Shortest route to the Pacific coast from Cochabamba—Journey
to Sucre _viâ_ Totora determined upon—Leave Cochabamba
in one of Haviland and Keay’s coaches—Dangers of the
journey—Tarata and Cliza—The pampas compared to the plains
of Central India—Punata—Señor Manuel Arauco, his house,
family, museum, etc.—Manufacture of felt hats, ponchos,
etc.—Arani—Lagoons near Vacas—Irrigation works—New road
between Arani and Totora—Pocona—Totora—Proposed road from
Totora to the river Chimoré—Probable future system of roads in
the east of Bolivia—Misque—Ravines and river-courses used as
roads—Aiquile—Chinguri—Quiroga—Palca—Cuestas Jaboncillo and
Masa-Cruz—Canto Molino—Thermal spring of Huata—First view of
Sucre 237
CHAPTER XXV.
Sucre—Seat of the Government—Court of Justice and
Archbishopric—Cathedral—Image of “Our Lady of Guadalupe”—Plate
and pictures—Revolting character of the pictures—The clergy
of Bolivia—Palacio del Gobierno—Sala del Congreso—Deputies
and Debates—Treaty with Chili—Diplomatic body—Politics and
parties—Quintin Quevedo—Casimir Corral—Sack of his house in La
Paz—Rojos, or Ballivianistas—Hilarion Daza—Schemes for roads
to the river Paraguay—River Amazon _v._ river Paraguay—Remarks
upon the finances of Bolivia—Results to be expected from
the enterprise of the Madeira and Mamoré Railway—Closing of
Congress—The Bolivian flag—Revolution of 1874—Defeat of Quevedo
and Corral, and deposition of Frias by Daza 260
CHAPTER XXVI.
The Prado of Sucre—Belzu’s Rotunda—The President’s evening
constitutional—Personal politics—Quevedo’s birthday
banquet—Dancing with the general—Ball at the Chilian
Embassy—Baile caramba!—Environs of Sucre—La Paz not visited
on account of revolution in progress—Routes to ocean and
home—Santa Cruz, Curumbá, and the Paraguay—Oran and the
Vermejo—Tarija and Cinti—Cinti wines and spirits—Cobija and
Desert of Atacama—Silver mines of Caracoles, etc.—Encroachments
by Chili—Official report on the Desert of Atacama, published by
the Government of Chili—Description of the road to Tacna and
Arica commenced—Preparations for journey—Servants and their
pay—“Postas”—Buying and selling mules—A few requisites for a land
journey 294
CHAPTER XXVII.
Leave Sucre under escort of English residents—Village of
Nutshucc—Yotala—“Quintas,” or farmhouses—Don Tomas Frias’
country-house—Señor Pacheco’s quinta—The river Cachimayo and
its basket bridge—Fever at Nutshucc—The river Pilcomayo—Terrado
and Pampa-tambo—Quebrada Honda—Bartolo—Potosí—The Soroche—The
Fonda Coca—The Cerro de Potosí—Silver mines—Reservoirs—Church
of La Matriz—The mint—New coinage—Burying money—Future of
mining in Potosí—Departure from Potosí—Tarapaya—Yocalla—Yocalla
bridge built by the devil in a night—Leñas—Loss of my aneroid
barometer—Vicuñas—Condors—Lagunillas—Tolapalca—Bolivian
Norfolk-Howards, or Vinchutas—Vilcapujio—Curious custom
of Indian women—Llamas and alpacas—Ancacata—The pampa of
Aullagas—The “Chulpas”—Catariri, Pazna and Poopo—Miserable
appearance of mining towns in Bolivia—Machacamarca—Rumours of
revolution—Beautiful mirage—Arrival at Oruro 313
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Oruro—Mineral districts and mining
operations—“Barilla”—Freighting ore by llamas—Future of mining
in Oruro—Attempted revolution in Oruro—Night attack on the
Quartel—Start from Oruro for Tacna—The river Desaguadero—The
ferry called La Barca—Llollia—Escape of the mules during
night—Indian cooking arrangements—Dress and appearance of Indian
men and women—El Cruzero—“Quinoa”—Heavy storms—Electrified
state of the atmosphere—Peculiar strata observed near El
Cruzero—Curahuara de Carangas—Its church, people, and parish
priest—Travelling jewellers—Mining prospects of the district 348
CHAPTER XXIX.
Pichagas—The peak of Sahama—Chocos—Capture of a sheep for
fresh meat—Ostriches—Sepulturas—Mortality amongst animals—Mule
attacked with belly pains—El Cerro del Volcan—Las Siete
Vueltas—Bright-coloured hills—Peru entered—Tacora—Mules attacked
with soroche—El Rio de Azufre—Aqueduct to Tacna from river
Maury—The pass of Chulancani—Apacheta of bones—Aspect of the
Pacific slope of the Andes—Projected railway between Tacna and La
Paz—The Portada—El Ingenio—Palca—New road in construction—Arrival
at Tacna—The hotel Bola de Oro—Tacna and its trade—Attempt to
sell the mules in Tacna—Railway from Tacna to Arica—Effects of
the great hurricane wave of 1869—Arica—By steamer from Arica to
Callao—Callao—Its magnificent harbour—Lima—The cathedral—Plaza
de Armas—Old bridge, built in 1608—Firemen—By steamer from
Lima to Panamá—Payta—Panamá—Severe fires—The prison—Rail to
Aspinwall—Aspinwall—Home by mail steamer 371
APPENDIX 399
LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.
PAGE
MAP _Frontispiece_
SAN ANTONIO—RIVER MADEIRA (LOOKING DOWN STREAM)[1] 25
GARITEA, OR TRAVELLER’S CANOE, RIVER MADEIRA[1] 33
CASCARA, OR BARK CANOE OF THE CARIPUNAS AND OTHER TRIBES OF
THE RIVER MADEIRA[1] 60
CURIOUS INSCRIPTIONS ON ROCKS AT DIFFERENT RAPIDS 77
INDIAN GIRL OF EXALTACION[1] 130
THE BATA[1] 143
SKETCHES OF TRINITARIO INDIANS[1] 153
NECKLACE OF BRIGHT RED BEANS[1] 188
GROUP OF BOLIVIAN MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS, ETC.[1] 189
AUTHOR, AND YURACARÉ INDIANS 191
VIEW OF COCHABAMBA 219
SUCRE, OR CHUQUISACA, CAPITAL OF BOLIVIA 258
GENERAL QUEVEDO 271
PRESIDENT FRIAS 290
EL CERRO DE POTOSÍ 322
YESCA AND MECHA HOLDER (POTOSÍ)[1] 326
A CHULPA[1] 343
QUICHUAN OVEN (LLOLLIA)[1] 360
QUICHUAN WOMAN OF LLOLLIA[1] 361
PASS OF TACORA 378
LA PORTADA 381
ANGOSTURA 383
FOOTNOTES
[1] From a sketch by the Author.
UP THE AMAZON AND MADEIRA RIVERS.
CHAPTER I.
Brazilian coast—True and false Salinas—Dangers of the mouth of
the Amazon—Pará—Steamers on the Amazon—Amazon Steam Shipping
Company, Limited—Vicinity of Pará—European residents—Climate.
After about twenty days’ steaming from Liverpool with southerly and
westerly courses, the low-lying coast of the north of Brazil appears, and
navigators who are not acquainted with the locality have considerable
trouble in making out the pilot station of the Salinas.
The false Salinas are about half a day’s steam to the east of the true,
which, again, are a few hours’ steam from the mouth of the Amazon River.
At the true Salinas there is a lighthouse and a small village, a large
red house, visible from the deck of the steamer, being the barrack in
which the pilots for Pará live.
The steamer in which I had a passage had been chartered specially for the
conveyance of the railway staff to which I belonged. The captain knew
nothing at all of the spot to which he had undertaken to navigate his
ship, and took the vessel considerably to the east of the Salinas; we
were therefore a night and a day coasting about in soundings. At dark, a
slight gale gave the sea the most phosphorescent appearance that, in the
course of a good many voyages, I have yet seen. Every wave, as it curled
over, broke in vivid phosphorescent fire, and it appeared as though we
were steaming through a sea of flaming spirits.
The mouth of the river Amazon has many shifting banks and reefs of which
no accurate information exists, and vessels are frequently lost in
attempting to get up to Pará without a pilot. In 1873, three vessels,
laden with iron for the Madeira and Mamoré railway, were lost, one after
another, on the reefs near the Braganza lightship, which had shifted from
her moorings and remained away from her station for many months. More
pilots are required at the station of Salinas, for it has often happened
that captains of vessels have got tired of beating about, waiting for a
pilot to come off, and have attempted to enter the river alone, only to
lose their vessels and cargoes.
The river Pará may be termed an outlet or arm of the river Amazon, and on
its right bank the city of Pará is situated. The land on the left bank
of the river forms the island of Marajo, which appears to be subject to
periodical inundations, but is valuable as a feeding-ground for cattle.
The rise and fall of the river at Pará is about twenty feet at highest
tides.
In front of the city the river affords splendid anchorage for almost
any amount of shipping, but the wharfage is very badly arranged, as
there is no pier or jetty at which vessels can unload, consequently much
time is lost in transhipping cargoes from the vessels into launches,
and from these to the wharves. The practice has been to build out these
wharves into the river at low water; and as each successive wharf has
been completed, the river has silted up its frontage, and so rendered
necessary the building of a new one further out. The “Rua da Praia,”
which doubtless was the “Street of the Shore” some fifty years ago, is
now the third line back from the river, and so the city is extending
itself out into the water instead of backwards into the country. A wharf
on screw piles, and a jetty with a cross-head wharf at its end, would
probably not cause the silting, and would not cost more, while it would
be more durable than the badly built stone walls that are now from time
to time put up in front of each other.
The bay of Pará presents a cheerful aspect, from the number of vessels
generally found there. The Red Cross line, owned and admirably maintained
by Messrs. Singlehurst, Brocklehurst & Co., of Liverpool, Booth’s line,
Garrison’s and another American line between Brazil and New York, all
touch at Pará, and the Amazon Steam Shipping Company, Limited, always
have some of their steamers lying in front of the wharves. The trade
of the Amazon valley is already sufficient to maintain a considerable
number of steamers in the river, the finest and largest of which, built
by Messrs. Laird and Co. of Birkenhead, were formerly owned by the Baron
Mauá. The Baron sold his steamers and workshops, with the subventions
from the Brazilian Government to the Amazon Steam Shipping Company,
Limited, formed in London a few years ago. This company, being desirous
of maintaining its purchased monopoly of the trade of the Amazon, has
bought up the two Brazilian companies that also traded on the river. One
was called the “Fluvial Paraense,” and traded from Pará to Manáos, and
to several small towns on the islands near Pará. This company’s boats
were all built by Messrs. Pusey, Jones & Co., of Delaware, on American
principles, with cabins on upper deck, and are very suitable for river
navigation. The other company was the “Alta Amazonas Company,” owners of
three or four small steamers, built by Laird & Co., that traded on the
upper waters of the Amazon, and on its confluents—the Madeira, Purus,
and Rio Negro. There are also several other steamers on the river, owned
by private firms, which pick up all the freights left by, and even give
great opposition to, the powerful English company. A new enterprise
has lately been started in London, with the object of placing tugs and
barges on the Amazon, and the Madeira and Mamoré Railway Company will
doubtless run its own craft between Pará and San Antonio, the terminus
of its railway on the Madeira River. The Amazon, therefore, is likely in
future years to bear a considerable increase of steam shipping on its
broad bosom, for attention seems to be almost universally directed to
the magnificent facilities that it offers, for the ready export to the
European markets of the produce of Northern Brazil, Peru, and Bolivia.
The city of Pará has not much to boast of in architecture; nevertheless,
from the river, it has an imposing appearance, from the number of its
churches. The convent of San Merced and the president’s palace, amongst
old buildings, and the new theatre, a very elegant structure, are all
worthy of notice. The streets are mostly broad and well paved, fairly
lighted with gas by an English company, and kept decently clean. There is
a very good market-place, and water is now being laid on to every house.
Excellent hired carriages ply, at moderate prices, for the accommodation
of the richer city merchants; while a tramway, worked by a locomotive and
cars, takes the humbler individual out to join his family circle in the
cooler districts of Nazareth, a very pretty suburb of Pará, where the
principal merchants have built many elegant villa residences. As most of
the roads run down avenues of very handsome palm trees, the effect of the
whole is charming. There are also two public gardens, maintained with a
good deal of taste.
The Europeans resident in Pará are extremely hospitable, and the staff
of engineers and others to which I was attached, took away with them to
the solitudes of the Madeira River most grateful recollections of the
kindness, attention, and good wishes bestowed on them during their stay
in Pará, more especially by the English and German consuls.
Pará does not enjoy a very good reputation for its climate, but I do not
think it is so bad as is generally supposed. It has a fair alternation
of wet and dry seasons, and the air is so pure that it is said that
persons suffering from consumption rapidly recover after a short stay
there. Yellow fever and small-pox sometimes linger a long time amongst
the lower classes, being maintained a good deal, I believe, by the
exhalations at low tides from the silted-up mud in front of the river
wall. As I have said, it is probable that this silting up could in future
be avoided by erecting a screw-piled pier instead of a wharf wall; and if
the country behind the town were cleared further inland, the plague of
mosquitoes might be materially decreased.
A trip up the Amazon is extremely pleasant, for the steamers of the
Amazon company are commanded by very accomplished and amiable Brazilian
captains. The table is very fairly found for one that can accustom
himself to Brazilian cookery, and a liberal ration of Portuguese “vino
verde” is supplied to passengers. The upper deck, covered with a
double-planked water-tight awning which protects one from the hot sun,
affords an agreeable lounge during the day, whilst at night it forms the
general dormitory where each passenger slings his hammock and mosquito
net, if he has been thoughtful enough to provide himself with these
indispensable articles of a travelling equipment for Brazil.
CHAPTER II.
Bay of Marajo—Lighthouses—Rule of the road for
steamers—Vegetation on the Amazon—Rubber trees—Boa
Vista—Corralinha—Breves—Parainha—Gurupá—Mont
Alegre—Cattle-feeding grounds—River Tapajoz—Santarem—American
settlers—Obidos—Manufacture of charqui—Villa
Bella—Serpa—Navigation of the Amazon.
The start up river is generally made from Pará soon after midnight, in
order that the wide estuary termed the Bay of Marajo may be passed before
noon of the following day, as the trade wind that sets in towards the
afternoon raises too high a sea for the steamers built with overhanging
main decks.
In the immediate neighbourhood of Pará there are some sugar plantations
and brick and tile factories, which have a pretty appearance on the river
banks, but as soon as the steamer passes the bay and gets into the narrow
channels which are at the junction of the river Pará and the main stream
of the Amazon, the scenery becomes flat and monotonous. There are several
well-kept lighthouses on the banks of the bay and on the islands therein,
but more will be required as the navigation increases. Some of the
channels through which the steamers work their way are so narrow, that
there is hardly room for two steamers to pass each other in them; some
are therefore used for the ascending journey only, while others serve
for the downward passage; and so well is this “rule of the road” kept
by the Brazilian pilots and captains, that collisions are of very rare
occurrence. On the main river the rule is that ascending steamers should
keep to either bank, by preference the right, whilst descending steamers
have the centre of the river and the full force of the current let free
for them.
The islands and the mainland in the lower part of the Amazon are covered
with a dense vegetation, almost impassable by any living being but the
tapir, or “anta” as it is there called, the lianas and water plants being
closely intertwined and growing amongst the lofty trees of the forest. In
these low-lying lands a considerable population of Brazilian, Portuguese,
negroes and half-castes live, their occupation being entirely confined to
the collecting of the rubber for which the city of Pará is famous. This
tree (_Siphonia elastica_) grows in groups, small paths called “estradas”
being cut through the localities where it most abounds. The lands being
mostly subject to flooding at high water, all the houses are built upon
piles; and as no cultivation can be carried on, the dwellers therein are
entirely dependent on the steamers for their supplies of provisions.
Nearly every house has a small wharf projecting out into the river,
to which the steamers can haul up and receive the firewood prepared
for them, or take in the rubber, on their return journeys to Pará. In
consequence of the daily flooding of these lands, it is not strange
that the people have a washed-out and sallow look, and appear to suffer
greatly from fever and ague.
Leaving Pará behind us, the first places passed on the upward journey
are Boa Vista and Corralinha, the latter a little town that, from the
steamer, looks very pretty with its white church and houses. On the
second day, Breves, a small town on a very narrow channel of the Amazon,
is arrived at. It is a small, unimportant, and very unhealthy place,
being built on land that cannot be a couple of feet above high water.
Then Parainha and Gurupá, small villages, are passed, and Mont Alegre is
reached on the third day. Here there are large pampas, on which cattle
are reared in great numbers.
These “fazendas de ganado,” or cattle-runs, are very valuable properties,
especially those that have hilly lands on them, where the cattle can
take refuge during the periodical inundations. The fourth day brings
the steamer to Santarem, on the Tapajoz River, a short distance from
its junction with the Amazon. The Tapajoz is a fine river of clear
darkish-coloured water, very different in appearance to the whitish water
of the great river, which always contains a certain amount of sediment.
Santarem is a very pretty town of about 3000 or 4000 inhabitants, and is
built upon rising ground on the right bank, its fine church showing to
great advantage. The climate of this place appears to be delightful and
the lands of very good quality. On a range of hills a few leagues from
the town, some American settlers have established themselves, and seem
to be well satisfied with their location. They grow sugar-cane largely,
selling their sugar and rum to great advantage in Santarem.
Obidos, about a day’s steaming from Santarem, is the next town on the
Amazon, and has more inhabitants than any of the places yet passed.
Here there is a small fort, and a few artillerymen keep up a show of
barring the passage of the river to any possibly hostile craft. Large
stores of firewood are kept on the river-side for the steamers, most of
which call here to embark bullocks or their necessary supply of fuel.
In Obidos a great trade in “charqui,” or jerked beef, is carried on,
it being the emporium to which the owners of the estancias send their
stocks. Obidos charqui appears to enjoy a special fame throughout Brazil,
and is preferred to that made in the southern provinces of the empire.
To acquire a taste for it takes considerable time, although, “faute de
mieux,” I have managed to make many a good hearty meal from it. It is
curious to note the clever manner in which the fresh meat is cut out into
great sheets, called “mantas,” or blankets. These sheets of meat are
rubbed with salt, and after being dried in the sun and wind, are rolled
up into bundles, which are tied up with lianas and are then ready for
sale. The price of a Brazilian arroba of charqui, weighing thirty-three
pounds, varies from six to ten milreis, say from fourpence to sevenpence
per pound. Obidos is about the highest place on the Amazon at which the
daily influence of the tides is felt, the river rising and falling about
two feet at this place; against a tide of about twenty feet at Pará.
Above Obidos, high lands on the right bank of the Amazon mark where the
provinces of Pará and Amazonas meet: these hills are known as the Serra
dos Parentins. The small town of Villa Bella on the right or southern
bank of the river being passed, Serpa, opposite the river Madeira, is
reached on the sixth day’s navigation from Pará. Here, in view of
the opening up of trade with Bolivia _viâ_ the Madeira River and the
Railway of the Rapids, the Brazilian Government has lately established a
custom-house; and the town, though but small now, will doubtless become
of importance in the course of a few years. Unless the steamer in which
one is voyaging is on a special trip up the Madeira, a visit will have
to be paid to Manáos, the capital of the province of Amazonas, for it
is there that the larger steamers remain, and passengers for the upper
waters of the Amazon, the Purus, or the Madeira, have to take the smaller
but still comfortable steamers that ascend these rivers.
The navigation of the river Amazon is free all the year round, between
Pará and Manáos, for vessels of any tonnage or draught, if we except
the alleged existence, in September or October of very dry years, of a
sandbank near Villa Bella, on which it is said that vessels drawing more
than eight feet have grounded; but if they have, it has, in my belief,
been owing to faulty pilotage, for I think there must be good water
always throughout the whole of the course.
CHAPTER III.
Manáos—Trade direct with Europe—Obelisk commemorating opening
of the river Amazon to all flags—Climate of Manáos—Absence
of mosquitoes—River Madeira—Rubber-collecting preferred
to agriculture—Mode of collection and preparation of the
rubber—Guaraná.
Manáos, a small but well-built town of about 5000 inhabitants, is
situated on the banks of the Rio Negro, whose black waters offer
a great contrast to the white but muddy waters of the Amazon. The
town is clean and fairly paved, and the stores, kept principally by
Portuguese merchants, are extremely well filled with general articles.
The authorities of the province, led by their intelligent and talented
president, Doctor Domingos Monteiro Peixoto, are evidently desirous
of improving the condition of the place by every possible means, and
concessions and subventions are given to any scheme that promises to be
of public utility. Premiums on cattle imported to Manáos are given; a
contract for lighting the town with gas, and a liberal subvention for a
water supply are offered; while the sum of £10,000 per annum was given
to a _concessionnaire_ for the organization of a company to run steamers
direct from Manáos to Europe, six times during the twelve months. There
is also a German house lately established, whose vessels are towed up
the Amazon without having to unload at Pará, the house receiving a
considerable drawback on the duties payable according to the general
tariff. A good public school where boys are taught useful trades and
handicrafts exists, and appears to be well managed. Some Germans were
engaged in Hamburg, and brought to Manáos as teachers of carpentry,
masonry, smith’s-work, and other useful occupations, and were paid good
salaries, but could not settle themselves down to steady work or to
Brazilian fare; they were therefore sent back to Hamburg, at great loss
and expense to the province.
There is at Manáos an obelisk erected to commemorate the opening of the
river Amazon to free navigation by all flags. This took place in 1867,
and was a politic act on the part of the Emperor of Brazil, which is
much appreciated by all the dwellers on the river. For the present this
privilege is only given as far as Manáos on the Amazon, and Borba on the
Madeira, but there is no doubt but that it will be extended to all the
navigable waters when commerce calls for further facilities.
As a field for emigration, Manáos offers many advantages; its climate is
good, and there are no mosquitoes or other insect plague, for although
these abound on the Amazon and other rivers, there are none on the lower
part of the Rio Negro. The blackness of the water of this river is said
to be caused by the tannin imparted to it by the trees on its banks,
and the presence of this substance, though perfectly harmless to human
beings, seems to be fatal to the production of insect life. After a
stay in Manáos, one wishes that all the waters of South America could
be impregnated in like manner, so that the fearful plague of flies and
mosquitoes might become unknown throughout the land. Grants of good
agricultural land would doubtless be made by the provincial authorities,
and as there is a well-established city, and constant communication by
steamers with Europe at least once a week, emigrants would not feel so
lonely as they do in districts less accessible.
The Madeira is much narrower than the Amazon, and may be said to have
a general width of about half a mile to 1000 yards. The current is,
however, much swifter than that of the Amazon, and runs, when the river
is at half flood, at about four miles an hour. The banks are, as a rule,
much higher and better defined than those of the Amazon, there being few,
if any, lagoons on its course from Serpa to the rapids.
The only trade of consequence at present on the river Madeira is the
collection of rubber, the forests on either bank abounding in groves of
the _Syphonia elastica_, the tree that yields this valuable product. The
rubber trade, as at present carried on, on this river, is a most delusive
one, and few, if any, of the speculators have gained fortunes from their
labours. In consequence of the large profits that were made when the
river was first opened up, the “seringueiros,” as the collectors are
called, devote all their time to working the trees already discovered,
or to finding out new ones; therefore agriculture is entirely neglected,
and all provisions have to be brought from Pará; for, in many cases,
the seringueiros will not tell off an Indian to hunt or fish, labour
being so scarce that, in order to send as much rubber as possible to
their creditors in Pará, the seringueiros must get all the work they can
out of their Indians in the season favourable for entering the forests.
This season may be said to last from April to November. The “estradas,”
or roads of rubber trees, yield well on the Madeira, but some are much
more prolific than others; trees on lands that are inundated at times
only, yielding better than those on very low or on elevated grounds. The
method of collection is, that small tin pots, possibly holding about a
third of a pint, are hung on the tree closely under an incision made at
an angle so that the sap of the tree may run into the pot. These are
emptied daily into convenient vessels, which are carried to the peon’s
hut near by. Fires made from nuts of the motocu palm are then made, and
the sap being emptied out into large vessels, the operator dips a kind
of flat wooden shovel in it, and immediately holds the shovel over the
smoke, which causes the sap to coagulate quickly. The smoke from these
nuts is found to effect this much quicker than any other process; and
from the large demand for them, these nuts are in some districts getting
very scarce, the absurd practice of felling the tree for the sake of the
nut having been much resorted to. The operation above described having
been frequently repeated, the coagulated sap attains a thickness of
about a couple of inches; it is then cut on one side, and the shovel is
withdrawn, leaving the rubber in its marketable shape, its price being
regulated according to its freedom from impurities. There is, however,
very little difference in quality of the “bolachas,” or biscuits, as
they are called, the price generally being about 26 to 30 milreis, say £2
12_s._ to £3 per Brazilian arroba of 33 lbs., according to the demand or
the crop. A low quality, called “sernamby” in Pará and “negro-head” on
the London market, is a collection of all the scrapings of, or droppings
from, the vessels, and, being full of impurities, fetches only about half
the price of the “bolachas.”
The only other exports from the Madeira River are Brazil nuts
(_Bertholetis exelsa_) and Sapucaya nuts (_Acythis ollaria_), which are
collected and shipped to Pará, principally for exportation to the United
States.
Guaraná, collected principally at the town of Maués nearly opposite to
Serpa, but situated inland upon a small stream of the same name, forms
an item of considerable value in the trade with Bolivia and the province
of Matto Grosso, and is a preparation of the fruit of the guaraná tree
(_Paullinia sorbilis_).
The beans are ground up, and pressed into cylindrical masses of about
eight or ten inches in length by one and a half to two inches diameter.
The quality varies in accordance with the evenness of the paste and its
freedom from impurities. The taste is slightly acrid, and its property
of astringency renders it valuable in diarrhœa and other kindred
sicknesses; but in the central parts of South America it is freely taken
as a beverage, and there are many Bolivians who would fast all day, and
even forswear their beloved “chicha,” rather than miss their glass of
guaraná and water, taken at daybreak, immediately after rising. What
the peculiar virtues of the guaraná may be, I cannot say; for, though
I tried it many times, I discovered none at all. Some people consider
it a specific for sick headache, but my experience does not allow me
to recommend it as a perfect cure. Probably it sustains the body in a
similar manner to the coca plant; for I have seen many Bolivians who
positively could not begin their day’s work without their glass of
guaraná. In order to drink it, the mass is rasped down on the dried
tongue of the pirarucú fish, until about a teaspoonful of powder is
obtained, and this is taken with half a pint of water sweetened to the
palate. So great a sale exists for this article both in Bolivia and in
Matto Grosso, that traders on the Madeira River never make the return
journey without taking several hundredweights amongst their cargoes, and
some are content to load up their canoes entirely with it.
CHAPTER IV.
Borba—Tobacco—Island of Araras—Piedras de
Uruás— Cachoerina—Exaltacion—Manicoré—Mundurucu
Indians—Marmélos—Bayetas—Juma—Mission of San Pedro—Crato—Old
penal settlement—Umaitá—Parententin Indians—Missionary efforts
unable to reclaim these savages—Praia of Tamandoa—Turtles—San
Antonio.
The first village arrived at in the ascent of the Madeira is Borba, an
old Jesuit settlement about twelve hours’ steam from the junction of
the Madeira and Amazon. Tobacco of excellent quality is grown at Borba,
and fetches about two milreis, or four shillings, per pound. The method
of preparing the tobacco is very simple, the picked leaves being strung
up in the roof of the hut until properly dried, when they are, by hand,
pressed into a stick-like form of an inch and a half in diameter, and
being tied closely round with split cane, are sold in “masas” of from
four to six feet in length.
Ascending the river, Sapucaia-oroca and Arauna-cuara, rubber gatherers’
huts are passed, and the Island of Araras is reached on the third day’s
steaming in the river. This island is of considerable size, and is the
property of the Amazon Steam Shipping Company of Pará. It is very rich in
rubber and nut trees, and sarsaparilla and other drugs are found there,
but no minerals.
About three hours’ steam above this island, “Las Piedras de Uruás,”
or the Rocks of Uruás, are reached. These form the first danger to
navigation, and, uncovered at low water, leave only a channel of about
fifty yards wide, a rather tortuous passage for the steamer. A careful
pilot can, however, always take a steamer drawing not more than eight
feet through with perfect safety; while from high to half-flood water,
the rocks offer no obstruction whatever.
Next in order, Cachoerina and Exaltacion are passed, the former a single
house only, and the latter one of the largest rubber settlements on
the river. On the fifth day the village of Manicoré is arrived at. It
is a settlement of the Mundurucu Indians who have been brought into
entire subjection, and who, though proverbially lazy, are quiet and well
disposed. At this village are several storekeepers who trade with these
Indians.
Marmélos, a collection of sandbanks requiring caution on the part of
the pilot when the river is low, come next in order. Then Bayetas and
Juma, both rubber stations, and San Pedro, a government mission under
the care of Franciscan friars, are passed in succession. Crato, one of
the best cleared spots on the river, is reached on the eighth day’s
journey: here there are good grazing grounds, and the place is now
remarkable for its healthy climate, though strange to say, not many years
ago, perhaps less than thirty, it was used by the Brazilian Government
as a penal settlement where prisoners of very bad character were kept,
the climate being then so bad that their term of imprisonment was soon
cut short by their death. About three miles above Crato is Umaitá, a
thriving Portuguese settlement belonging to Don Juan Montero, who is
the wealthiest settler on the Madeira River. He has a small steamer of
his own that trades between Umaitá and Pará. Das Abeillas, a Brazilian
rubber collector’s head-quarters, is the next station passed, and then an
ascending steamer enters on the reserve of the Parententin Indians, and
steams through some score or so of leagues of lands where no settler has
yet been able to keep a footing. It is supposed that, about two centuries
ago, these savages were Christianized by the earlier Jesuit Fathers,
and that, in consequence of some bad treatment, they revolted, and are
now deadly enemies of any settlers, whether whites or mestizoes. The
idea is strengthened by the fact that a raid on one of their temporary
settlements, practised a few years ago by the Portuguese of Umaitá, in
retaliation for a murderous attack on a rubber gatherer’s hut set up near
the territory roamed over by these savages, found roughly carved crosses
and figures that might be supposed to represent saints, in the huts of
these Parententins. However this may be, they now have the reputation of
being cannibals, and no settler dares to set up a hut on their territory,
although it contains very rich growths of rubber trees.
The Brazilian Government does not allow the improvement of these savage
races by the only practical method, namely extermination, but trusts
to the efforts of the few missionary friars to whom is entrusted the
work of proselytizing the untamed tribes of the interior of the empire.
These efforts might doubtless be successful in partially civilizing
milder tribes, such as the Mundurucus of the Amazon, the Pamas of the
Purus, or the Caripunas of the Madeira, but they are perfectly unable to
tame fierce tribes, such as the Parententins of the Madeira, the Ycanga
Pirangas of the Jamary, or the Sirionos of the River Grande of Eastern
Bolivia, tribes that refuse to hold any converse with the white faces,
but attack suddenly with their arrows whenever they can come across an
unprepared party. For these irreclaimable sons of the forest there is no
taming method other than the rifle and bullet, and it is no use trying to
shirk the fact that they must be removed out of the way of the opening up
to commerce of the Amazon and its tributaries.
The termination of the Parententin territory is marked by the junction
of the river Machado on the eastern or right bank of the Madeira. Above
this point the huts of rubber gatherers are again met with, and on
the ninth day’s steaming on the Madeira, the “Praia,” or sandbank of
Tamandoa, which at low water forms a vast and barren deposit for many
miles of the river’s course, is reached. In the dry season, when the
river is low, in the months of August and September, enormous numbers
of turtles frequent these sandbanks for the purpose of depositing their
eggs. On one occasion, passing this bank in a canoe at daybreak, I saw an
extraordinary sight. For miles, as far as the eye could reach down the
river, which hereabouts runs straight for some six or seven miles, were
continuous rows of turtle at the water’s edge; the rows being eight and
ten deep, many thousands of turtle must have been collected together.
The business of gathering the eggs of these turtles for making oil, and
catching the turtles for food, is one of the regular occupations of the
settlers on the river, who flock to these sandbanks in great number at
the time of lowest water.
On the tenth day’s journey on the Madeira, and about the sixteenth from
Pará, the steamer should arrive at San Antonio, the first of the rapids
of the Madeira River. The total distance from Pará to San Antonio is said
to be about 1600 miles, the upward journey generally occupying fifteen to
sixteen days, while the return has been made by a steamer belonging to
the National Bolivian Navigation Company, in six days and seven hours.
CHAPTER V.
Madeira and Mamoré Railway—Ocean steamers can ascend to the
first rapid—Brazilian outposts—Difference between high and low
water below the rapid—Rainfall—Temperature—Scenery—Marks on
rocks—Glossy black deposit on rocks—Trees of the forest—Brazil
nuts—Alligators—Peixebois, pirahybas, pirarucus, and other
fish—Tapirs, how shot—Onças, and other animals—Birds, wild
turkeys, ducks, etc.—Insects, mosquitoes, ants, etc.—Snakes,
etc., etc.
From San Antonio the railway commences that is in course of construction
by the Madeira and Mamoré Railway Company. This line, which is to run
upon the eastern side of the rapids, has for its object the establishment
of communication between the navigable waters of the Mamoré and Guaporé
or Itenez in Eastern Bolivia, and the Madeira and Amazon in Northern
Brazil. The length of the line will be about 180 miles, and it is
estimated to cost £6000 per mile, with a metre gauge. At foot of the
rapid of San Antonio the river forms a bay on the right or eastern bank
of the river, on which the wharf and terminus of the railway will be
built. For eight or nine months of the year, ocean-going steamers could
ascend the Madeira and make fast alongside the bank, but for three months
of the dry season, August to October, steamers that do not draw more than
three to four feet will have to ship the produce brought down by the
railway to San Antonio, and tranship into the ocean steamers either at
Manáos, Serpa, or Pará.
My object being to describe a route of travel, it would be out of place
to remark at length upon the commercial importance of the enterprise
of the Madeira and Mamoré Railway; I would therefore claim attention
for it principally on the ground that it will afford means of rapidly
passing the barrier placed by the falls of the Madeira River in the way
of navigation from Bolivia and the province of Matto Grosso, in Brazil,
to the Amazonian outlet to the Atlantic Ocean. No doubt exists in my mind
that the railway will draw to itself a very considerable and important
traffic, as it will open up provinces in Bolivia and Brazil that at
present have no means whatever of exporting their valuable products of
either mineral or agricultural industry.
San Antonio bears a bad reputation for ague and fever, but I lived there
for nearly two years and did not suffer any serious attack, and the place
is rapidly improving now that a somewhat extensive clearing has been
made. A Brazilian outpost, or “destacamento,” with about thirty soldiers
under the charge of a captain-commandant, is maintained, the next
destacamento being on the river Itenez, in the province of Matto Grosso.
The Madeira River below the falls has a total difference of forty-eight
feet and a half between the highest flood water in the rains, and its
lowest water in the dry season. The highest water is generally reached in
the month of March, while the lowest obtains in September. The rainfall
at San Antonio, according to measurements taken by me in 1872 and 1873,
may be said to be about ninety inches per annum. There are six months
of dry season, from May to October inclusive, and from January to March
seems to be the wettest quarter. The heat, at times, is great in the dry
season, the thermometer sometimes rising, to 95° Fahr. in the shade; but,
speaking generally, the temperature is not nearly so high as might be
expected from the latitude of the place, the highest and lowest average
temperatures for the year being 82° to 88° at day, and 69° to 75° at
night.
[Illustration: SAN ANTONIO—RIVER MADEIRA (LOOKING DOWN STREAM).]
At San Antonio on the railway side, or right bank, of the river, the land
is hilly, and the islands forming the rapid have a pleasing look, as they
are covered with foliage. Below the settlement is a spit of rock running
out into mid river, and uncovered at low water. On these rocks are many
peculiar grooves or marks on the sloping surfaces; they are about a
finger’s depth, and cross each other at different angles, while some are
quite distinct and separate from the others. It has been suggested that
these marks are the work of some of the tribes of the district, but my
opinion would rather be, that they have been caused by glacial action.
At the rapid of Ribeirão there are some carvings on rocks uncovered at
lowest water only, that represent animals, birds, and circles or squares,
and these of course are due to human agency; but the occurrence at all
the rapids, and the great number of the straight grooves, decidedly
favours the view that they are not the result of manual labour. The rocks
at all the rapids are covered with a glossy black substance, which seems
to be a deposit left by the waters during floods, and possibly enamelled
by the sun’s heat during the dry season. If I recollect rightly, Humboldt
noticed this deposit on the rocks of the upper waters of the Orinoco, and
defined it to be a deposit left by the flood waters of the rainy seasons,
but as I have not his “Travels in South America” at hand to refer to, I
may be incorrect in this reference.
The forests are of lofty trees, many being of very valuable timber for
house building and for railway purposes. Rubber trees are plentiful, also
Brazil nuts and cocoa trees, the latter in a wild state but yielding very
excellent fruits. Sarsaparilla, vanilla, copayba and annatto abound, also
fustic and other dyewoods, while many of the barks and bejucas or sipoys
might be utilized as fibres. The Brazil nut tree _Bertholetis excelsa_
is perhaps the handsomest tree of the forest, its dark green foliage
showing to great advantage over the top of its neighbours. The fruit when
fresh is very agreeable and sweet, being very different to the nut as
sold dry and tasteless in London.
Of fish and game, the forest and the river yield an abundant supply to
the settler or traveller. Besides turtle in any quantity, alligators are
in great numbers. The former is a favourite food of the Indian labourers
of Brazil and Eastern Bolivia, who are also not at all averse to a dish
of the latter; and I can vouch for the fact that the tail of a young
alligator not more than three or four feet in length is a most excellent
dish, being as nearly like filleted sole as can be imagined. When the
reptiles grow to a larger size, the flesh has a very repugnant flavour
and smell of musk. Amongst fishes may be mentioned—the boto, which has
the shape of a large porpoise, but is white-coloured and has a snout or
proboscis about a foot in length. The peixeboi and pirahyba are very
large, many being seven and eight feet in length; they, as well as the
botos, are only killed for the oil that can be extracted from their
carcases by boiling. Pirarucus of very large size and weight are found
principally in the back waters or lagoons bordering on the river, and are
much sought after for salting down, in which state they form the staple
food of the settlers on the Madeira. I have heard that a fair-sized
pirarucú will give from five to six Brazilian arrobas (of 33 lbs. each)
of salted fish, and as I have seen them over ten feet long and eighteen
inches to two feet in diameter, I can give them credit for yielding such
a large quantity of solid food. The pescado, a fish with scales, and to
be caught from one to three feet in length, is the best eating fish in
the river, and is equal in flavour to fresh cod or bream. This fish is
curious from the fact of its having two stones situated in the broad
bones at the top of the head, just above the eyes. The tambaqui, dorado,
surubi, pintado, and the joão may also be named as good eating fish,
while the fisherman will often wish heartily that the palometa fish could
be exterminated at once and for ever. This fish is flat and small, seldom
passing a foot in length, but has a very large mouth for its size, full
of the sharpest possible teeth, with which it not only takes the bait
from the hook without any danger to itself, but has also been known to
take a good-sized piece out of a bather’s leg.
The only large animal in the country is the tapir, sometimes called
the “anta,” and sometimes the “gran bestia.” He is a very timorous and
inoffensive animal, and must be shot at night-time, the practice being
for the huntsman to set up what is called a “chapapa,” or raised platform
of poles, sometimes placed in the fork of a conveniently situated tree.
This platform must command the pool of mud where the tapir comes for
his nightly bath and supper of succulent roots; and some hunters place
a candle or small lamp near the pool, the light of which attracts the
stupid beast. A moonlight night is, however, the best for the sport, if
such it may be called, and as soon as the animal shows, the contents of
one barrel are generally sufficient to bring down the game. The tapirs
are as large as a fair-sized Brazilian bullock, and the flesh is much
like beef in taste. There are also “onças,” a species of small jaguar,
and tiger-cats of small size; wild pigs, or peccaries, in great number;
capybaras, or river hogs; squirrels and other small rodents, monkeys in
great variety, small deer, sloths, ant-eaters, armadillos; “lapas,” or
“pacas,” a rodent whose flesh is capital eating; and “lobos,” or otters,
of great size and fierceness.
Besides numerous small birds of great beauty in their plumage, such as
toucans, humming-birds, “carpinteros,” and “campaneros” or bell-ringers,
there are hoopoes, or “ciganas,” which are uniformly reckoned as unclean,
and the ever-present forest scavenger, the vulture, or “souchu,” called
“urubu” in Brazil and “samura” in Central America. A more pleasant and
useful list would comprise—“pavas” and “guachacas,” species of wild
pheasants; “mutuns,” or wild turkeys; “perdrices,” or wild partridges;
“patos royales,” or black ducks—the finest duck in the world; “marecas,”
or Orinoco geese—a brown duck equal, I should think, to a canvas-back;
sheldrakes, snipes, widgeons, teal, herons, storks, and numerous other
water fowl. From this list it may be seen that the locality offers plenty
of occupation for the sportsman who is content with small game, and is
not ambitious of leaving his name on the roll of the mighty hunters of
“greater game.”
The insect plagues of the district have still to be mentioned; and
certainly, when one looks back upon the sufferings undergone from the
attacks of these brutes, one is tempted to wonder greatly why such
plagues exist. Many fine arguments have been brought forward by the
advocates of the theory that everything in nature has its use, in order
to prove that some good results from the existence of a mosquito, but
I who have suffered for years from these pests have hitherto failed to
discover any benefit in their attacks, and cannot see the excellence
of the design that exposes a human body to be the breeding ground of a
“gusanero,” a beast of a fly that attacks you, you know not when, till
after three or four months you know that he has done so, by the swelling
up of the bitten part into a fair-sized boil, from which issues a maggot
of perhaps an inch and a half in length. I have heard it said that the
bite of a mosquito is beneficial, as it thins the blood of a dweller in
swampy tropical regions; but if this were so, they might be arranged to
carry out this beneficial design without causing exquisite pain to the
party operated upon; but the theory is an incorrect one, for there are
spots on the banks of the Amazonian rivers where there would be much less
fever if the countless hosts of mosquitoes or “carapanas,” “gusaneros,”
“marigueys” and “tavernas,” could be exterminated. The ant tribes are
also very numerous and objectionable, coming raiding at times in such
numbers that there is nothing left to do, but, snatching up your clothes
and bedding as quickly as you may, make tracks to a new location. The
larger ants are very venomous, their bite causing intense pain, equal
almost to that caused by scorpions or centipedes, which, also, are pretty
numerous in the dead wood and rotting leaves of the forest. Snakes,
also, are plentiful, the deadly coral snake, and a yellow and black
fellow called the “tiger,” being the species most frequently met with.
The former is seldom seen more than about a foot in length, while the
latter is frequently met with eight or ten feet long and four to six
inches in diameter. A list of these insect and reptile plagues gives a
rather horrible idea of the district, but the annoyances are lost sight
of in the excitement and pleasure caused by travelling through new
solitudes and territories so far removed from all civilization; and at
nightfall, when on the march, one lays down perfectly at one’s ease on
an outstretched hide, without giving a thought to any of the venomous
creatures that possibly pass over the sleeper just as they would over
a log of wood intervening in their path. A good mosquito-net, or bar,
as it is sometimes called, is a perfect safeguard to the intrusion of
any of these creatures, provided that the falling sides and ends are
well secured from being raised by wind during the night: but I would
especially advise a traveller to avoid the ordinary net that outfitters
and others always recommend so strongly. The mariguey of the Madeira is
about the size of a midge, and will lodge on the net, and having walked
inside will torment the inmate beyond belief. The only materials that
circumvent him entirely, and yet allow for ventilation, are ordinary
figured muslins, or a thin blue unglazed calico with a small check
pattern, both of which can be had in Pará at moderate prices.
CHAPTER VI.
Rapids of the Madeira River—Journey undertaken—Canoes, Indians,
and other requirements for the journey described—Articles good
for trading with savages—Provisions, etc.
The journey onwards becomes rather laborious, as canoes must now be
the means employed for the ascent of the rapids and the upper riverine
systems of Eastern Bolivia and Western Brazil. I made this journey in
1874, starting from San Antonio on the 24th of April, in company with
some Bolivian merchants who were returning to their country with general
stores purchased in Pará, for sale in the department of the Beni in
Eastern Bolivia. When prosecuting my journey, I endeavoured to note down
whatever might have called for notice during the day’s run, and although
incurring, perhaps, the risk of being rather tedious, I think it will now
be the best plan to copy the notes I then entered in my diary, in order
that the rapids and other portions of the route travelled over may be
described in proper order.
[Illustration: GARITEA, OR TRAVELLER’S CANOE, RIVER MADEIRA.]
But, first, it is necessary to describe the arrangements requisite for
the ascent of the rapids and the Mamoré to the most eastern towns of
Bolivia. Large canoes, called on the river “batelãos,” or “igariteas,”
are the craft required, a good and useful one being from eight to ten
yards in length, by about four or five feet beam; they draw from two to
four feet of water, and will carry from three to six tons. A crew of not
less than ten peons and a captain is required for a canoe laden with, say
three tons, and the Bolivian Indians of the Beni are the best paddlers
or “marineros,” the Brazilian peons not being so expert in getting the
canoes over the many miles of broken water that have to be encountered.
It is unwise to attempt to make either the upward or downward journey
with single embarkations, because at, at least three of the rapids,
the canoes have to be totally unladen and dragged over the portages,
which invariably have to cross a small but steep hill, and one crew is
quite unable to haul the canoe over any one of these hills. It is best,
therefore, always to arrange a party of three or more canoes, before
commencing the ascent or descent of the rapids. Canoes travelling singly
are also much exposed to attacks from the wandering families of savages
on the river banks, while parties of three or more canoes in company
have rarely if ever been molested. A small canoe, or “montaria,” is
extremely useful for the purpose of sending the cable ahead of the large
canoe, when a strong current is met with that the paddles are unable to
overcome. This cable should be about fifty or sixty yards long, and may
be of good hemp or piassava; there should be one for each canoe, and
the test of the strain of at least thirty men should be applied to each
cable before the journey is commenced, as breakages of bad cables cause
an immense amount of vexation, and a great deal of danger. The canoes
have a cabin at the stern end, made of palm leaves, covered with a raw
hide if possible. In this cabin the “patron,” or owner, arranges his
small stores, guns, books, etc., and, with the addition of a narrow hair
mattress, manages to make of it a very snug abode, which serves for his
parlour by day, and sleeping quarters at night, except when amongst the
rapids, when it is always safer to sleep on shore, for fear of the canoe
breaking away during the night, and taking its sleeping occupant over
the nearest rapid below. Besides, it is not advisable to trust one’s
self too implicitly in the hands of the Indian marineros, for cases
are on record where an Indian, to be revenged on his patron for some
well-deserved punishment perhaps, has cut the rope by which the canoe
has been made fast, and has sent his patron to his last reckoning in a
brutal and treacherous manner; and it must be borne in mind that, in a
crew of Indians, there may easily be one black sheep, however tractable
and good-natured the majority are. I have never had cause to complain
of treachery or vindictiveness on the part of the Bolivian Indians, and
believe that if they are kindly and honestly dealt with they are most
trustworthy in every way; but discretion is the better part of valour,
and it is well to be on the safe side, which is, amongst the rapids, the
river bank, and not the cabin, or “camarota,” of the canoe. It is also
well to provide each canoe with a short length of chain and a good stout
padlock, for securing it to a tree at nightfall.
The traveller will naturally furnish himself with firing-irons after
his own heart, but I would recommend him to add to his own particular
fancy, a Winchester sixteen-shot repeating rifle, for they make splendid
shooting, are light, portable, and carry a good armament ready at hand
in case of a brush with savages. A double-barrelled shot-gun; a pair
of revolvers (not fitted with cartridge extractors, which invariably
get rusted and clogged up unless they are taken to pieces and cleaned
thoroughly every day—an almost impossible task), a good hunting knife, or
“machete,” for clearing one’s path amongst the reeds on the river bank
or through the forest, and a good assortment of fish-hooks and lines,
will about complete the inventory of “materiel de guerre” advisable. To
preserve one’s guns and knives from the rust which covers them completely
in one night if they are left ungreased, I found that the best thing was
“Andiroba oil,” which can be obtained in any quantity in Pará or Manáos.
This oil is expressed from the nuts of the Andiroba tree (_Xylocarpus
caropa_), and is used in Brazil for lighting purposes principally. It
makes, however, a first-rate lubricant for machinery, and the way it
protects steel or iron from rust is simply marvellous. Guns and pistols
should be rubbed clean about twice a week, and then, if the oil is laid
on lightly with wool or tow, they will keep their polish and browning in
the dampest spots. A stock of knives, axes, machetes, beads, fish-hooks,
and ready-made canvas or common flannel shirts should also be taken, in
readiness for the chance of an amicable “pow-wow” with the “barbaros,” as
the traveller will naturally be desirous of bringing away a record of his
visit, in the shape of arrows, bows, necklets of seeds, feathers, teeth
ornaments, etc., from these gentry. As for provisions, it is well not to
despise the humble farinha, charqui, or bacalao, although most Europeans
find it difficult to bring their palates to this plain diet; but when
the ducks have been wild, or the exigencies of the journey have hindered
the traveller from procuring his supper from the fresh meats afforded by
the forest or the river, he will find that the good appetite his day’s
work with the canoe has given him, proves a good sauce, even to a dish
of charqui soup, rice, and farinha. I found that a spoonful of “Liebig’s
Extract,” added to the “chupe,” or thick soup, which is the only dish
known to Bolivian peons, rendered it both palatable and nutritious. Some
live fowls and a few tins of vegetables, salmon, herrings, or sardines
would not be amiss, as one must prepare for a voyage of about seven
weeks between San Antonio and Exaltacion, the first town arrived at in
Bolivia. For liquors, the river affords good potable water for those that
are teetotally inclined; but temperance principles are good for those
only that cannot keep their drinking propensities within bounds, and I
do not think that a European can keep his health in any tropical climate
without a small and regular supply of some stimulant. A bottle or two
of brandy in case of illness, a box of claret, or a garrafão of “vino
verde,” will be as much as the traveller can find space in his canoe for,
especially as it is vitally necessary to have a good supply of cachaça
(ordinary white rum, made from sugar cane, and called aguadiente, caña,
pisco, or cachaça, according to locality) for the Indian crew, who need a
ration, about a wine-glassful, night and morning, and also whenever they
have to work at hauling the canoes in the water for any length of time.
The traveller also will not despise a nip of cachaça when the wind blows
coldly, and at night a little in a bowl of tea is very agreeable. As a
preservative against fever, I have found it a good plan to take, every
morning at daybreak, before coffee or eating, a small quantity, say about
two and a half or three grains, of quinine, in a small glass of any kind
of spirit; and this plan, if carried out regularly, will, I believe,
take a man safely through any of the most malarious districts of South
America. A capital preparation which a traveller in the tropics should,
in my opinion, always be provided with, is Angostura bitters, which are
made at the city of Angostura, on the river Orinoco, in Venezuela. These
bitters, besides having great preservative properties against fever,
for cascarilla or quinine bark is doubtless their principal ingredient,
are about the finest appetizers that I ever met with. A small cocktail
made with Angostura will give any one an appetite for the roughest and
plainest meal that can be imagined, and I am confident that the immunity
that I have enjoyed from ague has been mainly owing to my use of these
bitters, as I have thereby been enabled to keep up my appetite, and make
a square meal where others have been quite unable to do more than look
at, and perhaps turn away from, the dishes of charqui and farinha which
are often the only fare to be met with in Brazil.
CHAPTER VII.
A start made—Canoe heavily laden—San Antonio rapid passed—Slow
progress made—Method of passing over strong currents—The
current of Macacos—The Bay of Theotonio—Canoe nearly swamped in
same—The Falls of Theotonio—Fish at foot of falls—Franciscan
mission to the Pamas—The portage of Theotonio.
On the 24th of April, I woke up all hands at 3 a.m., and we had the
last boxes packed, the fowls caught, put in the coop, and all on board
ready for a start at seven o’clock. On calling over the roll of oarsmen,
or “marineros,” as they are called, we found that a Bolivian boy was
missing, having hid himself in the forest, so as to be left behind; for
there are many of these Indians that are so lazy that they would rather
remain on the Madeira River than undergo the hard work of the ascent of
the rapids on their way to their own country. The canoe was very low down
in the water, the top of the gunwale not being more than three inches
out, and she therefore leaked rather badly round the top seams; but as
the wood swelled from the immersion, the leakage decreased. We took about
an hour and a half to get from the right or eastern bank of the river,
below the rapid of San Antonio, to the other side, where the shortest
land portage for the baggage is found. On the passage across, the canoe
hung several times in the strong current, as the crew were not yet
practised together, and I had a good deal of shouting and encouraging
to do in order to avoid being carried some distance down stream. The
Bolivian Indian’s term for “putting on a spurt” is “churka,” and a good
crew of twelve or fourteen paddles will make even a heavily laden canoe
almost leap in the water when the paddlers “churka” well together. A
Bolivian paddle is oar-shaped, and about four or five feet in length,
by six inches width at the blade; but a Brazilian one is much shorter,
has a crutch-shaped handle and a round blade fifteen or sixteen inches
diameter: both paddles can do excellent work in strong hands. I had to
send back to the other side for a few things that, of course, had been
forgotten, including my two retriever dogs, “Jack” and “Burro,” who got
safely through the journey up the rapids with me, but had some narrow
escapes from the alligators. By the time we got the baggage over the
portage to the upper side of the fall, it commenced to rain heavily,
so the tarpaulins were brought into service, and the night was passed
above the fall, the empty canoes having been hauled up the rapid on the
San Antonio side, and passed across the river above the fall. On the
25th, the cargo was all on board again by 7 a.m., and the ascent of the
river recommenced, much hard work being met with in the frequent strong
currents, or “correntezas.” We stayed for breakfast in an igarapé, or
small stream, opposite the Macacos hut, and in the afternoon passed the
first current of the same name by roping, stopping at dark between the
currents.
Any one who has not travelled in a canoe up stream on a broad and
rapid river like the Madeira, is almost unable to imagine the delays
and vexations caused by the slow progress that is all that can be made.
The canoes must always be kept as close as possible to the bank, for
out in mid-stream the paddles would be quite unable to keep way on the
boat, while near the banks there is generally a little quiet water. When
currents are arrived at that cannot be surmounted without the use of
the cable, roping must be resorted to, and then one can’t do more than
perhaps twenty yards in as many minutes, for the overhanging bushes give
great trouble to keep clear of, while at the same time they are very
serviceable to haul by.
The 26th, Sunday—but not a day of rest, for the men prefer continuing the
journey, and one cannot carry provisions sufficient to allow for one idle
day in seven—we started at 5.30 a.m., after a cup of tea, and soon came
to some very hard work, roping over the second current of Macacos, which
we passed quite through by about 10 a.m. The land hereabouts is rather
hilly on the eastern or left side, the rocks in some places rising twenty
or thirty feet above the water even when the river is full. We arrived at
the cataract of Theotonio about mid-day, after being very nearly swamped
in the rough water below the fall. The river widens out at the foot of
each one of the principal rapids, and in the case of the Theotonio, the
greatest fall on the river, the bay is of very considerable size. The
water here is always in a more or less agitated state, from the effect of
the principal fall, which is about twenty-six feet in height, and when
the wind blows up stream, the waves rise so much that canoes run great
danger of being swamped. The captain of my crew took us out too far in
the centre of the river, as he was anxious to avoid being thrown into
the surf on the bank; but the canoe was so heavily laden that the waves
dashed over the sides, and we ran great danger of swamping. Some of the
crew took fright, and by rising up and ceasing to paddle, endangered
greatly the safety of the canoe, its occupants, and cargo. However, by
encouraging them by words and prompt action in baling out the water that
had entered the canoe, we happily got to the foot of the fall, and hauled
up the canoe on the flat rocks.
The fall of Theotonio is at all times a most majestic one, but is more
especially so at low water, when the full effect of the cataract can
be seen. The river here is probably more than a mile in width, the
fall being divided into three parts by rocky islands. I had previously
visited this fall at a time when the river was almost at its lowest, and
was then able to walk on the uncovered rocks almost to its centre. One
could then stand right in front of the horseshoe fall and thoroughly
enjoy the grand sight of the foaming and splashing waters. Any amount
of fish may be caught in the pools below the fall during the months of
low water, and wandering bands of the savages are then frequently met
with at this rapid. At my first visit the pools were so full of fish,
that some Brazilian soldiers who accompanied me were able to spear,
with the greatest ease, some very large tambaquis. The fish appear to
attempt to ascend the river and get stunned at the foot of the rapid, for
they can be seen in the pools, rolling about rather than swimming in a
natural manner. On the right or western bank of the river, at this fall,
there was, during my time, a mission established by a Franciscan friar,
“Frai Luis Zarraga,” an Italian of good education and most pleasing and
courteous manners. He had at one time as many as 200 savages of the Pama
tribe, that appears to have its hunting grounds between the Madeira and
the Purus Rivers, which, near the Theotonio Fall, are probably not more
than fifty or sixty miles apart. These savages appear to be very mild
and tractable, but the Fraile found it impossible to keep them at the
mission for more than about two to three months at a time; they would
then leave him, promising to return in a certain number of moons. This
wandering custom appears to be a characteristic of all the savage tribes
of the interior of South America, and is doubtless governed or suggested
by the exigencies of hunting. When the river is full, the ravines also
have plenty of water, and the fish and game go up to the sources of
the waters, following the water in its downward retreat during the dry
season; and the savages, who have only their hunting and fishing to
depend upon for food supplies, are thus forced to be almost continually
on the move.
The afternoon of the 26th was occupied in transferring my garitea and
baggage to the upper side of the fall. The portage is about 600 yards
in length, and passes over a rocky hill about fifty feet in height,
the canoe being passed over it on rough rollers made from boughs cut
from the forest near by. The Bolivian merchants, in whose company I had
arranged to make the journey, were waiting at Theotonio for me, and I
very soon saw how useless it would have been to have attempted to have
made the journey alone. These other patrons sent about five and twenty
men to assist my crew in passing the canoe over the hill, which was done
in about an hour, safely and without much trouble. We also carried over
about half the cargo before nightfall; and, my tent being set up, I
passed a good night, the morning part being delightfully cool.
CHAPTER VIII.
Currents above Theotonio—Loss of a small canoe—Theft of rum at
night by one of the Bolivian boatmen—The rapid of Morinhos—Crew
turn out to be very weak and slow—Plan for securing a good
crew—The river Yaci-Paraná—Morning fogs—Igarapé of the Caripuna
savages—Capitan Cinco’s Island—Buena Esperanza—Rations given to
the boatmen.
On the 27th, the rest of the cargo was on board, and breakfast over by
about mid-day, when we started in line, I being last of the total file
of seven canoes. About a couple of miles above Theotonio, we came to a
very strong current, and had to pass over a very dangerous point of rock,
getting over safely with hard work and much shouting. About 5 p.m. we
came to a current by an island, the current being very strong, and the
worst we had yet passed. Señor Morales sent his montaria to assist me in
getting to a point of safety for the night; but the montaria was badly
managed in passing the prow of my garitea, which was tied in mid-current
to a tree, and, owing to this mismanagement, she struck a rock, filled,
and was sucked under my canoe, and away in a moment. The four men in her
fortunately escaped, by jumping on the rock and clinging to the branches
of the tree, from whence they passed into my canoe. We had a dreadfully
hard time for about a couple of hours, and had my rope broken we should
have gone down stream at a rapid rate; but, fortunately, all went well,
and we got to where the other canoes were made fast for the night, about
100 yards ahead, by 8 p.m., and had a bad night, as, in consequence of
arriving so late, we were unable to cook a supper or set up the tent.
The next day, the 28th, we started at daybreak, about half-past five
o’clock, and stopping for a short time only, about ten, for breakfast,
concluded a good day’s work by half-past-five at night, when we arrived
at some small shanties of palm-leaves, that had been set up by the
engineers of the railway when cutting a road through the forest for
the entire length of the river amongst the rapids. Here we should have
passed a tolerable night, had it not been that one of my men got to my
stores, and stole sufficient cachaça (white rum) to make him not only
very drunk, but also so offensively noisy, that I had to get up several
times during the night and quiet him, not only by threats, but also by
a mild application of corporal punishment. It is a very bad plan to be
continually beating one’s peons, or Indian servants, for every fault
they commit. A patron who always has a blow or a bad word for his men
cannot expect even Indians to esteem him or work willingly for him; but
it must be borne in mind that there is no law or authority to appeal
to in the solitudes that have to be travelled through in the centre of
South America: in fact, the patron must be the judge, and frequently
the executioner as well, of the law; and for serious offences, such as
gross insubordination, theft, or continued drunkenness, there is no
other remedy than a judiciously applied whipping. The best plan will be
found, when the necessity arises, to form a court of which perforce you
must constitute yourself both judge and witness, condemn the criminal to
a punishment proportionate to the offence, and have the sentence duly
administered by the captain of the crew. Thus the men will see that they
are not arbitrarily punished, and a proper amount of discipline will
be maintained; but I am bound to say that the Bolivian Indians can be
perfectly well managed with a very slight show of authority.
The next morning I had a good deal of trouble to get my drunken reveller
on board, and very soon after starting he dropped his paddle in the
river, probably doing so on purpose, in order that he should not be made
to work. This was very annoying, but it was of little use punishing a man
in his condition, so we had to make the best way we could with one paddle
short. About half-past eight in the morning we got to the next rapid,
called “Morinhos,” during a heavy fall of rain, and made preparations
for ascending by a channel on the right or eastern bank. The upper part
only of the cargoes of the canoes was unloaded at this rapid, and the
crews assisting each other, all the craft were passed through the broken
waters in about four hours. Some 200 yards above the fall we had some
heavy roping work, and my canoe again struck on a rock in a full current,
giving us altogether five or six hours’ hard work to get free; but at
length we got off again, and roped ahead to where the other patrons had
awaited us. Arriving by night at the resting-place, or “pascana,” as it
is called, is very unpleasant, as the boys have not time to put up my
small tent or screen of waterproofs, and paddling after dark is very
dangerous. Hereabouts it became clear that my crew could not keep up with
the other canoes, so I asked the Bolivian patrons to go ahead and leave
me to my snail’s pace; this, however, they refused to do. The reason for
my delay was clearly that I had a most wretched crew in my canoe, great
in number—being sixteen in all—but worthless in quality; and also they
were men of different villages, and therefore did not work well together.
To travel amongst the rapids with any degree of pleasure, one must be
able to do as did one of the Bolivian patrons, Don Miguel Cuellas, who
owned three of the largest canoes; two of the others belonging to one
Señor Juan de Dios Molina, and the remaining one, besides my own, to Don
Ruperto Morales. Each of Señor Cuellas’ canoes was manned with men from
one village, two having none but Baures, while the other had Itonamas
only; thus the men understand their captains, and work with will like a
machine. Where practicable, the plan is to find a good captain and let
him select his men from amongst his own “parientes” or relations.
On the 30th we did a good day’s work, my crew improving a little, and
at night we stopped on the left bank, opposite the mouth of the river
Yaci Paraná, that enters the Madeira on the eastern or Brazilian side.
The night was passed in a wild cane brake, a kind of reed called in the
district “chuchia,” and from the straight tops of which the savages
make their arrows. The morning of the 1st of May broke with a very
heavy fog, which, hanging over the river, did not lift until the sun
attained full power by about eight o’clock. We made our start, however,
at 4.15 a.m., and during the whole day paddled straight forward, the
only troubles being in places where the fallen trees stretching out from
the banks forced us to go out into the river where the current is always
very powerful. These awkward spots being of frequent occurrence, my poor
fellows could not keep up with the other crews, but after a very hard
day’s work we got, at 6.30 p.m., to an “igarapé,” or ravine, on the left
bank, where one of the Bolivian patrons had waited for me. This igarapé
is known as the “igarapé de los Caripunas,” as these savages have a
“malocal,” or clearing, in the forest about eight miles from the river.
They are often to be met with hereabouts, but I was not fortunate enough
to come across them. The fogs were on again the following morning, but,
nevertheless, we started at 4.30 a.m., and crossed over to an island
known as Capitan Cinco’s, this being the name of the head man of the
savages of the Caripuna tribe. We coasted round this island until about
10 a.m., when we crossed over to the mainland on the railway side of the
river, namely the eastern or Brazilian side. From 11.30 a.m. to 1.30
p.m. we stopped for breakfast about half a mile below where the other
canoes had pulled up. In the afternoon we paddled on till half-past six
at night, when we got to some huts left by the railway engineers, and
known by the name of “Buena Esperanza;” the Bolivian patrons having
arrived there as early as three o’clock in the afternoon. Here I had a
conversation with the Bolivian patrons, and sought their advice as to
the slow rate at which my men managed to paddle the canoe, and heard, to
my disgust, that there was a report going about that my rations to the
crew were insufficient, and that some of my men had said so. The rations
I had been giving my men were daily ¾lb. of charqui (jerked beef), 1½lb.
of farinha (yuca flour), some rice, flour, sugar, coffee, and a liberal
serving of cachaça (white rum) night and morning. The meat, rice, and
farinha were, in my case, larger rations than those given by the Bolivian
patrons to their men, while the sugar and coffee were extras altogether;
and the other men only got tots of cachaça after working in the water, or
any other specially trying work. I was very much annoyed at this wretched
lie, the fact being that my crew was composed of a thoroughly worthless
set of fellows; too lazy even to make themselves a cup of coffee before
starting in the early morning.
CHAPTER IX.
The rapid of Calderão do Inferno—Attacks of fever and
vomiting—Caripuna savages—Death of a Bolivian boy—Earth-eating
practised by the Indians—Death of Mariano, a Bolivian
boatman—Peculiar custom prevailing amongst the Indians—The
Falls of Girão—Miseries of a wet night.
The following day we arrived at the foot of the rapid bearing the
suggestive name of “Calderão do Inferno,” or “Cauldron of Hell.” This
name is given to a succession of six rapids extending over about a mile
and a half of the river, the upper one being the principal, with a fall
of about eight feet; the lower five are called the “Rabo,” or tail, of
the “Calderão.” These were all passed on the left or Bolivian side of the
river, the whole of the 4th and part of the 5th being occupied in passing
the cargoes over the land portage used for overcoming the upper rapid.
This portage is very little short of a mile in length, and the road being
very rough and rocky, the men had very hard work. The canoes were hauled
up empty through a creek or channel between the islands and the mainland.
The mornings now were always foggy, and the sun during the day seemed to
be exceptionally powerful, and several of my crew were sickening with
fever. I myself had rather a bad attack of vomiting, and had to take as
much rest as possible while the cargoes were being carried round the
fall. A cup of tea made from some sort of balsam, and given to me by one
of the Bolivian patrons, had good effect in allaying the sickness, but I
found the most relief from two or three draughts of Lamplough’s “Pyretic
Saline,” a medicine that every traveller in South American forests should
carry. At the upper portage of this fall we found two of the bark canoes,
belonging to the Caripuna savages, who have a “malocal,” or clearing
inland, near this rapid. The canoes appeared to have been abandoned
for some time, as they were full of mud, having probably been sunk on
the bank, according to the custom of these savages, when the river was
at its flood height. The savages did not show, and we had no time to
spare to search for them in the interior. Travellers must be on their
guard in the neighbourhood of this rapid, for the tribe bears a very
bad and treacherous character; and although they have been friendly to
many passers-by, and were so to the engineers who cut the track for the
railway, they have attacked small parties with great ferocity.
On the 6th it was nine o’clock before the last of my packages was carried
over, and all the canoes started, the Bolivian patrons having again
kindly waited for me. Above the fall we had much roping and pulling
up stream by the bushes, although some of the other canoes that had
good strong crews were able to get on with paddles only. The sun was
terribly hot and overpowering, so at mid-day I ordered my men to stop
and finish their breakfasts, which they had had to take very hurriedly
before starting in the morning. One of my Bolivian boys, a lad about
fourteen or fifteen years old, had been complaining yesterday and to-day
of fever, so I had allowed him to leave his paddle and lie down on the
top of the cargo, the only available space for idle hands. Just as the
canoe touched the bank I saw him fall back from a sitting posture, and
to my horror, when I got from my cabin to him, I found he was evidently
dying. I applied smelling-salts to his nose, and bathed his forehead
with cachaça, the liquor nearest to hand, giving him also a spoonful
to drink; but he died quickly, and apparently without pain. This was
another blow to add to our misfortunes, especially as we had a man very
ill at the time, and with too good reason feared that the shock of poor
Bruno’s death would prove too great for him. The boy Bruno had been in my
service for nearly eighteen months before leaving San Antonio, and was
always a weak and sickly boy, besides being afflicted with the disgusting
vice of “earth-eating,” so common to many of the Indian tribes of South
America. I had succeeded in keeping him from this practice whilst I had
him in regular service at San Antonio, but it appeared that at the rapid
of Morinhos he had seen some particular kind of earth that aroused the
dormant habit, and, indulging himself too largely, his stomach must have
got into a thoroughly disorganized state, so that he was unable to resist
the intense heat of the sun.
It was melancholy work, paddling up stream all day with the dead body
of the boy on board, and another of the Indians in a dangerous state;
but the longest day comes to an end, and at 3.30 p.m. we crossed over
to the Brazilian side of the river, just below the last rock of the
Girão Falls. The hills near this fall show bold and high as one ascends
the river, and we arrived at the port, a small bay at the foot of the
fall, about seven o’clock. During the night my forebodings as to losing
the other sick man, Mariano, were verified, as he died about daybreak.
This was the man who at Morinhos stole liquor, and fell into the river
during the night; he then caught cold, and had been ailing ever since.
I gave him the best remedies that I had at hand, also wine, arrowroot,
and beef-tea, made from Liebig’s “Extract,” and I could not see that
there was any sickness that should cause his death; but, about a couple
of days ago, his squaw and other relations evidently made up their minds
that he ought not to recover, and in accordance with a custom that exists
with many of the Indian tribes, they gave him numerous commissions to
those members of his family and other friends that had preceded him in
their last journey. I have frequently observed the existence of this
custom amongst Bolivian Indians of the Beni: when one of them falls sick,
his immediate friends and companions seem to settle amongst themselves
whether the sick man shall recover or not; and if their verdict is
unfavourable, the poor man gets no remedies and very little, if any, food
or care. The prediction is therefore brought to realization, and as the
fatal moment is seen to draw near, the friends deliver to the moribund
messages to their relatives or acquaintances that have beforehand joined
the majority.[2] It is quite useless to leave a sick Indian to the care
of his fellows only, and in all cases where these Indians are brought
together in numbers, attendants and nurses of other races must be
provided for the care of the sick. I myself was very unwell about this
time, and was quite unable to do more for my sick than give out medicines
and wine, or arrowroot, etc., for them. I could not sit up with them at
nights, and, unfortunately, I had no companion or head man that could be
depended upon.
The next day, the 7th of May, we buried poor Bruno and Mariano at about
mid-day, side by side, at the foot of the fall, and setting up a rough
wooden cross over the graves, left them to the solitudes of the forest.
The crew in consequence of these deaths were very downhearted, and not
much work could be got out of them this day; the canoes were, however,
emptied of their cargoes, and hauled over the land portage, to the upper
side of the fall. This portage is nearly half a mile in length, and is
over very rocky ground; the canoes are therefore exposed to suffer damage
if the men are not careful to keep them on the rollers. The whole of
the 8th of May was taken up in repairing the canoes, and in getting the
cargoes transported over the portage, and put on board again above the
fall, ready for a start on the following day. The night of the 8th was
very wet and miserable, the rain coming down in torrents nearly the whole
night long. It was very late in the evening before we got all our baggage
re-embarked in the canoes, and as we should have lost some time in the
morning if I had ordered my tent and camp bedstead to be set up for
the night, I had decided to pass the night on a hide with a waterproof
sheet stretched on sticks and strings overhead, little guessing that we
were to have such a wet night. I shall not easily forget the wretched
night I passed. To have any light was impossible, and so I had to keep
my blankets tucked in under the waterproof awning as well as I could
in the dark. With all my efforts I could not keep the drippings of the
sheet overhead clear of the outstretched hide, so after a very little
time I found myself laying in a hide full of water, my gun and revolvers
alongside of me also coming in for a good wetting. The men must have
suffered far more than I did, for they had not put up any shelters at
all, and were simply laying on the bank of the river, exposed to the full
fury of the storm. I therefore looked forward to a fresh succession of
fevers and other illnesses amongst them.
FOOTNOTES
[2] This custom of the Indians, seems by the following extract from
Josephus to have had its prototype in eastern lands in times of very
ancient date.
Josephus, “Wars of the Jews,” book 7, chap. 8, s. 7. In Eleazar’s
speech to the Sicarii, when advising his followers to put themselves to
death rather than fall alive into the hands of the Romans, occur these
words:—“We, therefore, who have been brought up in a discipline of our
own, ought to become an example to others of our readiness to die; yet if
we do not stand in need of foreigners to support us in this matter, let
us regard those Indians who profess the exercise of philosophy; for these
good men do but unwillingly undergo the time of life, and look upon it as
a necessary servitude, and make haste to let their souls loose from their
bodies; nay, when no misfortune presses them to it, nor drives them upon
it, these have such a desire of a life of immortality, that they tell
other men beforehand that they are about to depart; and nobody hinders
them, but every one thinks them happy men, and gives them letters to be
carried to their familiar friends that are dead; so firmly and certainly
do they believe that souls converse with one another in the other world.
So when these men have heard all such commands that were to be given
them, they deliver their body to the fire; and, in order to their getting
their soul a separation from the body in the greatest purity, they die
in the midst of hymns of commendations made to them; for their dearest
friends conduct them to their death more readily than do any of the rest
of mankind conduct their fellow-citizens when they are going on a very
long journey, who, at the same time, weep on their own account, but look
upon the others as happy persons, as so soon to be made partakers of the
immortal order of beings. Are not we, therefore, ashamed to have lower
notions than the Indians?”
CHAPTER X.
The rapid of Trés Irmãos—Meeting with the Pacaguara savages—The
river Trés Irmãos—Wild turkeys.
On the morning of the 9th, we left Girão at six o’clock, with all our
blankets and clothes thoroughly wet, and with no chance of drying them.
No coffee, either, could be had, as no dry sticks could be found; so we
had to be content with a nip at the flask, and a tot of cachaça served
all round to the crew. We had more rain during the day, everything in
consequence being dull and dispiriting. I had a smart attack of shakes
and fever at night, probably from the severe wetting endured the previous
night. I stopped work at about four in the afternoon, so as to give time
to get some kind of shelter ready and some supper cooked, passing the
night in the camarote or cabin of the canoe, as I was afraid of the damp
on shore after the heavy rain of the previous night.
For the 10th there was nothing special to note; the weather improved,
and we made pretty fair progress. On the 11th we came, about 8 a.m., in
sight of the hills of Trés Irmãos, or the “Three Brothers,” the highest
hills I had yet seen in the district. We passed the rapid of the same
name towards nightfall without any difficulty, and very little towing
work. This rapid is only troublesome to travellers when the river is
low; when there is plenty of water it becomes merely a corriente. As we
were making our canoes fast for the night a short distance above the
rapid, we heard voices below us, and, stealing up out of the deepening
shadows, saw a bark canoe approach, with three men and a child seated
in it. They were the first “Barbaros,” or savages, that I had seen, and
were objects of great interest to me. They were of the tribe called
“Pacaguaras,” and have their “malocal,” or clearing, on the river Trés
Irmãos, which runs into the Madeira on the Brazilian side. They are
not to be confounded with the Caripunas that are generally met with
at the rapid of Calderão do Inferno, and were very careful to let us
know that they were Pacaguaras, and not Caripunas. The three men were
of very fair features, two of them rather good-looking, and, except in
their adornments of feathers, very similar to the Bolivian Indians of
the Beni, although, perhaps, a shade lighter in colour. Their hair is
jet black, cut squarely above their eyebrows, and hanging down behind
almost to their shoulders; they have no whiskers or beard. The absence
of these facial appendages seems to be a characteristic of the savage
tribes of the interior of South America, and I observed that these
Pacaguaras seemed to be much surprised at the length of these adornments
of some of the travellers, and would take hold of one’s whiskers, giving
them a good pull, possibly with a view to see if they were false; when,
finding that they adhered firmly to the faces, they would burst out
into a hearty laugh. They were dressed in shirts and trousers that they
had received from the engineering parties that had lately been up the
river, but in their natural state a few feathers and a little string
form the whole of their wardrobe. It is said that when once they put
on an article of clothing that is given to them, they never remove it
until it drops to pieces, and certainly the state of the shirts I saw
them in warranted the report. Their language appears to be a succession
of semi-articulated sounds, shrugs, signs, and much laughter, and the
word “shuma,” which is said to mean “good,” stands them in great stead
in their conversation with passers-by. Some of them have picked up a few
Spanish and Portuguese words, and the first question they address to one
is to ask one’s name; and if they hear a new one, they give it to the
next child that is born in their malocal. The three men that paid us a
visit were named Patricio, Isiriaco, and Gregorio, while the head man,
or “Capitan,” of the tribe is one Mariano, who, however, is not a true
Pacaguara, but a runaway Cayubaba, from the town of Exaltacion in the
Beni. They were very friendly to us, and seemed to be very pleased to see
my mayordomo again, as they had known him some months before, when he
was up the river with the railway engineers. We gave them some cachaça
and some biscuits, and they promised to bring us some yucas and maize in
the morning, and, bidding us good-night, they paddled away in the dark
at a rapid rate. Their bark canoes are wonderful structures, being about
fifteen or sixteen feet long, and made out of one single piece of bark,
about half or three quarters of an inch in thickness, tied tip at either
end, and stretched out in the middle, the stretchers forming the seats.
These canoes are rather heavy to carry on land, but, sitting very lightly
on the water, are driven along rapidly, with very little exertion on the
part of the paddlers. They also appear to be very safe, and will go up
or down all the smaller rapids. There is generally a small fire carried
at one end, where a sufficient quantity of earth is placed to prevent
the canoe being burnt. If all the “Barbaros” were like these Pacaguaras,
they would give but little trouble to travellers or settlers, a little
stealing being probably the only annoyance to be anticipated from them.
[Illustration: CASCARA, OR BARK CANOE OF THE CARIPUNAS AND OTHER TRIBES
OF THE RIVER MADEIRA.]
The next morning, the 12th, we started early, and tried to go up the
river Trés Irmãos to the malocal of the Pacaguaras, but were unable to
go so far for fear of being separated from the other canoes. The river
near its junction with the Madeira is about 200 yards in width, is very
deep, and is very abundantly stocked with fish; indeed, all the rivers
and ravines that debouch into the big river amongst the rapids are full
of fish at the junction, as it would seem that the fish like to frequent
the quieter waters there met with. While we were breakfasting at a small
clearing about a mile or so above the rapid, three of the Pacaguaras came
up with a quantity of fine fresh maize, but no yucas or plantains; and
they made us understand by signs, and pointing to the sun, that they had
not had time to go to their clearing, where the plantains and yucas were
growing. We bought the maize from them by barter, giving them an axe, a
machete, or cutlass, and some fish-hooks in exchange; and I also obtained
a couple of sets of the capybara teeth that they use as ear ornaments,
for they can hardly be called ear-rings, as they are stuck behind the
ear by a small piece of wax. I presented the Capitan Mariano with an
accordion, with which he seemed highly pleased, and they parted from us
evidently very contented with our treatment of them.
Up to the present time I had but little chance of shooting, but
nevertheless generally managed to get a shot at a pava or a mareca
while the canoe was _en route_, although, as I was always behind the
other canoes, I only got other people’s leavings, in stray birds that
had escaped discovery, or that had returned to the river bank, possibly
thinking that all the canoes had passed. To-day, however, I was fortunate
enough to bag a “mutun,” or wild turkey, a very handsome black bird,
with a bright yellow horn-shaped wattle over his beak. He had a fine
fleshy breast, and made us a capital supper. One of my best men, a
Canichana Indian, was down to-day with a very bad attack of ague fever.
CHAPTER XI.
San Louise—Track across the big bend of the river—Corrientes
and Remansos—The rapid of Paredão—Violence of one of the
Indian boatmen during a fit—The rapids of Pederneira—La
Cruz—Probability that the country is level in the interior on
the right bank of the river—As Penhas Coloradas.
On the 13th, we started at daybreak, and passed the hut called “San
Louise” about 8 a.m. From this hut the track cut by the railway engineers
turns inland, and crosses the big bend of the river, coming out again
at the hut called “La Cruz,” near the rapid of Araras. From 8.30 to
9.30 a.m. we were roping through currents below the rapid of Paredão,
so called from the wall-like appearance of the rocks, that break up the
fall into several channels of broken water that one sees glistening about
half a league before getting up to them. The approach to Paredão for the
whole of this half-league is about the worst we have yet encountered. We
came up on the right bank, and had to encounter a constant succession of
“corrientes” and “remansos;” this latter being a return current that in
many places, especially bays, runs up stream inshore with great force,
until, meeting the down current at some projecting point, it again takes
the downward course. The remansos hereabouts are particularly dangerous,
for the river bank is sheer rock, and the current drives the canoe with
such force towards the rocks, that it would certainly break in pieces
with the shock if it were allowed to strike. More by good luck than by
good judgment, we escaped the danger, although once or twice we were
running great risk; once in the remanso, and once in a great “rebujo,”
or boiling up of the water, which probably takes place over a sunken
rock. Arriving at the foot of the fall, we made fast for the night. There
was a slight wave on from the cachuela; but, as we were moored against
a mudbank, it did not do us any damage. We had to put off the unloading
till next day, as the creek up which the canoes have to be pulled for
this purpose is so narrow that only one boat at a time can be got up it.
The cachuela is one of the prettiest yet passed, being broken up with
large islands and rocks into three channels, up the eastern one of which
we are to pass.
The next morning, the 14th, we were occupied till about eleven o’clock in
getting our canoes over the fall, and reloaded again at the upper side.
From the top of a rock I superintended the hauling up of my canoe over
the projecting corner of a miniature promontory, and was surprised to see
the immense amount of strain on the rope, although the canoe was being
pulled through water; and I looked on with some fear and trembling, not
only on this occasion, but always when I saw my only means of locomotion
dependent entirely upon the holding together of a few strands of hemp,
and my ropes were unfortunately of very inferior quality, and far from
new. To-day, two of my men were ill, the one with fever and the other
with an epileptic fit. So violent was this poor young fellow in his
throes, that we had to tie him tightly with cords, or he would not only
have done himself some injury, but would probably have ill-treated
some of the other men. I never before saw such a curious case; for the
sufferer, a young man of about eighteen or twenty, did not seem to lose
consciousness, although he refused to answer, or even to speak, but
ground his teeth, and, foaming at the mouth, would seize a stick or
paddle, and, rushing at those nearest to him, would scatter them far and
wide. He put me very much in mind of what I had often heard of in India,
but fortunately had never seen—a mad Mussulman running amuck in a Hindoo
bazaar. We managed, with difficulty, to get a lasso over our madman, and
then to tie him securely, and in about a couple of hours he came to his
senses, but was not thoroughly well for at least a week after the attack.
We paddled on through quiet water all the afternoon until, about 5 p.m.,
we made fast about a league below the next cachuela, called Pederneira.
On the 15th we started in good time, and by 7.15 a.m. were at the
Pederneira Falls, which we passed in three ropes’ lengths. The river
was much broken in centre, and the waves were rather high; but on the
right side there was no other difficulty than that caused by a strong
current. It is said that, at low water, this rapid is a bad one, and I
could see that there are many rocks below the level of water to-day. The
country hereabouts appears to be level on both sides of the river, and
is consequently uninteresting. At 2 p.m. we came to some islands, and
a rapid that has not had a name given to it. At low water it is said to
disappear altogether; but to-day it looks quite as formidable as Trés
Irmãos or Pederneira. We crossed the river below the islands, and had
some tough pulling to avoid being drawn into a current and on to rocks
near the left bank, getting successfully across about 100 yards above
the dreaded dangers, and, keeping on up the river-side, came shortly to
some rocky points and strong currents. Here one of the Bolivian patrons
sent the small canoe and four men to give me some help, which was very
acceptable, as my men were almost knocked up after a hard and long day’s
work; and we got to the sleeping-place by about seven o’clock.
Next morning, the 16th, we started very early, probably before 3
a.m., and at daybreak crossed over to the right bank. The mornings
have generally been foggy and cloudy for the last few days, and this,
together with the slight attacks of fever that I suffered from at
Calderão and Girão, entirely prevented my endeavouring to fix positions
by observations; and, besides, I dare not stay behind the other canoes,
or I should be left to get over the upper rapids with my weak crew,
and probably break down at Ribeirão, where the land portage is very
steep. This morning, the pavas were very abundant. I got a couple before
breakfast; several others that were wounded got away into the bush, and
there was no time to look for them. At 3 p.m. we passed by some high
banks of rock and red earth on the right bank, cut down straight by the
river. One big lump from them has fallen down into the river, and forms
a conspicuous landmark, in the distance looking like a large canoe. In
the evening I got three more pavas, and one of my men got a very fine
“perdrix,” as they call it, although to me it appeared more like a jungle
fowl. It had a most wonderfully fleshy breast, and was as tender as a
young chicken; so we were excellently well off for fresh meat to-day.
The 17th we made another early start, and passed the hut called “La Cruz”
about 7 a.m. At this spot the track cut by the engineers of the railway
across the big bend of the river comes out again, the distance between
the two huts of San Louise and La Cruz being about eighteen miles. The
whole of this distance was described to me as perfectly level and dry,
by several of the Indians who had accompanied the engineers and Señor
Ignacio Arauz, the Bolivian patron who furnished the peons for the
work, and to whose energy and perseverance the successful cutting of
the track alongside the rapids was mainly due. I had in my canoe a very
intelligent Bolivian, of rather a superior class, who had been one of the
“mayordomos,” or foremen, under Señor Arauz, and this man assured me that
from the track over the big bend, looking eastwards, no sign of hills
could be seen, but only a vast undulating plain covered with low scrub
or brushwood. Señor Arauz has also assured me that there are no hills to
be seen; and a short walk inland, together with all the evidence that
I could collect leads me to the belief that a cut across the interior,
entirely avoiding the greater bends of the River, say from the Trés
Irmãos River to the Ribeirão Falls, would not only shorten the length
of the line of railway, but would locate it where the smallest amount of
earthwork and bridging would be met with.
After breakfasting about mid-day, we tried to pass under the high red
cliffs called “As Penhas Coloradas,” which rise straight up from the
water a height of perhaps 100 feet. The current runs very strongly under
these cliffs, and we found it impossible to pass underneath them, there
being no foothold for the men to pass with ropes; and there are no bushes
available for the “ganchos,” or long hook-ended poles, which are of great
service all through the journey. We had, therefore, to cross over to the
left or Brazilian shore, and thereby lost all the ground we had gained
since breakfast; and we got across at 3 p.m., just in front of where we
had started from after breakfast. We had some good sport with the pavas
before nightfall, four of them falling to my gun; and about 5 p.m. we
arrived at a very strong corriente, where, to my great joy, one of my
Bolivian friends had left three men to assist me. With this extra help,
we were able to overcome the current by paddles only, and arrived at the
sleeping-place before dark.
CHAPTER XII.
The rapid of Araras—Farinha and sardines for supper—Difficulty
of treating the Indians successfully when they are sick—The
current of Periquitos—Arrival at the Rabo do Ribeirão—The
Bolivian Indian’s chaunt at night—Passage of the Rabo do
Ribeirão—Quantity of farinha consumed by boatmen, in the form
of “shebee”—Canoe aground in the bay below the main fall of
Ribeirão—The river Ribeirão—The portage of Ribeirão—Curious
marks on rocks.
The following morning, the 18th, another very early start was made, and
at daybreak we heard a gunshot from the other side, and knew thereby
that the Bolivian patrons had crossed over to the other side, to which
I accordingly made haste to follow; but we soon had to recross, on
account of strong currents amongst the islands that are below the rapid
of Araras. These constant crossings of the river cause one to lose much
ground, as in mid-stream the current always takes one a considerable
distance down stream, and it requires very strong pulling even in a small
canoe to cross from bank to bank in a straight line. After coasting round
the islands we finally went over to the right bank again, and ascended
the rapid by one rope’s length of hauling for about eighty feet, so that
this cachuela was, in the then state of the river, passed very easily.
It is said that when the river is dry it should be ascended on the left
bank at this rapid, but at full river there is a very heavy “olada,”
or wave, on that bank. We got to another of the engineering stations,
called “Barracão das Araras,” about half-past eleven, and called a halt
for breakfast; but before we could get our meal cooked, a heavy storm of
rain fell and put out all the fires, so that we had to eat our food in a
half-cooked state. A soup with farinha, rice, and onions, in a semi-raw
condition, is not the most palatable of dishes, but a good appetite
never fails one up the rapids; so we make the best of circumstances, and
thinking ourselves lucky even to get a half-cooked breakfast, paddle
on till 5 p.m., when the rain again bothers us, and we pull up for the
night, and content ourselves with a dish of wetted farinha and sardines
for supper. Many people would fancy this but a poor repast, but I found
on many occasions, when perhaps time or circumstances did not allow any
cooking to be done, that I could satisfy my hunger very well indeed with
these homely articles. The mode of preparation is very simple indeed:
take a bowl full of farinha, and pick out the small sticks and lumps that
are always found in Brazilian farinha, and then moisten with sufficient
water to make the grains soft but not pappy, break up three or four
sardines and mix them with the farinha, pouring a little of the oil over
it as well. The dish is then ready, and wants nothing but good appetite
for sauce.
The next morning, the 19th, was damp and dull, and we started somewhat
later than usual, the men being tired and downhearted with the rain. My
Canichana, Candido Cayuva, passed a very bad night with the ague—and I
do not wonder at it, for he must have got thoroughly wet through during
the day—and, indeed, it was a miracle that he did not die during the
night. He complained last night of pains in his chest, and I gave him
twenty-five drops of chlorodine, and some arnica to rub where the pain
was most violent. He felt much better after this, and I found out this
morning that, feeling so, he had, like a madman, bathed at nightfall in
the river; consequently he had a strong return of fever during the night,
and it was indeed wonderful that he survived. So difficult is it to treat
these Indians with any chance of success, for at any moment they will
commit some foolish act that may carry them off at a moment’s notice.
We arrived at the corriente of “Periquitos” about half-past ten, and
although the cachuela was rather fierce, and the wave somewhat high, we
passed the canoe safely up the right bank without any very great deal of
trouble or danger. We kept on at work till seven in the evening, when we
got up to the last corriente of the “Rabo do Ribeirão,” and, arriving
after dark, had to make the canoes fast in a most awkward place, where
they bumped on the rocks all night in a wretched manner, so that one got
very little, if any, sleep.
Besides being kept from sleep by the constant bumping on the rocks, we
were treated by our men to more than the usual nightly allowance of
chanting. The Bolivian Indians of the Beni, having been civilized by
the Jesuit missionaries, are exceedingly superstitious, and when on
a dangerous journey are very regular with their nightly orisons, the
refrain of which forms a prayer to the Virgin (“a livrar nos siempre de
todo mal”) to “deliver us always from every ill.” These words are sung
to a rather solemn chant, and as many of the men have very fair voices,
and not at all a bad idea of harmony, the singing at night, if one be not
too near to it, has a very soothing and pleasant effect. The passage of
the rapids of Ribeirão, being considered both difficult and dangerous,
accounts for an extra allowance of the chanting the night before the
first corrientes were ascended.
The passage of the “Rabo,” or tail, and the main fall of Ribeirão
occupied us three whole days and part of the fourth. The Rabo extends for
about five miles below the real fall, and is a succession of whirlpools
and currents, extremely dangerous to canoes either on the upward or
downward journey. The downward journey is by far the most dangerous, as
the canoes have to be steered in full course through the boulders and
rocks scattered over this length of the river, which here has an average
fall of about four and a half feet per mile.
At daybreak on the 20th we commenced the arduous ascent, and by
breakfast-time had overcome eight severe corrientes. The next one was
about three quarters of a mile in length, being one continued current,
running possibly about eight miles an hour for the whole distance. We
failed to get to the top of this corriente before dark, and had to dodge
inside a sandbank, which fortunately afforded a resting-place for the
night.
On the 21st we started as soon as we could see—for amongst these strong
currents it is impossible to move in the dark—and proceeded up the
creek formed between an island and the right bank of the mainland. Here
also the current is very strong, and forms, one may say, a continuous
cachuela, up which we have to pass in ropes’ lengths. The progress made
was consequently slow, and as the greater part of my men were sick, I was
greatly dependent on my Bolivian friends for assistance. Fortunately I
had good stocks of cachaça (white rum) and farinha (yuca flour), and at
each stoppage I plied the men of the other canoes with a tot of rum and
a handful of farinha; so they helped me along willingly. This farinha
they eat constantly during the journey, putting about a handful into a
gourd or calabash (“tortuma”), filling up with water, and they seem to
find much refreshment from this preparation, which they call “shebee.”
So fond are they of it, that frequent halts for “shebee”-taking have to
be allowed, the mayordomos and others of a higher grade adding a little
sugar to the mess when they can obtain it; but this latter luxurious
addition the poor peons seldom get, although mine had it throughout the
voyage, for I had taken a large stock of coarse sugar with me. In the
afternoon we had to partially unload the canoes in order to ascend the
current known as the “Cuerpo del Rabo,” or the “body of the tail,” and at
dusk made fast at the top, and set to work carrying overland the cargo
taken out of the canoes, so that we might be ready again for an early
start next day.
Next morning, the 22nd, we started at 6 a.m., after having had to
catch the fowls, of which I still had ten left, and which the boys had
allowed to escape from the coop, that had got much broken in the work
of carrying it over the land portages. I feared they would all be lost
in the forest, but when free they appeared to be quite dazed, and were
caught without very much trouble, a couple of wildish ones being shot as
the quickest means of stopping them. Roping and hauling by the bushes,
we proceeded but slowly, but soon got a sight of the “salto” itself.
This is the main body of the fall, with a drop of about fourteen feet;
and imposing enough it looked, being much broken up into islands, with
huge waves breaking heavily over the numerous rocks. The river at the
Rabo and at the fall is very broad, and this probably accounts for the
name of Ribeirão, or “great river,” being given to this part of it. Two
corrientes were ascended by roping, and then a short stretch at the
paddles brought us to another, the thirteenth of the series forming the
“rabo,” and which we ascended between the land and a large tree that
forms a point. This is at times the last current before entering the
remanso that takes the canoes up to the foot of the main fall. There
proved, however, to be two more before we got into the bay with its
“remanso” and “olada,” that form the chief and most dangerous features of
the passage of this salto. One of my Bolivian friends lent me a second
captain, and I took the men out of the small canoe, or “montaria,” so
that I passed these dangers with fourteen paddles going and two captains
aft, each using his big paddle for steering, one on either side of the
“popa,” or stern. It is a great help throughout the journey to have two
good captains behind, for when strong currents or dangerous bits of river
have to be encountered, one of them can keep the boat in its proper
course; while the other encourages the paddlers forward, keeping them
together in their strokes by shouts and good sounding thumps of his heel
on the projecting boards on which the captains have to stand behind the
“camarota,” or cabin.
The wave, or “olada,” was not nearly so bad as that met with at
Theotonio, and as the canoe was much lighter we passed very well, the
only approach to a casualty being that we grounded on a sandbank in the
bay, on which a canoe preceding us had struck also, but which it was
impossible to avoid from the set of the current right on to it. However,
the peons jumped into the water with great alacrity, and pushed us afloat
again before the waves had time to swamp us. I had heard a good deal
of the danger of this “remanso” and “olada,” but with a good crew and
captains, and a garitea well up at the prow, I don’t think it is much to
be feared. The unloading place for the land portage is a short distance
up the mouth of the river Ribeirão, which comes into the big river a
stone’s throw below the fall on the right or Brazilian side, and we got
safely into quiet water up the Ribeirão by about 1 p.m., overtaking two
of the Bolivian patrons who had got ahead of me, and had already passed
their canoes and cargoes over the portage.
The “arrastre,” or portage, is not nearly so steep as at Theotonio or
Girão, being, perhaps, an ascent of one in eight for about 100 yards over
a pretty even bed of rock, then one in twelve over earth for another 200
yards, level for 200 more, and then sharp down to the river in about a
further 100 yards, at the rate of about one in four.
We got our cargoes unloaded, two canoes being hauled over the portage
before dark, my own being left for the following day. To drag the heavy
canoes up the ascent taxed all the powers of the thirty men that we could
get together for the work, but by dint of cachaça and shouting we got the
craft over without assistance from the patrons who had preceded us.
The accompanying sketches of curious marks to be seen on rocks at
three of the rapids, were made by Mr. Alan Grant-Dalton, who was my
able and indefatigable assistant engineer during our stay at San
Antonio. My ascent of the rapids having been made whilst the river was
in flood, these marks were all under water, and I was consequently
unable to inspect them; but I have been assured by many travellers
that Mr. Grant-Dalton’s sketches are exact and faithful copies of the
inscriptions. Most probably they are the work of the Caripuna, or other
wandering savages, for the Bolivian Indians ascending and descending the
river are not likely to have wasted their time cutting these figures out
of the hard rock.
[Illustration: CURIOUS INSCRIPTIONS ON ROCKS AT DIFFERENT RAPIDS.
At Trés Irmãos, 40 feet below highest flood water.
At Ribeirão, 35 feet below highest flood water.
At Madeira, 35 feet below highest flood water.]
CHAPTER XIII.
Bad arrangements of the Bolivian patrons for rationing
their men—The rapid of Misericordia—Tradition attached
thereto—Meeting with canoes from Bolivia—The Madeira rapids
and the junction of the river Beni—Nomenclature of the river
Madeira in its different sections—The rapids of Layes—Wild
cocoa trees—The Falls of Pao Grande.
On the 23rd, in Ribeirão, we woke up all hands at daybreak, and got the
last canoe over to the upper side. I would have liked to have stopped
for the day at this fall, so as to give the men a few hours’ leisure,
that they might fish in the quiet water of the river Ribeirão, wash their
clothes and rest a bit; but the Bolivian patrons were for going ahead,
so we passed the cargo over and got ready for a start by about 2 p.m. We
were to proceed that day as far as the next rapid, called Misericordia,
and there delay while hunters were sent to try for some wild pigs or
other fresh meat, as the stocks of that article remaining to the Bolivian
patrons were getting rather low.
It appears to be the custom with Bolivian patrons to start with barely
sufficient provisions for the time they expect the journey to take; they
don’t provide any surplus in case of delay. Then during the first days
of the journey they give the men excessively large rations, in order
that they may be well satisfied at starting, and so for the last two
weeks of the run the men have to be put on half, or even less than half,
rations. For instance, one of the Bolivian patrons advised me that the
ration of rice should be half a pound daily, besides farinha; at this
rate one could not carry enough rice for all the journey. And certainly
the quantity is more than necessary; from three to four ounces per man
daily being quite enough to thicken the “chupe,” or soup, which is the
stock dish of the Bolivian peon. This system is quite characteristic of
Bolivians, both Indians and Carayanas (_i.e._, those having Spanish blood
in their veins), for they cannot take anything by degrees; they must
finish it all at once. Thus a bottle of wine or cachaça must be drunk at
one sitting, and the next day they will go without. So also with their
chicha-drinking; they will prepare a huge quantity, and get through it in
one evening, then go without until another “fiesta” day or other suitable
occasion calls for a fresh brew. At starting it was reckoned that we
should do the journey up the rapids, and to the village of Exaltacion,
in about five weeks; but a month has now passed, and we have at least
another week’s work to get through before we get out of the rapids. At
this time I still had provisions in farinha and charqui for three weeks
further, and had been able to spare four “alquieres” (bundles of 1 cwt.
each) of farinha, and treat the men of the other canoes to cachaça
every day for some time past. Charqui was somewhat scarcer, for we had
counted upon game, but had only met with a few pavas, there being no time
available for sending the men into the woods.
We got to Misericordia at 4 p.m., and unloaded half the cargoes, passing
two canoes before dark up a creek on the right bank, at the end of which
there was a very steep bit of rock, with very little water on it upon
which to get the canoe over. This cachuela is especially dangerous,
although at first sight it appears a mere corriente; but the river swirls
over a point of rock and forms a succession of whirlpools from which,
they say, a canoe, if once drawn in, can never escape. In ascending, this
rapid must be passed by the creek on the right bank; but at low water
it is said that the rapid does not offer much obstacle, although I am
inclined to think that this information is very uncertain. The aforesaid
channel on the right bank offers no obstacles that cannot be overcome
by hard work in unloading or hauling, and is therefore preferable.
The descent should be made almost in mid-channel, while, if anything,
steering to the left rather than to the right bank. There is a tradition
that the name of Misericordia was given to this rapid after a dreadful
occurrence that is said to have happened in the early part of this
century, when a party of Brazilian soldiers from the province of Mato
Grosso descending the rapids, one of their canoes wrecked in mid-stream;
some of the men succeeding in temporarily escaping to the rock, on
which, their comrades being unable to afford them any help by ropes, or
approach them with canoes, they were starved to death in sight of, but
absolutely out of the reach of, their comrades. If this story be a true
one, it is difficult to determine whose fate was the hardest; that of
those who perished seeing their end approaching by slow but sure degrees,
or that of their sorrowing comrades on the mainland, who were unable to
afford any help to the sufferers on the dreadful rock. With this fearsome
tale attached to the spot, well may the Bolivian Indian, on nearing the
cachuela, fervently chant the solemn “Misericordia! Misericordia! livra
nos siempre de todo mal.”
On the 24th, we found that the canoes left the night before below the
rapid had grounded from the fall of the river, and we had to take a
little more cargo out so that they might float, when we got them hauled
up the creek over the rocks, and reloaded by eight o’clock. Just as we
were starting, we saw three canoes coming down the river from Bolivia,
and got news that the country was in a state of revolution. This was a
bad augury for the success of my journey through the Republic; but there
was no help for it but to go ahead, and take things as they might be. We
also learned that the Brazilian consul in the Beni provinces had recently
been assassinated by one of his own Brazilian servants in his estancia, a
few leagues below the village of Exaltacion. I was pleased to find that
this outrage had not been committed by Bolivian Indians, who are, as a
rule, much quieter and more tractable than the mixed races of Brazil.
Proceeding onwards from Misericordia, our canoes kept on the right bank,
arriving at nightfall at a good stopping-place, after having passed over
four strong currents, and leaving the main part of the next cachuela to
be passed on the following morning with the canoes half unloaded.
The whole of the 25th was occupied in passing the principal fall of
the Madeira Rapid and the currents above it. The junction of the river
Beni occurs amongst the currents above the principal fall, and from this
circumstance the fall has been named the “Cachuela de Madeira,” as below
the junction the Madeira River is said to commence. From the junction
of the Beni to that of the Itenez, the river is by some called the Rio
Grande, by others the Itenez, and it is only above the latter junction
that the Mamoré reigns. Above the Madeira Fall, and in the neighbourhood
of the junction of the Beni, the river is much broken up by islands, and
consequently the navigation of this stretch is almost, if not quite,
as bad as that of the “Rabo do Ribeirão.” At the junction of the river
Beni, the river appears as though it divided itself into two parts, and
they seemed to me to be almost of equal width and volume of water. This
day the south wind blew very strong and cold, and all the men complained
greatly, as they had to be constantly in the water.
Early morning of the 26th the expedition continued the ascent of the
river, arriving at the rapids of “Layes” about 11.30 a.m. These rapids
are formed by two small falls with a current below them, and were passed
with canoes half unloaded. Near the fall, but below it, is a wide stream
on the right side of the river, and we halted for breakfast here, so as
to allow the men time to fish; but they had no luck in consequence of the
south wind, which, it is said, hinders the fish from taking the baits. We
got clear of the fall and canoes reloaded by about 4 p.m., and, though
late, determined to endeavour to overtake the canoes that had got ahead
of us, and which we saw up stream above us; but we were only able to get
about a quarter of a mile or so when it got dark, and we had to pull up
and make fast for the night. This cachuela gave us more trouble than was
anticipated; but I fancy that it is better at low water, for the channels
then would be better defined: now the channels are amongst rocks, and
very difficult to find and to keep the canoes in. In this part of the
river I noticed a great many wild cocoa trees, which, although growing
almost universally on the banks of the Madeira and Mamoré, are hereabouts
more thickly collected together. The fruit of these trees is of very
superior quality, and it would require very little labour to organize an
excellent plantation.
The 27th we started at daybreak, and got out of the last of the Layes
currents by eight o’clock, and came in sight of the bluffs and highlands
of the next cachuela, called “Pao Grande,” at which we arrived by 9.30
a.m., pulling up in a capital little port with a good sandbank, but
only room for about four canoes at a time. Here we overtook the other
canoes that had got ahead, and had to unload all our cargoes, as the
fall is impassable with loaded canoes at any season of the year. The
channel we passed up is on the right or Brazilian side of the river,
and to look at seems to be one of the worst passes amongst the rapids,
having two “saltos,” or jumps, each of about four feet in height, up
which one would hardly fancy that canoes could be made to ascend. It was
wonderful to see how well the Bolivian Indians managed to make the heavy
canoes ascend these almost perpendicular falls. They would first seek
out a part of the fall that, as well as having plenty of water going
over it—say about eighteen inches in depth—should have a good supply of
weeds growing on the rocks, as over these weeds the bottom of the canoe
slides easily. Then the bulk of the men are set to pull steadily on the
two ropes that are attached to the bow, these ropes being spread out as
much as possible on either side, so that a pull can be put on right or
left as circumstances require. A rope is also kept on the stern, but only
requires the attention of a couple of good men, while in the canoe the
captain at the helm directs all the workers, and two of the best men in
the bows keep the canoe off the rocks as she answers to the pull of the
men on shore. In this manner three heavy canoes were passed up this fall
in about a couple of hours. On the land side of the channel the rocks
stand up about twenty feet above the water, and it was rather an exciting
scene to stand on one of these rocks and see the men pulling and shouting
down below. My canoe shipped a good deal of water by slewing round as it
was being pulled up one of the jumps. This was caused by one of the head
ropes being allowed to slacken at this inopportune moment; but, as she
was empty, it did not much matter. The path over which the cargoes are
carried is about a quarter of a mile in length, and goes over very rocky
ground. At dark we had nearly all our cargo over, so stopped work for the
night. Weather dull and cold, the wind being still southerly and chilly.
The men are, however, improving in health, slight attacks of fever with
one or two of them being the only complaints.
CHAPTER XIV.
The river Yata—Meeting with another party descending
from Bolivia—The rapids of Bananeiras—Abandoned
settlement—Variability of the Bolivian character—The cabeçeiras
of Bananeiras—The Sierra da Paca Nova—The rapids of Guajará
Guasu and Merim—A few hints on leaving the last of the rapids.
The next morning (the 28th) broke dull and cloudy, but warmer than the
past two days, and by about 7.30 the sun came out to cheer us up. The
river Yata, which we passed about this time, enters into the Madeira
on its left or Bolivian bank, and appears to be a considerable stream,
it being perhaps 100 yards in width at the junction. On the right or
Brazilian side, opposite to the Yata, are rocks and a very stiff current,
which by some travellers have been set down as a cachuela, but which are
not now included in the existing nineteen.
Hereabouts we met a canoe descending the river from Bolivia, with
about thirty men and four or five women going down to Bayetas, a
rubber-gathering station already mentioned as being on the lower part of
the Madeira. The men were all Cruzeños, and in charge of a capataz only,
from whom I bought a small quantity of fresh Bolivian yuca flour, for
which he charged me six hard dollars for about twenty-five pounds, worth
at Exaltacion, in the Beni, about a dollar. This generous Bolivian was
out of sugar, and begged me to let him have a few pounds. I had a good
stock, so gave him five pounds, for which he allowed me a dollar out of
the six he took from me for the yuca flour, although, if I had charged
him according to his idea of the value of his food supplies in the
cachuelas, I ought to have charged him about a dollar a pound. The whole
of this day we paddled up the right or Brazilian bank until the first
small current below the Bananeiras Falls was reached, when we crossed
over to the Bolivian shore, where, about 5.30 p.m., we got stuck amongst
a lot of driftwood, our hawsers getting entangled therein, so that we
could not get up to the unloading place that night, but had to make fast
and pass the night on a small mudbank as best we could.
On the 29th we got up to the port of the Bananeiras Falls by about six
o’clock, and found the canoes that had preceded us, with their cargoes
passed but the canoes still on this side. The channels for passing the
canoes were full of rocks, and very dangerous, the one ours went up being
very dry, and giving a great amount of work to the men. Some of the
canoes went up a channel lower down stream than that I chose for mine,
but had to encounter a drop in the water of about eight feet in as many
yards, one of them filling and being saved with great difficulty. As
we were detained the whole day at this fall, I took the opportunity of
loading up a stock of cartridges for the journey, from the last rapid to
the first village in Bolivia (Exaltacion), a journey of about ten days,
during which very little time, if any, can be spared for stoppages.
At this fall, about eight or ten years ago, two Bolivians made a small
settlement on the left or Bolivian side of the river, with the object of
forming a rubber-gathering business. One of them, Don Miguel Cuellas, was
returning to Bolivia, having made a small competency out of rubber on the
Madeira River below San Antonio. He owned three of the largest canoes of
the seven forming our expedition, his portion of the goods for sale in
Bolivia going up with us being worth at least seven or eight thousand
pounds. He told me that he and his partner lived at Bananeiras for about
twelve months, but that they found the yield from the rubber trees to
be very much less than that given by the trees below the falls of the
Madeira; that their health had been uniformly good, and that they had not
been molested by the savages, who seem in this part of the river to roam
about on the Brazilian shore only.
Our cargoes were carried over the portage to the eastern side of the
island which overlooks the fall, and we were ready to begin the struggle
with the numerous currents which are found amongst the islands stretching
above the main fall for nearly four miles of the river’s course, and
which are known as the “Cabeçeiras,” or heads of the Bananeiras Falls;
but the day was too far advanced to think of making any progress before
nightfall.
Before leaving this cachuela, I had afforded me a convincing proof of
the instability of character and the true selfishness of some Bolivians.
There were three patrons in the expedition besides myself, and one of
these, a certain Juan de Dios Molina, had arranged, before starting from
San Antonio, that he would throughout the journey keep with my canoe,
as my crew being known to be a very weak one, I was certain to require
constant help at the rapids and currents. Besides having settled this, in
the way of business, at San Antonio, this Molina had frequently during
the journey assured me, as a friend, that he would not separate from
me until we arrived at the townships of the Beni; but I discovered at
Bananeiras that for some days past he had been complaining to the other
two patrons of the great delays that I caused him, and had declared his
intention of abandoning me to my own resources. This he took care not to
do until we were almost out of the rapids, as he thought he would have no
further need for the services of my small canoe, or montaria—which had
been very serviceable to all the party, since the one belonging to Señor
Morales was lost in Morinhos—and he also thought that he had obtained
from me all the surplus cachaça and farinha that I had to spare, so that
he could separate from me without much loss to himself. If Molina showed
me the bad side of Bolivian character—and it was not much to be wondered
at with him, seeing that he was almost a full-blooded Indian—I was
fortunate in finding the good side in Don Miguel Cuellas, who volunteered
to assist me, and waited for me amongst the difficult places in the
rapids yet to be passed, and never lost sight of me until we reached
Exaltacion, which we did two clear days before Molina, much to that
worthy’s chagrin. And thus it is with the Bolivians; you will find many
crafty, mean, and untruthful characters amongst them, but close by this
undesirable acquaintance you are sure to find a generous, warm-hearted,
and true friend such as I found in Don Miguel Cuellas, without whose
assistance I should certainly have come to grief amongst the cabeçeiras
of Bananeiras, or the wandering savages of the upper waters of the
Madeira. To Don Miguel I am always bound to give sincere thanks whenever
I think of the latter end of my journey on that river.
On the 30th we started, as usual, in good time, and had to cross
the openings of channels between islands which appeared to me to be
unpleasantly dangerous, as the current ran fearfully strong down them.
We got over two of these safely, and then saw Molina cross to an island
in mid-stream, which he barely succeeded in gaining. I liked the look of
this job much less than keeping to the mainland, for I believe that if
we had tried to follow, we should certainly have missed the island, and
have been carried down stream right into the main body of the cachuela,
for my crew could never have made headway against the powerful current
running in mid-river; so, as I had the montaria, I kept to the mainland,
and struggled on till about 10.30, when I saw Don Miguel’s three canoes
ahead of me on the same side, and unloading part of their cargoes in
order to get over a shallow current. On getting up, Don Miguel offered me
a pull by his men, which I joyfully accepted, and got over the current
well, breakfasting above it, and starting again soon after mid-day. I got
on pretty well after this, being generally able to keep at the tail of
the largest of the three canoes, called for distinction the “batelão.”
These cabeçeiras of Bananeiras are as bad, if not worse, than those of
the Madeira Rapid, but not so tiring as those of the Rabo of Ribeirão;
we got through the last of them by about half-past three, and paddled
on up the left bank till 5 p.m., when we arrived at the stopping-place
for the night. The weather was again dull and cold, the morning having
been foggy, with small drizzling rain, and as we had no sun, the men
kept on their ponchos all day. From where we stopped, one sees the high
range of hills called the “Sierra da Paca Nova,” which form part of the
Cordilheira Geral; they are a considerable distance from the river, being
apparently some thirty or forty miles inland.
The next morning, the 31st, was a very early daybreak, and we started at
5 a.m., there being a thick mist on the river till nearly nine o’clock,
when the sun came out warm and bright. When the fog rose, all the seven
canoes were almost in hail of one another, and as we had been paddling
all the morning without encountering any currents, I found that I was
able to keep my place in the file, behind the batelão; so that Molina,
who did not wait on the last two mornings, as usual, for me to come up to
his “pascana,” or stopping-place, will find it hard work to abandon me
to my own resources, as he intended. After breakfasting about mid-day as
usual, we arrived at the next rapid of Guajará-guasu, where all the seven
canoes met together again, having to unload half their cargoes before
they could be hauled over the shallow currents on the left or Bolivian
side. Over this cachuela I was assisted by Don Miguel’s men, who gladly
accepted their “pinga,” or tot of cachaça, instead of Molina’s men, who
had heretofore enjoyed this extra allowance. It was nightfall before we
got all the canoes over the rapid, and as hereabouts the men begin to
have fears of the “barbaros,” or savages, we got our suppers over as
quickly as possible, and then re-embarked the cargoes by moonlight, so as
to be ready for an early start.
On June the 1st the day was fine, and the canoes started by 5 a.m.,
but I had to wait whilst some of my men fetched the montaria over the
rapid; however, we soon overtook the batelão, and in trying to pass it
at a corriente got foul of its rope, by which the crew were hauling from
shore. Fouling the rope sent the batelão round on the rocks, and she
being a very heavy craft, deeply laden with iron and other merchandise,
gave a great deal of work to get round again and afloat. About half a
league above the top current of Guajará-guasu, there is on the left bank
a very peculiar thin layer of rock, hollowed out by a very strong and
dangerous “remanso,” or return current; the canoes run great risk of
being driven on to the bank, and as the layer of rock jutted out about
five feet above the water level, we ran great danger from the sharp
projections.
At about ten o’clock we came to Guajará Merim (the word “Guasu” meaning
“Great,” and “Merim” “Little,” in the Lingua Geral of Northern Brazil),
which is the last of the nineteen rapids, and is at the top end of a
large island lying between the two Guajarás. This rapid we passed on
the left or Brazilian shore, it being at this time of year little more
than a corriente, which we easily surmounted by hauling for one rope’s
length, and so we passed above the region of the cachuelas, it being the
thirty-ninth day since we left San Antonio.
The ascent of the cachuelas has been somewhat wearisome, as we have
had to go through thirty-seven clear days of hard and constant labour,
battling with the force of the many currents; but with a good crew and
pleasant companions, both of which vital necessaries were wanting to me
on my journey, I would not at all mind doing the rapids over again. To
go with about three or four canoes well manned, and with a couple of
montarias, would be much better than travelling with such a large number
of canoes as seven; for the last of these has to wait such a long time
at all the currents and cachuelas, where hauling by the rope is required
before its turn comes. With a well-organized expedition I think the
ascent, in this season of the year, might be accomplished in twenty-eight
or thirty days. It may here be noted that a good hemp hawser an inch or
an inch and a quarter in diameter, and about 200 feet in length, should
be provided for each canoe. Piassava ropes do not answer, although from
their lightness they are desirable; but they break so frequently, that
they cannot be depended upon. Also each canoe should have a double and
a single block to match the rope, as these are very useful at the land
portages if from any cause the expedition should be short-handed. A
good set of tools, a few nails, and some pitch tar and oakum should be
provided, not forgetting a few sheets of tin for patching up holes that
may be knocked into the canoes by obtrusive rocks.
CHAPTER XV.
Start made up river above rapids with drums beating—The islands
of Cavalho Marinho—A party of Baure Indians met with—Rate of
progress calculated at two miles per hour—Otters, alligators,
and monkeys shot—Steam navigation practicable on the river
above the rapids—Stock taken of food-supplies left—Long hours
worked.
Having got all the canoes over the last of the cachuelas, we started
onwards with flags flying from the bows of the canoes, and with several
“cajas,” or drums, beating triumphal tattoos. The Indian boatmen always
appear much delighted at having successfully surmounted the cachuelas,
although they have to prepare for very long hours of hard paddling up the
section of the river from the rapids to Exaltacion, as, owing to this
length being much infested with savages on both shores, it is customary
to stop as little as possible during the day.
The river above the falls is about half a mile in width, the country on
either side being flat, and the banks covered with a very thick growth of
“chuchia,” a kind of wild cane that throws out a spear-like point fringed
at the top with feathery seeds. From the straight tops of these canes the
savages make their arrows, which are generally about five or six feet in
length, looking almost more like spears or lances than arrows.
About half-past five in the evening we arrived at the islands called
“Cavalho Marinho,” and encamped for the night on one of them, it being
always desirable to stop the night at an island if possible, as one is
then perfectly secure from any attack by the savages, who in this part of
the river do not seem to have any canoes.
The start was ordered very early the next morning, it being 2.30 a.m.
only when all hands were called up, and we paddled on amongst the islands
for some time before crossing over to the right bank. The islands are
several in number, but have plenty of water in all the channels, so that
there would be no obstruction to navigation by steamers, although with
canoes one has to keep crossing from bank to bank in order to avoid the
strong currents found at every bend of the stream. The country remains
very flat and uninteresting, but the plague of marigueys, tavernas,
and carapanas was something fearful, and much worse than anything I
had experienced amongst the rapids. We kept on till 6.30 p.m., after
fourteen and a half hours’ work, allowing for the stoppages made for
breakfast, etc., during which meal we were joined by a party descending
from Bolivia, on their way to the Lower Madeira, on the usual speculation
of rubber-gathering. The men were about thirty in number, and were all
“Baures” or “Joaquinianos,” and were a very fine set of fellows—indeed,
as fine-looking a lot of Indians as one could put together in almost any
quarter of the world.
The next start was earlier still, it being but half-past twelve at night
when we recommenced our upward journey, by the light of a splendid full
moon. The men got very little sleep and rose up very unwillingly, the
long stretches of work being most trying, as at night one is sleepy, and
by day the sun is very fatiguing.
I calculated to-day that our rate of progress is about two miles an hour.
Each stroke of the paddle takes the canoe about a yard and a half, and
we average forty-four strokes per minute; this gives sixty-six yards per
minute, say about two miles per hour. Yesterday we paddled for fourteen
and a half hours, and should therefore have done twenty-nine miles, and I
fancy that was about the distance travelled.
To-day we stopped for breakfast at 10 a.m., after nine and a half hours’
continuous paddle, and were off again at 11.30. I heard that Molina’s men
have now used up all their farinha, and have but little rice and charqui
left; the effect of short commons being very visible with them, for they
are generally the last of the file, and in trying to pass us this day
they were easily beaten by my men.
In the afternoon I shot a “lontra,” which I take to be an otter, as it
has its cave in the roots of trees growing near the river bank. This
fellow was of a dark dun colour, and about the size of my dog “Jack,”
who was a rather large and well-grown retriever. I had heard that the
“lontra” was a beaver; but this was evidently an otter, with five-toed
feet webbed, and with an otter-like head and tail, broad and flat, placed
crosswise to the body, with the broad sides up and down. “Jack” was very
near having a tussle with the otters—for there were three altogether—and
he jumped into the river after them, swimming after their heads as they
bobbed up and down, and I was obliged to be careful with the rifle to
be sure of not hitting “Jack” instead of the otters, of whom I fancy
one more was killed besides the one we got into the canoe. At night we
roasted the flesh, and I had a bit of the “lomo,” or fillet, which was
excellent, and much like fair juicy beef. I don’t know whether otters are
eaten at home, but on the river Madeira they are thought fair game, and
in fact almost anything that can be killed is now eaten by the men. Don
Miguel’s men to-day shot three “caymanes” (alligators) and nine monkeys,
all of which were roasted, the monkeys whole, good meals being made, and
the joints remaining stored up for the next day. Monkey is good eating,
but rather tough; cayman flesh I declined at present, the animals shot
to-day being old and musky-flavoured. To-day we worked fifteen and a half
hours altogether.
June 4th. The start was made at 1.30 a.m., and we kept up the left bank,
the day being fine, and the sun not quite so hot as usual. I have paddled
a good deal these last days, and this morning did so from 4.30 a.m.
till 9.30, a fair stretch for one quite unaccustomed to such work; but
I fancied that I helped the canoe along, for every extra paddle tells,
and I got a spurt out of the men every now and again, by encouraging
them with a timely “churka, churka!” My men were not in very good form,
but what they would have been if, like the other crews, they had been
obliged to be on short rations of farinha, charqui, and cachaça, I cannot
conceive.
During the afternoon we passed a river coming in on the right or
Brazilian bank, and then a long stretch of bank on the left side, falling
into the river, causing a very strong current, with many trees sticking
up, and greatly obstructing the navigation for canoes, which are always
obliged to hug the shore. We got to the stopping-place, or “pascana,” by
about 7 p.m., finding Don Miguel and Señor Morales encamped there; but
Molina is still behind—in fact, we have not seen him since early morning.
At nightfall we passed a large “playa,” or sandbank, on which there were
a great many large cranes and other aquatic birds. We worked this day
seventeen hours, as we only stopped half an hour for breakfast, the men
eating cold otter and farinha. My bag to-day was four small cranes, which
made a capital pot at night, and three pigeons, which I got at one shot,
and with B B; these the boy roasted for cold luncheon to-morrow.
June 5th. The start was ordered at 1.30 a.m., a slight rain falling; we
keep up the left bank, which appears to be the favourite one on this
portion of the river, from the idea that the right or Brazilian side
is a favourite hunting-ground of the savages. The river continues of a
uniform width of about six or seven hundred yards, it being just a good
shot for the Winchester rifle from one side to the other. Daybreak is
generally a good time to get something for the pot, as one is able to get
nearer to one’s game than one can during the day, and this morning I got
one very fine black duck (_pato royale_), and a couple of trumpeters or
Orinoco geese (_marecas_). We christened these ducks “trumpeters,” from
the trumpeting noise they make as they fly low over the water, giving
one plenty of notice of their approach, in time to pick up the gun and be
ready for them.
The river navigation for steamers would be excellent, so far as the
depth of water is concerned, but the cutting of the wood fuel would be
rather a difficult point to manage. There is, of course, plenty of wood
on either bank; but the fear of attacks from the savages will render the
establishment of wood-cutting stations a difficult question. The proper
way will be for the Brazilian and Bolivian Governments to act jointly,
and set up armed stockades on alternate sides of the river, say at
distances of fifty miles apart, each one to be garrisoned by about forty
or fifty men, who could organize wood-cutting parties, the sale of the
fuel going a good way towards the payment of the expenses. In this way
the forest would get thinned, and the savages would either make terms or
retire further into the interior. The tribe that infests the right or
Brazilian side are called “Sirionos,” and those on the left or Bolivian
bank are “Chacobos.” These latter, it is said, are sometimes friendly,
and have traded with the villagers of Exaltacion; but the former are a
fierce and warlike tribe, that refuse to enter into any converse whatever
with either the civilized Indians of Bolivia, or with the “Carayanas,” as
the Bolivians of Spanish extract are called.
We got up to the pascana for breakfast by about 11.30 a.m., and found
that Don Miguel had kindly waited for us since about nine o’clock;
however, we came up at the same time as the batelão did, so the delay was
not altogether due to us. Knowing that Don Miguel was short of farinha,
I asked him how many days we should be in arriving at the village of
Exaltacion, so that I might see if I had any stores to spare, as it would
be better to reduce my rations than arrive at the pueblos with surplus
food, while the other canoes were short. Molina’s men are, I know, on
very short commons; but, then, his canoes have stayed behind, so that
I cannot share with them. Don Miguel calculated that we should be in
Exaltacion by about the 14th, and that about a couple of days before that
we should arrive at the “chacos,” or plantations, where we could purchase
plantains and other bread stuffs; so, as I have five alquieres of farinha
left, and we require one in two days, with full rations of one pound and
a half per man daily, I could spare at least one alquiere, which I passed
over to Don Miguel, with an arroba of good wheaten flour.
After continuing the journey up the right bank, which is still preferred,
as being freer from visits from savages, we saw, about 5.30 p.m., that
Don Miguel had crossed over, to avoid a small corriente running pretty
strongly round a rocky point; but as I saw that Señor Morales had kept
to the same bank, and had stopped for the night about a mile and a half
ahead, I managed to rope round the rock, and joined Señor Morales by
about 7 p.m., after having had some little trouble in finding our way in
the dark round a “playa,” or sandbank.
On June the 6th we started at 2.45 a.m., and at daybreak saw an immense
number of monkeys, pavas, and cranes, or “garças,” on the banks and
in the overhanging trees; but we were unable to do any shooting, as
this morning we had got rather too far behind the other canoes. In this
portion of the river there appears to be a great lagoon, not far from the
left bank, and the muddy banks of a small “igarapé,” or ravine, evidently
running out of the lake were trodden up by the birds’ feet just like a
poultry-yard. We did not get up to-day to the breakfast pascana until 2
p.m., as we had a very hard and long morning’s work, having had to cross
the river several times to avoid strong running currents, and at one very
large and shallow playa we had to pull with the rope, the men walking on
the sandbank. We got up to the other canoes very late, and found that
Don Miguel had very kindly waited for us as usual, and, to my disgust,
I found that the batelão had arrived before us, having probably passed
us before daybreak, or having started before us. I had to thank Don
Miguel very much for having waited, as otherwise we should have paddled
on without any breakfast; as it was, we were quite fagged and dismally
hungry, having paddled for eleven hours without any stoppage. We could
only give the men just time enough to cook and eat their chupe, and then
off again after Don Miguel, who promised to stop at 4 p.m., so that we
might get up to the sleeping-place in good time; but he must have gone
much further than he intended, for it was 10 p.m. before we got up to
him again. My men were much fagged, and it was too late for any cooking,
so they had to put up with an extra ration of farinha and a “pinga” of
cachaça, whilst my stand-by of sardines and farinha served me for a
supper. To-day we paddled for eighteen hours, and it seemed that we were
to have several days’ hard work such as this before we get to Exaltacion,
for the “barbaros” are said to be very bold hereabouts in the vicinity of
the junction of the Itenez, where we now are.
CHAPTER XVI.
Junction of the river Itenez—Short description of the Itenez
or Guaporé and its affluents—Fires at night prohibited on
account of savages—A capybara shot—Abundance of game above the
rapids—False alarms of attack by savages—Cooking-stove rigged
up in the canoe—The river Matocari—Hard work towing canoe—Open
pampas—Strong gale from the south hinders progress—Chocolotales
of Exaltacion—Falling banks—Estancia de Santiago—Value of oxen
in the Estancias of Mojos.
June 7th. Starting at twenty minutes past midnight, we were soon left
behind by the other canoes, and at daybreak there was a thick mist on,
which cleared up by about seven o’clock; but no canoes were in sight. On
the left bank there are many lagoons, for the number of ducks, cranes,
and other waterfowl hereabouts was very great. We passed a long stretch
of falling bank, with some trees overhanging, and looking, as we passed
under them, much as though they would fall on us. The current underneath
these falling banks is always very strong, and gives great trouble to
overcome, on account of the large number of trees and dead wood at the
foot of the bank. The river began to widen considerably, and as the wind
blew strongly up stream, a very considerable sea soon arose.
About 11 a.m. we got in sight of the junction of a river on the right
bank, and at first took it for the Itenez; but it turned out only to
be an arm of that river, for, proceeding onwards, we saw the other
canoes encamped upon a large sandbank formed between the junction of
the Itenez and the Mamoré. The river Itenez, whose waters are clear and
dark-coloured, whilst the Mamoré’s are muddy and whitish, is much wider
than the Mamoré, which, however, gives its colour to the united waters
below the junction, thus proving, probably, that the volume of its waters
is greater than that of the Itenez. Both these rivers are exceedingly
handsome at the junction, and so fine a “meeting of the waters” it would
be difficult to match. This junction may be said to be the point of union
of the extensive system of rivers that flow over the northern plain of
Bolivia, and down part of the southern slope of the Cordilhera Geral, in
the province of Mato Grosso in Brazil. The river Itenez in its higher
portions is called the Guaporé, its head waters being separated from
those of the river Paraguay by a land portage of but few miles in length.
There are but few settlements or villages upon its right bank, or on the
tributaries that empty themselves into it on that side, the town of Mato
Grosso, near the source, being the one of most consequence, while the
fort of Principe da Beira, about fifty miles from the junction, is simply
a Brazilian outpost, at which, however, a considerable fortification
has been erected. On the left bank there enter two rivers, called the
Maddalena and the Baure, or Blanco, which are entirely in Bolivian
territory; and on these rivers are some important villages, peopled
by different tribes of civilized Indians, who were Christianized by
the Jesuit missionaries of the Beni, and are to-day reckoned with that
department. On a branch of the Baure River, near the abandoned missions
of San Simon and San Nicolas, gold quartz veins of surpassing richness
have, for some years, been known to exist, and a Chilian society has
lately been formed to work these reefs. With the river Itenez we have
nothing more to do; the Mamoré, the sources of which are all in Bolivian
territory, being the river up which the journey was prosecuted.
In this part of the journey the Bolivians talk a great deal of the
presence of “barbaros,” and orders were given that the canoes should not
separate as they had hitherto done; but I had little hope that the order
would be carried out, for my men had taken it into their heads to be sick
again with fevers and ague, so that my canoe was generally a long way
behind the others.
We left the junction of the rivers about 3 p.m., and at 5 p.m. stopped
again for the evening meal, starting again in about half an hour, and
keeping on till about nine, when we stopped at a large playa for the
night. Here the Bolivian patrons gave a good sample of the discipline
they maintain with their Indians. The orders were that, as we were
in territories supposed to be much roamed over by the savages, we
were to start early—as soon after midnight as possible—keep on till
breakfast-time, about 8 or 9 a.m., then on again till dinner, about 5 or
6 p.m., when we were to shift quarters again ahead to some convenient
spot—a playa, if possible—where, making fast the canoes quietly, we
were to sleep till midnight, and then start ahead again. At this
sleeping-place no lights or loud talking to be allowed. Instead of this,
when we got to this playa, one of the crews, who had some lumps of
alligator flesh unroasted, lit fires and cooked the meat, and the patrons
said nothing to them; and it appeared to me that the fear of losing the
meat, although they had an enormous quantity already roasted, was greater
than the fear of attack from the barbaros. Doubtless there are barbaros
hereabouts, especially in the lands bordering on the Itenez, and higher
up the Mamoré; there is also an igarapé below the junction of the two
great rivers on the left bank, which leads up into districts bordering on
the higher parts of the Beni, where the Chacobo barbaros are said to be
in great numbers; but it is a chance that they should be _on_ the great
river, and my experience would go to prove that they will not attack even
a single canoe, or else I was lucky enough to ascend the river when they
were not on its banks, but up country.
June 8th. We started at 2 a.m., and kept up the right bank of the
Mamoré, and having left the Madeira below the junction, we are now
altogether in Bolivian territory. This morning I paddled from the start
till breakfast-time, at 9 a.m., and kept the men sharp to their work,
succeeding so well that we kept up with the other canoes, thus proving
that when my men chose to work well there was no reason why we should be
behindhand. When I work we have thirteen paddles going, and this number
ought to and can send our canoe, which is not a large one, along right
well; but if I take a short nap, or rest a time in the camarote, the men
sleep at their paddles, and we then drop to the rear.
About 5.30 this morning, before it was fairly light, we passed an open
pampa, with an igarapé running out at a sharp angle up stream into the
river. It appeared as though it was a large drain cut by hand, for the
slopes were just like canal banks, being covered with short grass, while
the water running down was clear, and seemingly some three or four feet
in depth.
Just above this igarapé I saw a large dark animal, the size of a large
hog, moving slowly up the river bank, having, apparently, just emerged
from its morning bath. In the dim light I could not be sure whether it
was an animal or a savage, but as we were only about a dozen yards from
the bank, I dropped my paddle, and taking up my gun, which was always
ready to hand, let fly a charge of B B at the moving mass, which rolled
down the bank into the river again. It proved to be a “capybara,” or
water-hog, and I was much pleased, as I had heard a great deal of this
animal, and had never seen it or got a good description of it. The
savages make ear ornaments of the front teeth of this rodent, and I have
already stated that I was fortunate enough to get four of these from the
Pacaguaras of the river Trés Irmãos. The capybara has the body of a pig,
the hind quarters slightly humped and covered with long bristles; the
feet are three hoofed; legs short and stumpy, but with plenty of flesh on
them; the head is almost exactly the shape of a rat’s, with three upper
and three lower teeth just like the incisors of a rat or rabbit. Its
colour is a dark dun all over. The teeth are very difficult to get out
of the head, more than three parts of their length being set in the jaws.
The only way is to hang the skull up until it dries sufficiently to allow
the teeth to shake out, but this is an affair of some months.
This capybara gave us plenty of good fresh meat, for I should think we
got about four or five Bolivian arrobas, say 1 or 1¼ cwt. from him;
whole, he took four of my strongest men to drag him along. The meat
greatly resembles the flesh of river turtles, but it is not so tough; one
can’t compare it to any other kind of animal flesh, it isn’t like beef
or pork, but is something like rather tasteless veal. The fat cannot be
eaten, as it has a strong fishy taste. On arriving at the breakfast place
we cooked some steaks, which were very palatable, and roughly roasted the
joints, that being the way in which the meat is kept when time will not
allow of its being properly made into charqui, _i.e._ jerked or dried in
the sun.
In the afternoon I shot a cayman for the men, who had for some days been
anxious to get one; this fellow was about eight feet long, and was among
the reeds (capim) at the foot of the bank. A charge of B B in his eye
troubled him seriously, and backing the canoe to him, we finished him
with a bullet in the same eye that was wounded by the shot. Hauling him
on board, we put him in the bows of the canoe in order that we might
roast or “chapapear” him at the first stopping-place. I also shot to-day
a large stork, called here a “cabeça seca,” or dry head, very much like,
and probably identical with, the “adjutant” of Calcutta. This fellow
stands about a couple of feet off the ground, body white with black
feathers in the wings, head fearfully ugly, with wattles all down the
neck and bare head. In this part of the river every canoe is well stocked
with meat, for everything seems eatable here. Birds of all kinds are
eaten, except, of course, vultures and hawks, called here “souchus” and
“gabilans;” also a very common bird on these rivers, called a “cigana,”
and which is I think the “hoopoe;” so, also, everything else, be it
monkey, lizard, or alligator, is welcome to the men. This abundance of
meat, whether fish, flesh, or fowl, justifies, in some measure, the
practice of the Bolivian patrons, of trusting to the shooting above the
rapids for meat, and giving all the Obidos charqui, etc., to the men
amongst the cachuelas.
At 2 p.m. another halt was ordered for dinner, and then to row on till 10
p.m. for a short rest. About five o’clock we crossed from the right to
the left bank, one of Don Miguel’s canoes dropping behind to allow the
large batelão and my own canoe to get into proper file, as Don Miguel
had given orders to one of his mayordomos always to stop in the rear.
Just as I pulled up into my place, I heard shouting, and saw the peons
of the rearmost canoe, many of whom had gone on shore, come running
down the bank and throw themselves into the river, shouting out “Los
bougres! los bougres!” The mayordomo mounted on the top of the camarote
with his rifle, and I, concluding that the men had seen barbaros in
the forest, ordered my crew to paddle out from under the bank, so that
I might get a range for my rifle if necessary. The sun was, however,
setting right in our faces, and prevented my seeing what was going on
with the other canoe. The mayordomo fired three shots, and, when his
peons had struggled into the canoe, paddled away as quickly as possible,
shouting to the canoes that were on ahead, and to the crew of one, who,
a short distance up stream, had landed on a sandbank, and were roasting
alligator-flesh. When we all got together again, I found that the peons
who went on shore, declared that they had seen two barbaros in the bush,
and that the mayordomo had seen three on the bank some distance down
stream. At these he fired, but, from the fact of the sun being in line,
he could not be sure whether he hit them or not. Every one was much
alarmed, as the savages hereabouts are said to be very bold; having at
this spot, about three years ago, attacked a single canoe, killing a
Brazilian, who was going to Bolivia as consul, and all his crew except
one Indian, who managed to hide in the bush and then find his way by land
to Exaltacion. We kept on until 7 p.m., when, crossing the river, we got
to a large playa, at which we made fast for the night, no fires being
allowed, and the night passed quietly.
June 9th. The start was made at 2 a.m., the canoes working up the right
bank until daylight, when we were obliged to cross over to the other
side, in order to avoid a strong current that we could not overcome with
the paddles. I took a paddle till daylight, and then went on watch, rifle
in hand, ready to do my best in case of a discharge of arrows from the
bush; but my good fortune prevailed, and although we were, during the
greater part of the day, far behind the other canoes, no attack was made
upon us. There was a very cold wind from the south beginning to blow
to-day, the men seeming to suffer much from it—one of them especially
complaining greatly of the effect on his eyes, which were almost closed
up, and apparently giving him great pain.
The usual halts for breakfast and dinner were made during the day, and
at nightfall we moved on up the river, looking for a playa to pass the
night on. While paddling on in the dark, some of the canoes being on
either side of the river, we were startled by hearing four shots fired
from the canoes on the opposite side to ourselves. It was impossible
to cross the river in the dark, and so we had to wait in great anxiety
to know what was occurring. The firing ceasing, I kept on up stream,
and overtook Señor Morales, who was on the same side of the river, from
whence we heard the canoes opposite to us proceeding on their way, and
we accordingly judged that there had been a false alarm. Soon afterwards
the moon rose, and Don Miguel’s canoes came over to our side, and we
learned that they had heard, while waiting for the large canoe that had
fallen somewhat in the rear, some suspicious noises in the bush, sticks
cracking, as though from being trodden upon; so they discharged their
guns in the direction of the sounds, and soon afterwards crossed over to
the side where Señor Morales and I were. The funk about barbaros was now
at its height, and every little noise in the bush, whether by night or
by day, is set down to barbaros following the canoes, until a convenient
spot, such as a point of land commanding the canoes as they ascended near
the bank, should be chosen for the attack. Arriving at a small playa,
which afforded a clear space of about a score of yards to the forest,
we made fast for the night, sleeping pretty soundly for a few hours,
although we had no watch set or sentinels on guard.
June 10th. Started at 2.15 a.m., and by good luck I was able to keep my
canoe somewhat ahead of the others, as towards daylight the other patrons
and their mayordomos stopped about a good deal, shooting pavas, which
were very numerous hereabouts. I did not get any, as to have tried to do
so would have necessitated my stopping also to follow the birds into the
bush, and I could not afford to lose the good place I had obtained to-day
in the file of canoes.
To-day I rigged up a cooking-stove in the canoe, by filling a large zinc
basin that I had with sand, and thus I was able to get a cup of coffee
or even some “chupe” for breakfast, prepared by my boy while the canoe
was _en route_. This saved me a good deal of time, and enabled me to get
something to eat at the hour most agreeable to me, and as the stoppages
for breakfast and dinner were now made very early in the day, I found the
invention a very good and useful one.
We had been travelling for the last three days through a very uniformly
level country, but slightly raised above the highest flood line, but the
forest still continues on either side of the river, the pampas passed as
yet having been very small. The river keeps very good for navigation,
although the many playas would give a pilot considerable trouble at
night, the canoes often getting fast in the mud, and having to be guided
into deep water by a man at the bow with a sounding-pole.
June 11th. We started very early at 1.15 a.m., and at 3 a.m. passed an
igarapé, on the left bank, called the “Mayosa,” which appears to be one
of the few well-known points between the junction of the Itenez and the
pueblo of Exaltacion. There was nothing special to record during the
day, and about 6 p.m., as we came to a large playa, formed by a rocky
formation, we concluded to stop for the night, and let the men get a
little more sleep than they had lately been able to have allowed them.
June 12th. Started at 2 a.m., and at 8 a.m. we passed the river Matocari,
emptying into the Mamoré on the right bank, its outlet being about
fifty yards in width. This stream is said to be navigable as far as the
villages of San Ramon and San Joaquin, which are distant from the Mamoré
about two days’ paddle during the rainy season. Goods for these villages
may in that season be taken up this river, instead of being taken down to
the junction of the Itenez, and passing the Fort of Principe da Beira, up
the river Maddalena. During the afternoon we passed many pampas on either
side of the river, which still keeps a fair breadth of about 500 or 600
yards. The pampas seem to be slightly raised above the highest river
level, but sufficiently so to prevent their being flooded except in very
high floods. At night we were unable to find any playa convenient for the
night halt, so we made fast the canoes to a stump about fifteen yards
from the shore.
June 13th. The morning was very cold and chilly; we started at 1.30
a.m., crossing over to the left bank, following in rear of the big canoe,
or batelão. Towards 4 a.m. a very strong and cold wind came up from the
south, with a thick fog, and we made poor progress, crossing from one
bank to another on account of strong currents, in one case having to
send the men on shore to pull with the rope, which was very hard work,
as the mud on the bank was very soft, making the men very cold, wet, and
dirty, as they sank in it at every step up to their knees. When they
came on board again, I served them with a ration of cachaça, and when
the day broke we found that, notwithstanding all our mishaps, we were
well up with the other canoes. The cold wind seemed to make the men very
stupid and dull, and their rate of paddling got to be so bad, that, as
I was determined not to lose the other canoes, I had to keep on without
stopping to cook any breakfast, but made shift with what we had left over
from the previous day.
About mid-day we came to large open pampas on either side of the river,
which in this part of its course has some very severe bends, some of them
being almost right angles. On the left bank is a grove of trees standing
alone, and looking almost like young poplars, and as they are on the top
of a cliff-like bank of yellow earth cut down by the current straight
to the water, they form rather a remarkable landmark. In consequence of
repeated crossings of the river to avoid shoals or currents, we made
but slow progress, and this part of the river will require a good deal
of study before steamers will be able to navigate easily, the playas
especially being very numerous, and stretching out a great distance into
the river.
We stopped for the night on the left bank, at a very large playa, which
was so soft and muddy, that in trying to go after some ducks, I got
thoroughly into it, and had to crawl out on hands and knees. Through this
I spoiled a good pair of high boots; for my boy, who should have washed
and dried them carefully, put them right into the fire for the second
operation, and burnt the fronts completely off. During the night the
south wind increased to almost a gale, and we were cold and miserable
till morning.
June 14th. We did not start till 5.30 a.m., and made but poor progress on
account of the gale which, blowing down on us, keeps us back. The men,
also, are apparently quite unable to put out any power, and look more
like a lot of blue-faced mummies than men, for it is curious how blue the
Indians seem to turn when suffering intense cold, which certainly knocks
them up much more than the hottest sun does. The country now appears more
open, and extensive pampas are now very frequently occurring. This day we
could only work about twelve hours, and at night the gale moderated.
June 15th. Started at 3.30 a.m., the day breaking cold and dull like
the preceding ones, but the wind had somewhat moderated from that of
yesterday, which might be termed half a gale.
The men still seemed in a numbed state, and it was impossible to
get the least exertion out of them, for they paddle in an inert and
wretched manner during the continuance of the cold. My thermometer had
unfortunately got broken, but I should judge that the mercury would have
stood very near, if not below, 50° Fahr.
At breakfast time to-day we found, on landing and passing through the
fringe of forest on the bank, that we had arrived at the “chocolotales”
of Exaltacion so that at last we had arrived near to some sort of
civilization. These “chocolotales” appear to be very extensive and are
found on both sides of the river, but to discover them it is necessary to
go ashore and push one’s way through the belt or fringe of chuchia and
brushwood that has been left all along the river bank. These plantations
of cocoa trees, or “chocolotales,” as they are called, were made in the
last century by the Mojos Indians of the department of the Beni, who were
gathered together from their wandering habits, and formed into villages
by the Jesuit missionaries of the Spanish South American dependencies
of Peru and Bolivia. They are very extensive, and are now claimed as
government properties, being farmed out, by the authorities of Exaltacion
and Trinidad, to speculators who make good profits, as there is no
labour, or very little, expended in clearing. At the proper season, which
is during the months when the river is in flood, from February to March,
the Cayubaba Indians from Exaltacion descend to these plantations, and
collecting the cocoa pods which are then ripe, clear the trees somewhat
of the dead leaves and rubbish that has fallen during the year, leaving
the chocolotales to the savages and wild animals until the collecting
time again comes round.
During the afternoon we passed a succession of these chocolotales, and
also some small clearings, or “chacos,” with plantains and other fruits
growing in abundance. Each chaco has its hut, where the Cayubabas live
during the few months in which they stay upon their plantations; but
there were no inhabitants, the proper season for staying down the river
having gone by. The absence of the proprietors did not, however, keep my
fellow-travellers and the Indian boatmen from helping themselves to all
the plantains and pumpkins that they could lay their hands on; and I was
told that it was an understood custom that all travellers should help
themselves as freely as they wished at these plantations, which are the
first that parties ascending the rapids into Bolivia can arrive at.
Hereabouts we had to cross to the right bank to avoid a very strong
current; and having to go under a very long stretch of falling bank, we
very narrowly escaped being buried by a fall of many tons of earth. While
paddling along, our captain saw ahead, small pieces of earth dropping
down the straight wall of the bank, and just had time to sheer out into
mid-river when down the mass came, very nearly bringing with it a lofty
tree, which, had it fallen, would certainly have reached us with its
topmost branches. Canoes ascending the river are much exposed to this
danger, and in passing under these falling banks a constant watch must be
kept.
To-day we found an arrow floating down the river, which the men declared
to belong to the Chacobo tribe of savages that roam about in these
districts; the arrow was of same size, form, and make as those used by
the Caripunas and Pacaguaras of the Rapids.
At night we stopped opposite to the “Estancia de Santiago,” the first of
the cattle feeding-grounds of Bolivia that one arrives at in ascending
the Mamoré. This was formerly the property of Don Barros Cardozo,
Brazilian Consul in the Beni for some years, and who had been murdered by
one of his Brazilian servants only a few weeks previously, as we had been
informed by the canoes we met descending the river at the Misericordia
Rapid. We now learned that the assassin had been hunted by the mayordomo,
and other servants of the deceased consul, for some days, until he was
discovered endeavouring to escape down the river in a small canoe; and
that, as he refused to surrender and menaced his pursuers with the same
knife with which he had murdered his master, he was shot down and killed
without waiting for process of law. This estancia is reported to have
nearly 8000 head of cattle, and I was informed that, had the consul not
lost his life, he had intended to drive a large number of his cattle by
land from Guajará Merim to San Antonio. From the estancia to the first
cachuela, the cattle would have been taken in canoes or on rafts—a
comparatively easy work, as the navigation is entirely free from other
obstacle than the playas or banks of sand which stretch out into the
river at low water, leaving, however, in every case a channel deep enough
and wide enough for craft that do not draw much water. Pasturage for the
cattle would be easily found at night along the river banks, which are
covered with “capim,” a rough wild grass, or “chuchia,” the wild cane,
the succulent points of which are greedily eaten by the cattle. Oxen in
the estancias of Mojos are worth from fifteen to twenty “pesos faibles,”
say about £2 10_s._ to £3 10_s._ a head, while at San Antonio and on the
higher Madeira they are worth from eighty to one hundred milreis, or £8
to £10.
CHAPTER XVII.
“El Cerrito”—Small steamer, the _Explorador_—“Taita Crusa”—The
town of Exaltacion—The fifteen missions of the Beni and the
tribes that belong to them—Some numerals and words in Mojeño,
Cayubaba, Canichana, and Yuracaré—Education of the Indians.
June 16th. We started at midnight in hopes of getting to the town of
Exaltacion during the day, but did not get on very well till daybreak,
for having to cross the river several times in the dark, we lost much
way. At 9 a.m. we arrived at “El Cerrito,” a chaco, and clearing with
workshops for building canoes etc., belonging to the National Bolivian
Navigation Company, the sister enterprise of the Railway of the
Cachuelas. Here was a small steamer called the _Explorador_, which had
in 1871 been taken entire up the rapids by Dr. Juan Francisco Velarde,
the energetic agent of the navigation company. The taking of this small
steamer over the rapids was certainly a most arduous task, and Dr.
Velarde, and the American mechanics who accompanied him, deserve every
credit for their pluck and steadfast determination to succeed in getting
their craft over the nineteen cachuelas. The _Explorador_ is a small
steamer about forty feet in length, and was built by Messrs. Yarrow and
Co. of Poplar, specially for the river Mamoré, her hull being made of
the best Lowmoor iron, in order to resist the blows which she must have
received in striking against the numerous rocks amongst the rapids, and
when being hauled over the portages by the Indians, of whom there were
about eighty employed. Her hull stood well, but her engines were not
nearly strong enough, and broke down repeatedly in endeavouring to stem
the currents. This little steamer is now quiet in the upper waters of the
Mamoré, waiting for new engines, when she would be able to carry on a
good business trading amongst the towns of the Beni, a department whose
roads are laid out by nature in the stupendous network of riverine canals
with which it is favoured, and upon which the villages are built.
El Cerrito is so called from its being the only hill that is to be found
on this part of the river for many miles, and it is said to be the only
spot that at exceptionally high floods remains above water. Here we got
some fresh beef, eggs, and yucas, so we made a capital breakfast, that
one did not require much coaxing to attack; for after fifty-three days
since we started from San Antonio, during which time we had to get our
meals when we could, and sometimes off what to many people would seem
uneatable food, it will be believed that the sight of a piece of fresh
beef was cheering indeed.
I started from El Cerrito about 1 p.m., having obtained the loan of five
strong Cayubaba Indians to help my crew, who were glad of assistance;
but just above the Cerrito the river runs straight for a considerable
distance, and the current runs so strongly that I found we were quite
unable to surmount it with paddles, so we had to put out a rope for
towing, which was very difficult work as the bank was very muddy. At
about 8 p.m. we stopped for the night at a hacienda, about five miles
below Exaltacion, sleeping in the canoe, as it was too late to go up to
the house and visit the “patron” that night.
The following morning I went up to the house, and introduced myself to
the patron Señor José Aqurusa, or, as he is called by the Indians of
the district, Taita (Father) Crusa. He was evidently an Indian, but of
very good presence and manners, and being tall and grey-headed, he had
rather a striking appearance. He is said to have great authority over
the civilized Indians, being a “Cacique,” or head man, of the Cayubabas,
and it is supposed that even the wandering Chacobos respect him and his
cattle; while, during a time that he was corregidor of Exaltacion, they
became friendly and visited the village for trading purposes. There were
a good many Indians, mostly Cayubabas, about the house, and of women I
think there must have been about five or six to each man, while children
were running and rolling about in small droves. The house is of the usual
South American up-country construction, open all round and with roof of
palm leaves, of very great size in order to cover the sugar-mill, as well
as certain great cupboard-like constructions which served as sleeping
apartments for the women and children. Underneath this immense roof all
the business of the day goes on, from the cutting up of the bullock to
the cooking of the “chupe,” or soup, for breakfast or dinner, or the
preparation of the national beverage of Bolivia, the “chicha,” without
which few Bolivians, be they Indians or of Spanish extraction, can exist:
but of this chicha we shall have more hereafter. The sugar-mill was of
primitive construction, but seemed to work well, and turned out sugar of
an excellent quality. It was worked by a couple of very fine bullocks,
the simple plan of ladling from the “trapiche,” or mill, to the boilers
being used instead of more complicated appliances. The working parts
of the trapiche were all made of hard wood of excellent quality, the
workmanship of the cogs and rollers speaking volumes for the ingenuity
and skill of the Indian carpenters. There were a few bullocks in a
corral, but they afforded a great contrast to the two fat oxen that
worked the mill and that had evidently been stall-fed, and Señor Aqurusa
set down the thin condition of those in the corral to the fact that
during the past rainy season, in the early part of the year, the floods
had been very high, and had consequently spoiled the greater portion of
the pasturage.
Crossing over to the right bank, I called at the “chaco,” or plantation,
of Señor Francisco Ceballos, who received me very kindly, entertaining
me very hospitably, and offering me free quarters in his house in
Exaltacion, to which town, situated on the left bank of the Mamoré, we
went about mid-day. The “puerto,” or landing-place for the town, is
situated at the apex of a large bend in the river, each arm being at
least a league in length. The wind therefore, blowing up or down the
river, exerts a great force on the craft made fast at the foot of the
bank, which rises more than fifty feet above low water.
The town of Exaltacion is placed about a couple of miles inland from
the river, the road to it being across a pampa, with a few isolated
trees and a rough grass three or four feet in height, which at certain
seasons is burnt, so that new grass fit for the cattle may spring up;
the burning has to be done when the wind is quiet, and can be only done
in patches, for if the fires were not kept under control, the villages
and plantations would be greatly endangered. The town is built on this
flat pampa, and consists of about a hundred houses, built of adobe walls,
with tiled roofs, arranged in square blocks in the usual South American
fashion. I had to stay in Exaltacion about ten days, as it was necessary
to find a new crew, the men that I had brought with me from San Antonio
being either from Exaltacion, or from the other villages on the Magdalena
and Baures rivers; they consequently were very averse to continuing the
journey up the river to Trinidad, and, as they sadly stood in need of
rest, I determined to suffer the delay, and seek a new crew rather than
oppress my old one by forcing them to take me on further.
The following is a list of the fifteen principal missions of the
department of the Beni, which appears to have been one of the great
fields of Jesuitical missionary effort in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries.
Exaltacion, on the Mamoré, peopled by Cayubabas (1).
Santa Ana, on the Yacuma, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by
Mobimas (2).
San Xavier, on the Mamoré, peopled by Mojeños (3).
San Ignacio, on the Tijamuchi, an affluent of the Mamoré,
peopled by Mojeños (3).
Trinidad, on the Ybari, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by
Mojeños (3).
Loreto, on the Ybari, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by
Mojeños (3).
San Pedro, on the Machupa, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled
by Canichanas (4).
San Joaquin, on the Machupa, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled
by Itonamas or Machotos (5).
San Ramon, on the Machupa, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled
by Itonamas or Machotos (5).
San Carlos, on the Itonama, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled
by Baures (6).
Magdalena, on the Itonama, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled
by Baures (6).
N. S. del Concepcion, on the Baures, or Blanco, an affluent of
the Itenez, peopled by Baures (6).
N. S. del Carmen, on the Baures, or Blanco, an affluent of the
Itenez, peopled by Baures (6).
Reyes, on the Beni, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by
Maropas (7).
San Borja, on the Apiri, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by
Maropas (7).
There are seven tribes of Indians in these fifteen villages, each tribe
having a language of its own. There are also differences in the dialects
of villages speaking the same mother tongue, such as Trinidad and San
Xavier, or Magdalena and Nuestra Señora del Concepcion; but while these
differences serve to render the Babel of tongues in the Beni still more
confusing, one is only able to detect the seven leading languages as
numbered in the list. There is another tribe (of whom more hereafter)
that inhabit the lands on the highest waters of the Mamoré; this tribe is
called the Yuracarés, but they are never reckoned amongst the Indians of
the Beni.
Of the seven languages, the following numbers and words are all that I
had an opportunity of obtaining:—
Mojeño, or Trinitario. Cayubaba. Canichana.
One Etona Carata Merca
Two Apina Mitia Calila
Three Mopona Curapa Carajaca
Four Chata
Five Mitaru
Six Tariduboi
In endeavouring to follow the sound of these words I have used the
Spanish alphabet, that is to say, _a_ broad, _i_ to be _e_, _e_ a short
_a_, _u_ like _oo_; _j_ to be _h_, _c_ hard before _a_ and _o_, etc.,
etc. The Mojeños and Canichanas do not appear to be able to count beyond
three; arriving at that, they commence again, and have to arrange
all their calculations in sets of threes, which seems to be a most
complicated proceeding; thus, for a peso, or dollar, that contains eight
reales, they count “apina mopona” and “apina”, or two threes and two; how
they get on in the higher numbers I could not understand, but as most
of the Indians have learned the Spanish numerals, I observed that they
invariably counted the first three numbers in their own language and
then went off into cuatro, cinco, etc. I managed to get the Cayubabas
up to “tariduboi,” or six, and then they would go on with siete, ocho,
nueve, etc. The Trinitarios have a peculiarity with regard to their
first numeral which is worthy of mention; if they are counting they will
say “Etona,” but if there is only one article or thing to be spoken of,
they say “Etonaricha,” the addition of “icha” appearing to be a kind of
diminutive. The following are a few words that I noted.
Mojeño, or Trinitario. Cayubaba. Yuracaré.
Man Jiro Yasi
Woman Seni Atoñanes
People Chani
Father Taita, or Pilla Taita, or Apana Atata
Mother Meme Apipi Ameme
Son or Daughter Chicha Chiromi
Wife Atoñanes
Husband Até
My Ni Ni and Ma
Boy Miji
Girl Mijiasi
Sun Sachi Maca Puyne
Moon Cóje Injani Chuvi
Star Reyje Pusichi
Day Sachi Carachu
Night Yoti Garra (_g_ soft)
Fire Yuco Doré Ayma
Water Uni Quita Sama
Earth Motaji Datu
Horse Cuoyo
To eat Pinica Pañani
Come and eat Pi ana pinica Aviro pañani
To drink Nero Pacogucoi (_g_ soft)
Bring fire Piuma yuco Picha doré Cuncayama
Bring water Piuma uni Picha quita Cuncayamsama
I go to drink water Nero uni
Little Paisarini Irique
Very little Paisarichi Padetai
Go to sleep Piana tinoca
Many people Psinto poiachani
Let us go Yánavori
Deep Tupano
River Cosará
Here Pfjóca
Take hold Anoca
There is not (no hay!) Tajina
The above words I have set down as near to the sounds as I could. It
seems that many years ago the Indians had a method of writing by short
strokes, signs, and hieroglyphics; but that method is now almost entirely
forgotten, and those who can write use the ordinary Roman letters. I
have seen many excellent writers amongst them. All of them who had done
service in the churches as sacristans and choristers are able to write;
they also can read music, for which they use the ordinary five-line
system. There are small schools in all the principal Indian villages in
which reading, writing, and Catholic prayers are taught in the Castilian
language; and I was rather surprised to see the amount of rudimentary
knowledge that is drilled into the Indians, who, as a race, are not at
all deficient in natural intellect, being, I believe, of a much higher
grade than the Brazilian negroes of African descent.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Festival of St. John the Baptist—Water-throwing—Morning
mass—Church of La Exaltacion de la Santa Cruz—“Macheteros,”
or Soldiers of the Cross—Decrease of the Indians of the
Beni—Suggestions for the re-population of the department—A crew
for Trinidad obtained with difficulty—Desertion of an Indian
lad—Landslip and dangers of the port of Exaltacion—Changes
in the courses of the rivers—Richness of the soil—Prices of
provisions.
While I was staying in Exaltacion the Festival of St. John the Baptist
occurred, on the 24th of June, and the village was in fiesta, and no
work of any kind was done by the Indians. The chief duty on this day
appears to be to throw as much water over each other as possible, this
being a custom that has been introduced by the Bolivian patrons or
masters who are of Spanish origin. The great object is to wet thoroughly
the best-dressed man or woman who shows on the street or at a window;
and possibly this is meant for a kind of baptism, for as one cannot be
made to go to the river as St. John and his followers did, the river is
brought, in buckets and other vessels, to the unbeliever, who must suffer
the infliction of a good wetting with the best grace he may; and thus he
is at all events made to practise the Christian virtues of patience and
long-suffering, for there is no escape from the devout followers of the
saint, the best plan being to put on an old suit of clothing and provide
one’s self also with a bucket and squirt and set forth baptizing on one’s
own account.
Morning mass was held with great beating of drums and blowing of horns,
the water play being abandoned for the nonce. The church is a very old
edifice built of adobes, and was constructed by the Jesuits more than
200 years ago, the “cura” of the town informing me that there were
ecclesiastical records belonging to it which vouched for its age. The
façade facing on the central square of the village is highly ornamented
with figures in cement handsomely painted; the columns are made in a
twisted pattern, and there are, on either side of the principal door,
images of a Christ and a Virgin, about eight feet in height, elaborately
moulded and painted. The interior has been highly decorated with relievo
ornamentation in mud cement, but has now become much decayed, all the
pictures, of which there were a great many, having fallen out of their
frames.
The service of the mass was of most barbarous character, and has
evidently been adapted to the customs of the aborigines of these parts
by the Jesuits. There were two Indians with head-dresses of macaw’s
feathers arranged so as to form a circle at the back of the head, and
attached thereto is a long appendage, reaching to the ground and made
of the breast feathers of the toucan, terminating with a real tiger’s
tail. These men have a species of bell-anklets to their feet, and a
large wooden machete, or cutlass, in their right hands. Thus accoutred
they execute dances in front of the altar and the church door. These
fellows are called “macheteros,” and are intended to typify, I presume,
the soldiers of the Church fighting and conquering its enemies. The
interior of the church during mass presents a good effect from the bright
colours of the “tipoys” of the Indian women, the two plaits of whose
long glossy black hair are finished off with bright-coloured ribbons
called “ariches.” The “tipoy” is made of white or bright-coloured calico
or print, and is a long and straight garment which hangs in graceful
folds to the feet of the wearer, whose arms are always bare from the
shoulder. The bright colours of these dresses made an effective contrast
to the dark and sombre look of the church. The singing is of a squally
character, the aim seeming to be to sing through the nose as much as
possible; but every one seems to be thoroughly in earnest, and all cross
themselves in proper fashion.
[Illustration: INDIAN GIRL OF EXALTACION.]
Most of these Indian women are, in their youth, comely and well featured,
many of them being of very fair complexion, the darkest having skins of
a burnished coppery hue. Some of them, however, adopt the barbarian’s
practice of filing or chipping their front teeth into sharp points, and
this gives them a horrid look and reminds one of the dental arrangements
of the alligators. This barbarous custom is also practised slightly, in
some of the larger towns of the interior of Bolivia, and it strikes one
as particularly painful to meet a señorita, blessed perhaps with pretty
features and dressed in fashionable attire, and to observe when she opens
her lips to smile that she discloses a set of teeth as sharp as any
rattlesnake’s.
The Indians of the Beni are, I fear, decreasing rapidly in numbers, and
the deserted houses and lines of old streets now in ruins give a sad and
desolate look to Exaltacion. The present population cannot be more than
1500, and I should judge that less than fifty years ago there must have
been nearly 4000 Indians at the mission of “La Exaltacion de la Santa
Cruz,” or “The Raising of the Holy Cross.”
The climate of Exaltacion is, I should judge, a very good one, except at
times when the river overflows its banks, an occurrence which appears to
occur with rather a remarkable regularity about once in seven years. The
lands of Exaltacion are then flooded to a depth of perhaps six inches,
and after the retirement of the waters, ague fever is epidemic, but at
other times the air is pure and healthy. The reason for the decline of
the Indian population is to be found, without doubt, in the baneful
effects to Bolivia of the rubber-collecting trade of the Madeira and
Purus rivers. This trade is the real cause that is rapidly depopulating,
not only Exaltacion, but all the towns of the department of the Beni.
To take the year 1873 as an example of the working of the emigration
from Bolivia to the rubber districts of Northern Brazil. In that year
forty-three canoes descended the rapids from Bolivia, with merchants on
their way to Europe with ventures of “cascarilla” (cinchona bark), or
with speculators in the rubber estradas of the Madeira River, while in
the same year thirteen canoes only ascended to Bolivia. We may average
the Indians that leave Bolivia with these canoes at ten per canoe, and
thus we have an exodus of 430 Indians from their country in twelve
months, while only 130 return in the same period; we thus have 300
Indians lost to Bolivia in 1873, and as the rubber-collecting fever has
been decidedly on the decrease for the last four or five years, the year
1873 does not give a fifth of the number of Indians that have left in
previous years. We may, I venture to think, estimate the drain of human
life that the department of the Beni has suffered from the Northern
Brazilian rubber trade at 1000 men per annum during the decade of 1862 to
1872. The worst feature of this emigration is, perhaps, the fact that
rubber speculators and merchants descending the rapids will not allow
the Indians to take any of the females of their families with them. This
is done on account of avarice in some cases and necessity in others,
which prompt the “patron” or owner of the descending craft to load his
canoes as fully as he can with his merchandise, reserving as small a
space as possible for provisions, which, on account of the quantity of
farinha consumed, occupy so much space, that every mouth that requires to
be filled, without its owner being able to assist in the propulsion of
the craft, becomes a very serious consideration. Thus it arises that in
every town of the Beni the females are in a majority of perhaps five to
one over the males, and the populations are decreasing. According to the
data given by a Portuguese exploring expedition, which travelled in 1749
from Pará to Matto Grosso _viâ_ the river Madeira, an account of which
has been published in a compilation, by Colonel George Earl Church, of
the explorations that have been made in the valley of the river Madeira,
there was then in the fifteen missions of the Beni, a total population
of 26,000 Indians; while at the present day, if all the Indians were
collected together in these towns, it is probable that not more than 8000
would be found.
The only plan that is likely to succeed in restoring to these villages
the Indian population, which is probably that which is best suited to the
locality and climate, is that a treaty should be made by Bolivia with
Brazil for the redemption of these Indians from the slavery in which
they are held by their patrons the seringueiros, or rubber collectors.
It is true that the old form of slavery was abolished in Bolivia when
the Republic gained its independence; and in Brazil, in later years,
every child of a slave is born free, so that in the due course of events
slavery will be altogether abolished in the empire; but on the Amazon,
Madeira, and Purus rivers a far worse form of slavery exists, for both
Brazilian and Bolivian patrons keep their Indians in their power by
means of debt and drink. At most of the barracas on the Madeira River
where the seringueiros live, the Sundays are passed in perfect orgies of
drunkenness, for it is on that day that the peon delivers over to the
patron the rubber that he has collected during the week. The patron is
also a shopkeeper, and therefore treats his peon liberally to white rum
(called “cachaça” on the river), and, when under the influence of this
liquor, the poor peon is induced to buy trinkets, calicoes, ribbons, and
other articles that he could do very well without. These are charged to
him at enormous prices, whilst his rubber is credited to him at inversely
corresponding low ones, and thus he is kept under a heavy load of debt,
and cannot, under the Brazilian laws, leave his patron until it is
worked off, which happy event the patron takes care shall not happen.
A Bolivian authority, aided by Brazilian officials, should visit these
unhappy exiles, and settle between patron and peon the just state of the
accounts; thus a thousand Bolivian peons could with ease be gathered
together on the banks of the Madeira River. They could be put to work
on the railway of the rapids for two or three years with advantage to
themselves and to their country, and return to their native villages at
the expiration of their agreements, with a small fund in hand. This would
be the most expeditious method of repopulating the now half-deserted
villages of the department of the Beni.
It was with difficulty that I obtained a crew of Indians in Exaltacion
for the journey to Trinidad, for all the able-bodied men of the place
were either at their plantations on the river or had gone with traders
to the villages on the affluents of the Itenez. However, by overbidding
one of the traders for a crew of Trinitarios, who, besides getting better
pay from me, preferred to return to their own town rather than go with
the trader to Reyes and other outlying towns, I was able to arrange for
recommencing my journey on the 28th of June. On which day, after having
taken my farewell of the principal men of the place, and having seen
the last lot of baggage taken down to the puerto, I was ready to start
by about 9 a.m., when, to my disgust, I found that my servant-boy named
Trinidad, a young Indian that had been in my service for more than twelve
months, and had accompanied me up over the rapids, had absconded and
was missing. I sent back to the village for him, and lost several hours
waiting in hopes that he would turn up, but without success. This is one
of the most disagreeable features of travelling on the upper waters of
the Mamoré, that at each successive village one is exposed to the loss
of men; for the struggle for hands is very great amongst the traders,
and the Bolivian Indian is easily tempted, besides being cunning enough
to take advance money from two or three patrons at the same time, if he
can get the chance of doing so. I tired of waiting for the runaway, and
was fearful of losing some of the other men, who might, during the delay,
change their minds as to going further up the river, and give me the slip
also, so I started with nine paddlers and a captain—a fair crew, but one
seat empty, which looked ugly.
The port of the town of Exaltacion must, if the town is ever to be served
by steamer traffic, be moved higher up the river. While I was there an
enormous mass of the bank at the port gave way and fell into the river,
causing the loss of one man and a large canoe. This landslip measured
more than 100 feet in length, the breadth of earth that fell being more
than thirty feet at top, which was upwards of forty feet above the then
water level. It is therefore evident that a more secure situation must
be sought for the port, when any navigation of the Mamoré commences.
On this part of the river, boats are much exposed to danger from the
falling banks, which are called “tierras disbarrancandas.” The Mamoré,
and indeed all the rivers of the Beni valley, are for ever shifting
their courses in many parts of the forests through which they flow. They
undermine the banks on one side, which, falling away, form the numerous
curves on the convex side of which the mud and sand brought down by the
current is deposited, and playas and banks are formed, on which a forest
grows in course of time. The river on the concave side of the curve is
continually causing the trees of the _terra firma_ to fall and obstruct
the waterway, a barricade or “pausada” is formed, the river then returns
in exceptionally high floods to its old course on the convex shore,
bursting through the playas and sandbanks, and so the ever recurring
changes of the river course continue. In illustration of this, I saw on
the river Chapari a place where the current was breaking down a bank
that was apparently _terra firma_, and had trees growing on it that were
of great age. At the foot of this bank, and under some fifteen feet of
earth, was a deposit of timber, blackened and, in fact, almost carbonized
by time and pressure of the super-incumbent earth. From the manner in
which these logs of timber were deposited, one above the other, it was
evident that they formed part of a huge collection of driftwood, such as
may often be seen collected together in many parts of the rivers. On the
Mamoré all “chacos,” “barracas,” and “pueblos” are placed some distance
from the river, generally from half a mile to a mile, so that they may
not be exposed to danger from the frequent changes of the river’s course.
In the cachuelas this feature of the river does not appear to exist, as
there the formation of the country is of a more rocky nature.
At Exaltacion food-stuffs grown in the country are very cheap, the supply
from the chacos being far greater than the wants of the sparse and
scattered population. Cultivation, as is usual in all tropical countries,
is carried on with a very small amount of labour, the rich soil requiring
no digging or ploughing—sowing, only, being sufficient to give rich crops
of maize, rice, yucas, yams, pumpkins, plantains, melons, tobacco, and
all other kinds of tropical vegetation. The following are some of the
prices of provisions in the Beni: “farinha de yuca,” or mandioca flour,
twelve reales (4_s._ 10_d._) per Bolivian arroba of twenty-five pounds;
rice, six reales the arroba in the husk—this only produces about fifteen
pounds when husked, thus the dressed rice may be put at 2_d._ per pound.
Sugar, brown, in cakes, called “empanisadas,” half a reale, say 2½_d._
per pound; when partially refined and of a small and white grain, it
sells at one reale per pound. Ordinary aguadiente, called cachaça below
the rapids, and white rum in English colonies, fetches eight reales
(3_s._ 2½_d._) per frasqueira of three bottles, a stronger and better
sort of spirit, called “re-sacada,” being worth eight reales per bottle.
Fresh meat sells at one peso of eight reales (3_s._ 2½_d._) per arroba
of twenty-five pounds; when preserved, by being salted and dried in the
sun, it is called “charqui,” and sells at three pesos (9_s._ 7½_d._) per
arroba, say 4⅗_d._ per pound. Wheaten bread is very scarce, and when
obtainable costs half a reale, say 2½_d._, for a small cake that may
perhaps weigh a couple of ounces; the reason for such a high price being
that the flour has to be brought all the way from Cochabamba, a town in
the interior of Bolivia that will be described hereafter. The tobacco
grown in the Beni is of rough appearance in the dried leaf. It is all
used up in the manufacture of very badly shaped cigars called “puros,”
which sell for six reales, say 2_s._ 8_d._, per 100. In the absence
of Havannahs or good smoking mixture, a traveller will find them very
acceptable.
CHAPTER XIX.
Leave Exaltacion—Improvement in crew—Mobima Indians
of Santa Ana—“Mani” planted on sandbanks—The river
Yacuma—Trading up the Yacuma to Reyes, San Pablo, San Borja,
etc.—Multitudes of mosquitoes, etc.—Shoal of fish—Storks,
ducks, flamingoes—Canichana Indians—The river Apiri and the
village of San Ignacio—Poling over the shallows—The river
Jamucheo—San Pedro—Traders haul their canoes over a portage to
San Pedro—Weather turns very cold—The river Ybari—Arrival at
Trinidad.
On the 28th of June I continued my journey up the river Mamoré, starting
from the puerto of Exaltacion about 1 p.m., and soon arriving at a
landing-place that is used when the river is full in the rainy season.
This appeared to me to be a much better place for a permanent port,
although it is further away from the village than the lower one, but
it has the advantage that when the river is full it fills a creek that
runs to within a quarter of a mile of the town, and up which canoes can
then ascend, while, in the dry season, it is not so subject to dangerous
landslips as the lower port is, for the banks are not nearly so high.
We paddled on up stream till about 9 p.m., when we stopped for the night
at a playa, starting the next morning at 5 a.m. with every prospect of a
good day’s work, as the men are all strong and well, and of a much better
class than my old crew. I have now eight Trinitarios and two Cruzeños,
these last being much better paddlers than Cruzeños generally are, one
of them also bidding fair to make me a very useful servant in place of
the lad that decamped yesterday. The river continues to be about half a
mile in width, and presents no features of special interest, large playas
or sandbanks alternating with long stretches of falling banks. In the
afternoon we saw a canoe with Mobima Indians from Santa Ana on the Yacuma
River, who come to the large playas on the Mamoré in the dry season, to
sow maize and various kinds of beans thereon. We halted at 9 p.m., the
night being a very unpleasant one from the great number of mosquitoes,
the camarota of the canoe being so full of traps that it was impossible
to set up the “toldeta,” or mosquito curtain, without letting in a lot of
these bloodthirsty monsters; and on day appearing, I found the curtain
was a perfect hive of them, and that I had suffered a serious loss of
vital fluid. We started early the next morning (June 30th), the men
requiring very little urging. At daybreak I went ashore on a large playa,
and found it planted with two sorts of “frijoles,” or beans, and a kind
of small pulse, called here “mani,” which, from the description given me,
appears to be much like East Indian “gram” (_i.e._ the large red class).
This planting is carried on by the Santa Ana people, who come here in
their narrow canoes or dug-outs, very long and very narrow, some being
perhaps thirty feet long by sixteen or eighteen inches wide. This is the
class of canoe used by the Cayubabas of Exaltacion, and by most of the
Indian tribes of the Beni.
About half-past two in the afternoon we passed the mouth of the river
Yacuma, on which is the pueblo of Santa Ana, the head-quarters of the
Mobima Indians. From the breadth at its mouth, the river appears to
be of considerable size; and the village is said to be “doce tornos,”
or twelve bends up river, this being the method by which the Indians
describe a distance on these rivers. Probably the village is a good day’s
paddle from the junction of the Yacuma with the Mamoré. It is by this
river that traders take goods for the pueblos of Reyes, San Pablo, San
Borja, and Santa Cruz, all of which are peopled by the Maropa Indians,
and from which villages a trade is carried to the towns of Apolobamba
in Bolivian territory, and Sandia in Peruvian. The river Yacuma is said
to be navigable all the year round for large canoes, and is free from
savages; therefore a small steamer may be advantageously employed here,
after the construction of the railway of the cachuelas. The Beni River is
said to be known from its sources, near La Paz, down to Cavinas, where
there is a small village and a mission; but below that point few persons,
if any, have of late years navigated, for the savages, who infest the
lands near the junction of the Beni and the Mamoré, at the Madeira Falls,
are much dreaded. Doubtless these savages would be easily driven off
when navigation commences in earnest on these waters, but it is just as
well to have two lines of communication with the south-eastern towns of
Peru. One of the merchants who accompanied me up the rapids, sold goods,
to the value of £3400, in Exaltacion to a trader who sends canoes up the
affluents of the Mamoré or the Itenez to the various pueblos of the
department of the Beni, such as San Joaquin, San Ramon, San Nicolas, and
San Pedro on the Machupa River, Magdalena on the Itonama, Concepcion de
Baures and El Carmen on the Baures or Blanco River, the before-mentioned
town of Reyes and others on the Yacuma, and San Ignacio on the Jamucheo.
Considerable trade will doubtless be opened up with these towns and
villages, and work will be found for two small steamers; one to run on
the affluents of the Mamoré, and the other on those of the Itenez, the
head-quarters of both being at Exaltacion or El Cerrito, just below.
July 1st. Started at 5 a.m., having had better luck with the mosquitoes
last night, as I only had about half a dozen under the curtain instead
of about a hundred, as I had the night before; but the men, who slept on
shore on a high sandbank, passed a bad time and got no sleep at all, as
the wind continually lifted up the toldetas and allowed the mosquitoes
a free right of way. As soon as it was light I had pretty good sport,
getting a “cabeça seca,” three ducks, and a pava in a very short time.
There is always plenty of game to be had on this part of the river—so
much so that one need scarcely provide any charqui, if it were not rather
imprudent to trust entirely to one’s gun for the supply of a canoe’s crew
of boatmen.
[Illustration: THE BATA.]
The country we pass through is very uniform, “playas” and “tierras
disbarrancandas,” and bits of pampa land, alternating with each other.
There are no “barbaros” hereabouts, and I should say the lands from
Exaltacion to Trinidad would be very valuable for emigration; climate
splendid, land of excellent quality for the production of crops of
sugar-cane, rice, maize, plantains, and every other description of
tropical produce, together with capital pampas for cattle rearing. The
bag to-day was splendid—two cabeça secas, a very large stork, called a
“bata,” four ducks, and a pava; total eight. Also, we got about a dozen
good-sized fish, which the men pulled out with their hands, there being a
shoal of them close inshore; and if we had had a net we could have got a
canoe full with ease. The “bata” is of the stork tribe; it stands about
five feet high. Its wings, fully extended, cover eight feet six inches;
colour white, head without feathers, but deep black skin, with red bag
or wattle on the breast, where the body-feathers commence. The beak is
black, with a curious upward turn, and is about twelve inches long. This
fellow I shot with the rifle at about 200 yards. He had strength left to
make for the bush, but my young retriever “Burro” bolted after him and
kept him prisoner amongst a heap of dead timber, until one of the Indians
got up to him and finished him off with sundry blows on the head. The
flesh of these birds is excellent eating, a steak off the breast, toasted
over the wood fire, being very tasty. We saw a pair or two of flamingoes,
and also some spoonbills; but these birds seem very wary, and do not
allow one to get even within a rifle-shot of 200 or 300 yards.
July 2nd. Started at 3.30 a.m. This morning we see but few ducks or other
birds, the wind perhaps driving them to cover, as it blows strong from
the north-east. We have now passed the run of the Santa Ana people, for
we do not find the playas sown with anything; nor do we meet with canoes,
as we did yesterday, when we saw two or three lots of these Santa Ana
Indians. This was a very uneventful day, with no shooting to speak of.
Stopped for the night about 7 p.m.
July 3rd. Started about 4.30 a.m., rather later than usual, the men
having overslept themselves; for we had intended to make the start about
two instead of after four o’clock. Soon after sunrise we met a canoe with
Canichana Indians, going to some chaco that they have near here, so we
are now in the San Pedro district. We don’t make the progress I had hoped
for, and it is clear that my canoe is undermanned; so I fear we shall
take eight or ten days from Exaltacion to Trinidad instead of the usual
six or seven. I found to-day that we had passed the river Apiri yesterday
morning, about breakfast-time. This river appears to be placed in the
maps (Johnston’s) too high up the Mamoré by about a day’s journey—say
fifteen or twenty miles. The pueblo of San Borja is on this river, but is
a very small and insignificant place.
At 3 p.m. a heavy storm of rain, with thunder and lightning, came up
with the wind, which has for the last two or three days been blowing
from the north-east. About a third of an inch of rain fell. We stopped
for the night about seven o’clock, and started the next morning, July
4th, shortly before 3 a.m., making a good early morning run. At daybreak
plenty of duck were about, and I got a couple of marrecas and five
cuervos, the latter a kind of black teal that I consider to be very good
eating. In the afternoon my captain, one Pedro Yche, a Trinitario Indian,
left his steering for a time, and took a spell at the paddles. He is a
remarkably fine Indian, and very strong, being far above the ordinary
stamina of the Indians. On the journey up the rapids he was the moving
spirit amongst Don Miguel’s men, and whenever he put his shoulder to the
canoes, in hauling them over the land portages, they had to go! To-day
he started paddling with such good will that the paddle broke with the
force he exerted in pulling it through the water. As we were short of
paddles, he made the men cut a lot of long “chuchia” (wild cane) poles,
from twelve to fourteen feet in length, and over the shallow waters of
the playas we poled along, progressing very fairly. This is a favourite
method with the Brazilians when travelling on the rivers, but the
Bolivian Indians soon tire at it, and seem to prefer the monotonous
work of paddling. At night we stopped opposite to the mouth of the river
Jamucheo or Tijamuchi, seven days’ journey up which is the pueblo of San
Ignacio. To-day my total shooting was three ducks, eight cuervos, and a
pava—a good bag, sufficient for a good “pot” and a grill for all hands.
July 5th. We started very early—at 3 a.m.—and about mid-day stopped for
breakfast at the “puerto” or landing-place for the village of San Pedro,
which is situated at the head of the river Machupa, which is an affluent
of the Itenez. This village is peopled by the Canichana tribe of the Beni
Indians, and is about a couple of leagues from the eastern bank of the
Mamoré. There must be some slightly raised land, sufficiently elevated
to form a watershed, a short distance from this bank of the great river,
for the Machupa and other affluents of the Itenez run in a north-easterly
direction, but the elevations are not of sufficient size to be seen as
hills. There are two ports for San Pedro, at the upper one of which
we stayed for the night. The sheds at these ports are large and well
built, an Indian always living at them, who is termed the sentinel, and
whose duty is to take care of the canoes of the villagers or traders,
who leave their craft at the port while they visit the pueblo. From the
style of the work, the quality of the timber, and the tidiness of the
place, my previous favourable opinion, obtained by the employment of a
few Canichanas in San Antonio, was confirmed, to the effect that these
Indians are the most desirable of any of the various tribes of the Beni.
They are excellent workmen with the axe, and are, I think, less addicted
to the use of ardent spirits than the Cayubabas or the Trinitarios.
Traders going to San Pedro use the port on the Mamoré instead of going
the round by the river Itenez. Their canoes are hauled up on land, and
dragged by oxen across the two leagues of pampa between the Mamoré and
the Machupa; and when steam navigation on the Mamoré commences, no doubt
a corduroy road over this tract would be a great acquisition, so that the
town of San Pedro may be accessible during all seasons from the Mamoré.
July 6th. We started again about 3 a.m., and at daybreak came to a playa
where the current ran very strong; so tried the other side, but found
the current worse, and the bank falling. We therefore returned to the
playa, and dragged the canoe about a mile with a light rope, the men
walking on the sand, and a couple of men in the canoe keeping her in a
straight course with their chuchia poles. This morning the river was
rising, and so the current was more rapid than usual, and the sandbanks
were falling away as the water rose. In the afternoon we passed the port
of the village of San Xavier, which is situated on a creek running into
the Mamoré on its right bank, and at 5.30 p.m. stopped for the night at
some “chacos” on the left bank of the river. During the night there was a
little rain, and the wind changed from the north, where it had been for
the last few days, round to the south, thus promising us some more cold
nights.
July 7th. The south wind caused the day to break cold and dull, the
thermometer going down to 66° Fahr., and not beginning to rise until past
eight o’clock in the day; nevertheless, the men started early, because
they hoped to get to the puerto of Trinidad, on the river Ybari, before
nightfall. No shooting to-day, and very dull, unpleasant travelling on
account of the cold; so I wrapped myself up in my Scotch maud, and read
till twelve o’clock, when we stopped for breakfast. During the morning we
were much delayed by the strong wind, which, being from the south, was
right in our faces, and we were quite unable to make head against it in
the shallow waters over the playas; we had, therefore, to keep under the
banks in order to be somewhat sheltered from the wind, but as these banks
were falling ones (“tierras disbarrancandas”), it was very unpleasant
work. I had some sharp words with my captain, Pedro Yche, who is a good
fellow, but very self-willed, and was far too fond of risking the canoe
and our lives under these banks rather than brave the cold wind on the
exposed playas. In consequence of all this trouble we did not make the
progress we had hoped for, and at nightfall I ordered the canoe to the
left bank of the river, where the banks were not falling, and where we
could pass the night secure from the danger of being crushed by a heavy
fall of earth; but we had a very bad night on account of the powerful
wind, which many times during the night I fancied would cause the canoe
to drag her moorings.
July 8th. The thermometer went down to 57°, and the night appeared to
me to be about the coldest I had yet passed in the tropics; but perhaps
above the cachuelas, when the south wind was blowing, it might have
been as cold. I had not then a thermometer to register by, and was able
to keep under the toldeta; but last night this arrangement was quite
useless, for the wind blew right through the camarota with a force so
great as to render the fixing up of a curtain an utter impossibility.
I think that Humboldt says that 21·8° Centigrade, equal to say 71°
Fahrenheit, kept him from sleeping, so that our 57° may be considered as
very trying indeed; and so we found it.
We made a start about 5.30 a.m., as soon as daylight appeared—for there
was no temptation to linger under our blankets, which were quite unable
to keep out the searching wind—and about 7.30 we left the Mamoré,
entering a river called Ybari, about 100 yards wide at its mouth. In this
part of the Mamoré there are two rivers of the same name, “Ybari,” and on
one of these, the one now referred to, the town of Trinidad, the capital
of the department of the Beni, is situated; on the other, about a couple
of days’ journey southward, is the village of Loreto. This Ybari has
plenty of water all the year round, and at present appears to be fairly
navigable for small steamers, as it is perfectly free from dead wood or
sandbanks, and the Indians tell me that even in the dry season there is
water enough for large gariteas that draw, when loaded, four or five feet.
About mid-day we got to some chacos, or plantations, and stopped at one
for breakfast, as it belonged to a “pariente,” or relation, of my captain
Pedro. The barraca was, however, empty, and the whole place seemed left
to take care of itself. It was said that the people had gone to Cuatro
Ojos, on the river Piray, the port for the town of Santa Cruz de la
Sierra, the most important place in the north-east of Bolivia. There was
not much to lose in the chaco, for the chocolotales have no fruit at this
season, and the “caña,” or sugar-cane, was not ripe, and the only edible
things to be found in the clearing were pumpkins, called here “oquejos”
(the nearest spelling that I can get in Spanish, the “qu” standing for
“k,” but “okehose” in English would give the nearest pronunciation), and
in Brazil “jurumus” and “sapallos.” We helped ourselves to some of these
as an addition to our chupe, and after our meal proceeded on our journey,
the wind blowing so cold and strong that we made very poor progress. At
nightfall we were still a good way from the puerto for Trinidad, so we
stopped for the night at another of the chacos, which are now encountered
pretty frequently on either side of the Ybari.
July 9th. The thermometer during the night went down to 52½°, and from
one’s feelings it might easily be thought that we were travelling in the
northern hemisphere instead of in the southern. We arrived at the port of
Trinidad about 9 a.m., and finding that the town was about two leagues
from the river, we prepared our breakfast and sent messengers to the town
for horses to ride there on, and for bullock-carts for the baggage. The
so-called port of Trinidad is like all the other ports on the rivers,
simply a place where, from the depth of water, canoes can be moored to
the bank, a few steps being cut up the bank to the shed at the top where
the sentinel, whose duty it is to watch the canoes, finds shelter.
CHAPTER XX.
Pampas of Trinidad—Oxen of the Beni—Merchants of
Trinidad—Carayanas—Cholos—Indios—Chicha, general drink in
Bolivia—Baile and Spanish dance—Bolivian drinking—Bolivian
peculiarities—The old maid’s black cat—Smallpox amongst the
Indians—Depopulation of Trinidad—Wages of the peons—Drills,
hammocks, shirts, and hats made by Indians—Prices of
provisions—Trade in Trinidad—Depreciated currency—Melgarejos.
In the afternoon I was agreeably surprised by the arrival of Don Ignacio
Bello, who very kindly rode over from Trinidad to escort me to the town,
where he treated me in a most kind and hospitable manner. Don Bello is
the principal merchant of Trinidad, and had, in 1872, made a journey
down the rapids and to Pará, returning from thence in 1873; and as I had
accompanied him from San Antonio to Pará, we were old friends.
The road from the Ybari is over a flat pampa, which stretches far
beyond Trinidad, up to the Itenez River, and which is covered with a
species of rough, tall grass that requires burning frequently. These
pampas are almost annually flooded, and are, I think, more subject to
these inundations than the pampas on the opposite side of the Mamoré
and near Exaltacion. The inundations sometimes rise up to the town of
Trinidad, there being only one street that is said to be left dry on
these occasions. The grazing lands generally have some slight eminences
upon them, where the cattle find refuge during these floods. Upon the
retirement of the waters, and when the sun has dried the rubbish, it is
set fire to in as many places as possible and burnt up, after which the
young grass springs up quickly with renewed vigour, and the cattle thrive
excellently. The oxen of the department of the Beni are really handsome
animals, being nearly twice as large as those of Brazil; indeed, I have
seen many that would compare very favourably with our ordinary English
bullocks. The heaviest of them are kept for hauling purposes, and are
very well trained both for carts and for the “trapiches,” or sugar-mills.
Trinidad is the capital of the department of the Beni, and is the seat
of the prefecture. It is, however, but a small town, though larger
than Exaltacion; the houses are many of them well built, of brick or
adobe walls, and all have tiled roofs. There are a few merchants and
storekeepers of considerable position and resources, whose principal
trade appears to be the export of cocoa to Cochabamba and Santa Cruz,
receiving in return flour and potatoes from Cochabamba, and dry goods
from Santa Cruz, these latter being brought thither from the Brazilian
town of Curumbá, on the river Paraguay. The merchants are all Bolivians
of Spanish descent, but the bulk of the population is formed of Mojeño,
or Trinitario Indians, who appear to me to be the most intelligent, as
they certainly are the best-looking, of all the tribes of the Beni.
[Illustration: SKETCHES OF TRINITARIO INDIANS.]
These Indians acknowledge the Bolivians as their patrons or employers
only, and each tribe has its “cacique,” or headman, who seems to have
authority over the whole tribe, and who is generally in the pay of the
prefect or corregidor, as the case may be. The Bolivians of pure Spanish
descent are called “Carayanas,” whilst the mixed races are called
“Cholos,” and the pure Indians are termed “Indios.”
The Trinitario Indians are a very good-looking race, but they are
becoming so mixed with the carayanas, that complexions of all shades,
from almost white to dusky red copper, are found amongst them. They are
intelligent, and naturally active and hard working, but are much given
to habits of drinking, which render them very uncertain and little to be
depended upon. Their principal drink is “chicha,” the national beverage
of Bolivia, of which there are two kinds, “chicha cocida” and “chicha
mascada,” or boiled and chewed, the latter disgusting mode of preparation
being the favourite.
The chicha cocida, or boiled chicha, is a simple preparation of maize
corn, ground and boiled in any large vessel. The liquor being strained
off and allowed to stand for a day to settle, forms, before fermentation
sets in, a very pleasant drink, which is not intoxicating, but is very
healthy and nutritious; indeed, I hardly know any drink that can be taken
in hot climates with more impunity and with greater satisfaction. It is
something like, but to my thinking much pleasanter than, the oatmeal and
water drunk so largely by the stokers and others who have to stand the
heat of the stoke-holes of ocean steamers.
Chicha mascada is a very different affair, and as this is _the_ national
beverage used in Bolivia, from the president down to the cholo, it is,
although repugnant to civilized notions, necessary to describe it. The
maize corn is first ground ready for a grand chicha brew, to which the
owner of the chicha to be made invites as many old women as is thought
needful. These hags are seated round empty flat tubs, called “bateas,”
and each one filling her mouth with the powdered corn, squirts it out
into the batea after having mumbled it well with her often toothless
jaws. When a sufficient quantity of this odious mess is collected, water
is added in accordance with the idea of the quantity of liquor to be
disposed of at the coming festival, or sufficient for a day or two’s
sale; the brew is then agitated well with a stick, and, having been
boiled for a short time, is left to cool, when it is put by for use.
After keeping for two or three days, it ferments, and becomes almost
equal in intoxicating effects to good home-brewed ale. The Indians
prepare large quantities of this chicha mascada whenever they wish to
have a drinking bout, or whenever any festival of the Church or village
takes place. On these occasions enormous quantities are drunk, and the
bout never terminates until the supply is out, by which time the drinkers
are all thoroughly tipsy.
So general is the use of this filthy drink throughout the republic,
that all European travellers must be careful, when accepting a drink of
chicha, to be sure that they know how it has been prepared. To my mind,
the Bolivians will never be a people that merit respect until they do
away with the numerous chicha mascada shops that are to be found in every
town and village, and on every road, throughout the republic. The very
idea of the horrid thing is enough to demoralize any people, and how a
custom derived from savages can have taken such firm hold upon a people
of Spanish descent, is hard to imagine. I must, however, at the same time
say that there are numerous Bolivian families amongst the higher classes
in which the chicha mascada is never allowed to be seen or used.
While in Trinidad I was honoured by a “baile,” or ball, at which, as I
had the privilege of supplying the drinks, chicha mascada was rigidly
tabooed. At this dance all the respectable families of the town attended,
and the affair was a very ceremonious one. We had a full wind and string
band of Indians, who played some very fair polka and quadrille music, in
which the bass accompaniment of the “bajones” was very prominent. This
“bajo” is like an enormous Pan-pipe, or like half a dozen organ tubes,
made of bamboo. The first of these tubes is about six feet in length, and
the last about half that. The player rests the foot of the longest one
on the ground, and, holding the instrument in a sloping position, blows
through the rough mouthpieces fitted in the top of the tubes, producing
a rumbling sort of bass accompaniment, which appeared to me to entirely
spoil the effect of the violins and fifes, which discoursed some very
fair dance music. Another noisy accompaniment was afforded by the “caja,”
or drum, made of a small section of a tree hollowed out, and having a
hide stretched tightly over either end, which was vigorously beaten by
rough short sticks about nine inches in length.
I now saw for the first time what is probably the real Spanish dance; for
although polkas and quadrilles have found their way even to the centre
of South America, still the “baile suelto,” or loose dance, as it is
called, is the favourite. There is a good deal of grace and good dancing
in this affair, in which a couple occupy in their turn all the floor of
the room, while the company beat time to the music with a loud clapping
of hands. This beating time is to give the dancers encouragement to good
and lively dancing, and it is a pleasant sight to see a stately old don
pirouette round his fair (dare we say dusky?) partner, with a dexterous
flourish of the handkerchief which both performers use throughout the
dance. As the custom is that any one of the company seated around who
is detected neglecting to join in beating time should be immediately
condemned to “take a drink,” I had occasion several times to thank my
luck that the national drink was not necessarily an accompaniment of
the national dance. As, however, a good strong brandy or white rum
(aguadiente) punch was the favourite article of consumption, it was just
as well not to be “fined in a drink” too often. I must say that the
company, “el bello sexo” included, were very good hands at refreshing
themselves with the punch—so much so that it became, long ere the close
of the ball, hard to tell whether the “baile borracho” was simulated or
real. This baile borracho, or drunken dance, is another Bolivian custom,
which consists in reeling through a quadrille as though one were unable
to dance straight, the most highly applauded performer being the “he” or
“she” who can best simulate intoxication.
It is often said—and perhaps it is a just reproach—that we English
people are a hard-drinking set, but I think that the Bolivians beat
us hollow; and certainly, in my few travels, east and west, I never
came across any people that could at all compare with the Bolivians in
downright hard drinking, and I don’t suppose that any other country can
boast of such an institution as the baile borracho, which is occasionally
danced in the best society of Bolivia.
While taking note of some peculiarities of Bolivian character in the
way of eating and drinking, I am reminded of a custom that I think is
decidedly, among civilized people, confined to Bolivians (for we can,
perhaps, hardly count the Chinese as within the pale of civilization,
although they call us barbarians). I allude to the liking that Bolivians
have for eating cats, which are much esteemed in Bolivia, where they
are fattened up for the table. I have tasted monkey, lizard, and indeed
almost every kind of living thing that can be shot in the forests,
but it has not yet been my lot to eat cat knowingly; so I can’t say
whether the flesh of Bolivian cats is superior to that of specimens of
the feline race in other parts of the world, or whether it is equal to
Ostend rabbit. But the Bolivian cat looks much like his relations in
other countries, so probably the explanation is that the Bolivians are a
peculiar people, and that their liking for cats and chicha mascada is one
of their peculiarities. During my stay in Trinidad I was most hospitably
entertained at the table of Don Ignacio Bello, where, fortunately for
me, cats and chicha mascada were not on the _menu_; but good fresh beef
in abundance formed the staple food, varied with mutton now and then,
and fish almost every day. As Don Bello had no spare sleeping-quarters
to offer me, I was accommodated with a couple of rooms in the house of
an amiable aged and virgin member of the “bello sexo” of Trinidad, and
during my stay there her favourite cat was missed. The old lady was
disconsolate, and a general search was ordered, at which I assisted; and
chancing to look into the round brick oven in the back yard, I espied
a black cat therein, which refused to be aroused by sundry prods and
blows from a thick stick. Discovering that it had departed this life, I
delicately informed its sorrowing owner that she might console herself by
dining off her pet, which, doubtless feeling its last end approaching,
had gone into the oven to bake itself, so that its mistress might be
saved the trouble and pain of preparing it for the table. However, the
old lady averred that she could not eat a pet that she had possessed, I
think she said, for some twenty years or more; but my belief was that she
thought it would be too tough, being of such great age. Anyhow, it is
certain that in many Bolivian families the cats are petted, and, when fat
and in good condition, slain and devoured.
At the time of my visit the town did not display a very animated
appearance, for small-pox was very prevalent at the time, and numbers
of people, both old and young, appeared to have suffered greatly. This
disease almost decimates the Indians at frequently recurring intervals,
for the authorities have no idea of isolating the sick, and vaccination
is but partially enforced; the Indians, in ignorance of its benefits,
being naturally averse to it. At San Antonio, the doctors of the railway
staff had, however, very little difficulty in persuading the Indians to
submit themselves to the operation, which was so successful, that out of
upwards of 100 Indians who were on the station when the small-pox broke
out amongst us, only four, I think, died; notwithstanding that very few,
if any, of them had been vaccinated in their own country, and that the
disease, operating upon Indian blood, seems to be specially virulent.
The people also complained bitterly of the great emigration to the
rubber-grounds of Brazil, and spoke of Trinidad as depopulated,
many houses appearing to be left altogether empty and uncared for.
Nevertheless, there seems to be a good deal of business done in the
place, and the principal merchants appear to be very well off; but the
construction of the Madeira and Mamoré Railway, which would cause an
entire change in the route of trade with Bolivia, is the only event
that can save the once flourishing department of the Beni from becoming
again the hunting-grounds of the savage Siriono and the haunt of the
wild beasts of the forests. The opening up of the route past the rapids
would arrest entirely the decay of these fertile provinces, by affording
a ready means of transit to a good market for the chocolate, sugar,
tobacco, oxen, hides, tallow, skins, and other produce, for which the
inhabitants are now only able to realize but a small amount in value
compared with what they will be able to when the route is open, and some
of the Bolivian peons in exile in Brazil have been brought back to their
homes.
In consequence of the scarcity of hands, the peons now get thirty to
forty per cent. more for their journeys than they did a couple of years
ago; thus, from Trinidad to Coni, they now get eight pesos for the up
river voyage, and two for bringing back the canoes, while formerly the
price was six to seven pesos for the round trip. The monthly rate of pay
does not, however, seem to have altered much, as it is still about five
pesos (16_s._) per month.
The Indians of Trinidad, Santa Cruz, and other towns of the department
of the Beni, though, like most men of Indian race, fond of the _dolce
far niente_, “swing in a hammock,” “smoke cigarette” kind of existence,
are very clever in their specialities. Some of the produce of their
hand-looms will compare very favourably with the fabrics of civilized
countries, if not for texture, at least for strength and durability, and
a wearer of their “macanas,” or linen drill, can be certain that there
is no shoddy or size in the material. So, also, the hammocks they weave
from the native cotton are handsome and strong, whilst the “cascaras,”
or bark shirts, that they beat out of the inner skin of several trees,
are marvels of patience and ingenuity, and the hats they weave from the
young and tender leaves of a low-growing palm tree are quite equal to
the much-vaunted hats of Panamá. A straw hat worth about three or four
dollars in the Beni, the collection of the straws for which has occupied
an Indian for months, would be equal to one costing twenty or thirty in
Panamá.
Prices of provisions are much the same as those current in Exaltacion. I
observed, however, that Manchester goods, such as calicoes, longcloths,
ribbons, etc., are brought to Trinidad from Curumbá, _viâ_ Santa Cruz, at
prices far below those at which they can be brought at present from Pará,
_viâ_ the cachuelas, and it is evident that when the trade in these goods
is carried up the Amazon and over the railway, the merchants of Pará must
be contented with smaller profits than those they now obtain. Pará on
the Amazon, and Curumbá on the Paraguay, are both Brazilian ports, and
I presume that the same tariff of customs rules alike at both places;
nevertheless, calicoes bought in Pará, that cannot be sold in the river
Madeira for less than 250 or 300 reis (say 1_s._ to 1_s._ 2½_d._) per
yard, can be bought in Trinidad at two reales, or 9½_d._; also longcloths
on the Madeira sell at 200 to 300 reis (9½_d._ to 1_s._ 2½_d._) per yard,
and are only worth one and a half to two and a half reales (say 7¼_d._
to 1_s._) per yard in Trinidad. It must, however, be noted that only
very low quality goods are brought from Curumbá, and that the secret of
business in Trinidad seems to be to sell at a low price without regard
to quality. The articles that leave the best profit when taken up the
cachuelas are iron pots, enamelled saucepans, and other general ironware
for house use; also claret of a low class—for any stuff called “wine”
and sold in bottles, with pretty etiquettes, fetches eight reales (3_s._
2½_d._) per bottle—and no Bolivian in the Beni would pay more, even for
“Chateau Margaux” or “Chambertin.” Gunpowder in one-pound tins fetches
twenty reales, or about 8_s._ 6_d._
As I found that Don Bello was on the point of making a journey to
Cochabamba by the rivers Chapari and Coni, I decided to proceed in his
company, and give up any idea of visiting Santa Cruz, more especially
as I was informed that the river Piray was very dry, and the Siriono
savages, who dwell on its banks, were very active, having attacked
several canoes during the months immediately prior to my arrival in
Trinidad.
Before leaving Trinidad, it is the best plan to change any Brazilian
paper money that one may have, for it is perfectly useless in the
interior of Bolivia; and one must be careful to examine well the dollars
given in exchange, as there is an immense amount of bad money in the
Beni, where the worst of the extremely depreciated currency of Bolivia
seems to have collected. The fact is, that when any of the traders get
hold of any good silver dollars, they immediately inter them in some safe
spot, as it is thus only that they can keep any funds they may have over
what they need for their ordinary trade requirements, which they keep
going by the use of the depreciated coins. To get properly acquainted
with the money of Bolivia takes considerable time and trouble. The best
coinage is the new one struck during recent years at the mint at Potosí,
namely, the dollar of 500 grains, equal in value and quality to the
Peruvian sole. Half-dollar pieces, reales, and medios are also coined of
equally good quality. The old money from Spanish times, and the dollars
bearing a tree on the reverse, are all of good silver, but for the last
twenty years or so a succession of presidents have enriched themselves
at the expense of the country by the issue of an inferior coinage,
culminating with the scandalous production issued by Melgarejo and his
minister Muñoz. These pesos, or “Melgarejos,” as they are called, are
nominally worth eight reales, or about 3_s._ 2½_d._, but intrinsically
they may be worth about 2_s._ They are also called “moneda de dos caras,”
or the “money with two faces,” as they bear the profiles of the president
and his minister, who have, unwittingly, held themselves up to the
derision and hatred of their countrymen, by putting the legend “Honor y
Talento” (“Honour and Talent”) on the infamous robbery they perpetrated.
The Melgarejos have been largely imitated by clever coiners in various
parts of the republic, so that the diversity of impressions has become
exceedingly great, and in some towns the coins that have faces with long
beards are most acceptable, while in others the short-bearded ones only
will pass. I found it a good plan to keep about half long beards and half
short beards in my stock, and then, on arriving at a town, one soon finds
out what style is most in fashion, and can act accordingly.
The Government was making some faint endeavours to get some of this vile
money out of circulation, and many were the projects put forward for the
purpose by the members of the Congress of 1874; but revolution, which
appears to be the normal condition of Bolivia, broke out towards the end
of the year, and then the question became, not what were the infirmities
from which the country suffered, but who should be doctor or president,
and consequently the depreciated currency still remains a curse to the
country.
CHAPTER XXI.
Start from Trinidad with convoy of nine canoes—Hacienda
de San Antonio—Shifting of the river’s course—The river
Securé—Bella Vista, the port of Loreto—Siriono savages—State
and ceremony in preparation of meals—Excellent character of
Bolivian chocolate—Junction of the river Grande—River Piray—The
Mamoré left, and the Chapari entered—The Chimoré route to
Coni preferable to that of the Chapari—Class of steamers
suitable for the upper Mamoré—Difficulties of navigation in
the Chapari—Scarcity of game—Number of Indians available
in Trinidad for navigation of the upper rivers—The raya
fish—Jaguars—Mountain ranges approached—Bamboo trees seen—The
river Coni.
When one is dependent upon Bolivian Indians for means of locomotion,
it is impossible to secure punctuality in starting, and although the
men were ordered for the 15th of the month (July, 1874), it was the
19th before they were ready. The 16th was the feast of the “Virgen del
Carmen,” and of course the men could not leave on the eve of a holy
festival; which being over, they required a couple of days at least to
sleep off the effects of the heavy drinking which seems to be the sole
end and aim of these frequently recurring “dias de fiesta.”
On the 19th, my canoe, a light one, joined a convoy of nine, with an
aggregate number of 100 Indians in the crews, that then left Trinidad
for the port of Cochabamba, at the head of the river Coni, which falls
into the Chapari, one of the principal affluents of the river Mamoré.
All these canoes were laden with cocoa in the bean, or “pepita” as it is
called, a few tiger skins and tamarinds being the only other articles
that were taken up for sale in the interior of Bolivia.
Canoes ascending the Mamoré from Trinidad do not have to return by
the river Ybari, as there is a lagoon, about a league from the town,
from which a creek, or “curiche,” gives egress to the principal river,
which above Trinidad still preserves a bold and wide course, with free
facilities for navigation, and has many plantations and sugar estates on
its banks.
The first night we bivouacked on the Mamoré, a short distance only above
the junction of the creek just mentioned, and on the 20th we made good
progress, as the light canoes, or “montarias,” travel rapidly. In the
afternoon we stopped for a couple of hours at the “trapiche” of Don
Mariano Vargas, the “Intendente” of Police for Trinidad. This gentleman,
a native of Cochabamba, or a “Colla,” as those born in the hilly interior
of Bolivia are termed by the Bolivians of the plains of the Beni, treated
us very hospitably, and showed me great kindness, supplying me gratis
with a new rudder for my canoe, which, after starting from Trinidad, had
proved too small for its work. The sugar-cane plantations (“cañaverales”)
on this estate were of considerable extent, and there were also large
tobacco, coffee, and cocoa plantations.
The river hereabouts, as elsewhere above Exaltacion, appears to be
continually changing its course, for behind Don Mariano’s establishment
is a channel, now dry, that has evidently been the course in past years,
and the river again shows signs at this point of making back for its old
track. The want of any knowledge amongst the settlers as to how to keep
the river within bounds must at times lead to serious losses. Although
the river overflows its banks frequently on this part of its course,
there is no doubt that rough groynes run at an angle, covering the weak
places, so as to prevent the banks being destroyed and falling, would
tend to keep the river more in one course; for behind the groynes silt
would soon be deposited, and the bank would not be exposed to so much
scour, as the force of the stream would be diverted more into mid-channel.
We left Don Mariano’s about 5 p.m., and at nightfall stopped at a sand
playa after an hour and a half’s good work, and, having had a quiet
night, started again on the 21st, at daybreak. The climate on this part
of the river seems to be excellent, and the temperatures, I noted, in the
shade of my cabin, which was covered with palm leaves and a bullock’s
hide, varied from 62° Fahr. at night to 88° at mid-day. We passed some
large lagoons on the right bank of the river, and on the left bank saw
the mouth of the river Securé, on the sandbar of which were congregated
together a larger number of alligators, basking in the sun, than I saw on
any other part of the Mamoré. It was no use shooting any of them, as we
had plenty of beef in the canoes, and although the Indians are very glad
to eat cayman flesh when amongst the rapids, they scorn the idea when
in their own country of the Beni, where the term “cayman-eater” (“come
caiman”) is a common term of abuse in their villages. The river Securé
has its rise in the mountains of the northern part of the province of
Cochabamba, and though broad and wide for a great portion of its course,
is very shallow, and entirely unnavigable from the driftwood and timber
collected therein. An expedition, sent up by the Prefect of the Beni from
Trinidad, shortly before my arrival there, returned with the only result
of the impracticability for any kind of navigation. At mid-day we stopped
on the right bank, at the mouth of a small but rapid stream running
through mudbanks, where it was expected that we should be able to get
some plantains and yams, etc.; but the banks were too soft to enable us
to go to the chacos close by, belonging to the villagers of Loreto, and
the stream was too shallow for the canoes. About 4 p.m. we got to Bella
Vista, the port of Loreto, where we stayed while Don Bello went about
a quarter of a mile inland to a hacienda, for some tamarinds to add to
his merchandise for Cochabamba. Here is a trapiche, and many large and
well-kept cane-fields and plantations, but the land is much cut up by old
river-courses, called “madres,” or mothers, and must be almost entirely
inundated in exceptionally high floods, such as those caused by the rains
of 1872 and 1873, which were two very wet years. The town of Loreto is
about a couple of leagues from the river, and is inhabited by Indians of
the Trinitario family. As we were leaving, one Señor Nasario Buitraga
came down the river from Cochabamba and the river Chapari, his arrival
delaying us till nightfall, as Don Bello and he had some little business
and a great deal of talk to get through. Buitraga’s account of the state
of politics in Bolivia was not very encouraging to the prospects of my
journey, as there was fear of a _coup d’état_ by President Frias and his
party, who, being in a minority, were supposed to entertain the idea
of dismissing the Congress forcibly, as they had the troops at their
disposal. Chatting over these things with Buitraga detained us till 7.30
p.m., when the men were ordered to their paddles, and the journey was
continued until midnight, when a suitable resting-place was found on a
playa.
The next two days, the 22nd and 23rd, had nothing of importance worthy
record, except that we made good progress, the journey being continued
steadfastly and pleasantly. Above Bella Vista, it is said that the
right bank is subject to visitation by the Siriono savages, a fierce
and thoroughly intractable tribe, that infest the banks of the river
Piray. It is, therefore, advisable for canoes to keep on the left bank,
on which, a short distance in the interior, are plantations of cocoa
belonging to the Government. On this part of the river I had frequent
opportunities of adding something fresh to the supper-table, either in
the way of a duck or pava, or perhaps a stork that had fallen to a long
shot from my Winchester. Remembering these suppers brings vividly to my
mind the amount of state that a Bolivian patron observes at his meals
when _en voyage_. Immediately the canoes touch land, whether for the
mid-day or for the evening meal, the first thing the captain of the crews
must see to is to put on some of his men to clear a space in the bush
for the patron; then, while others seek dry firewood, some are despatched
to the canoes for the patron’s camp-table, chair, and hammock, in which
last luxurious resting-place, swinging from tree to tree, the patron
smokes the everlasting “cigarito de maiz” (cigarette rolled in husks of
the Indian corn), whilst his body-servant prepares the repast. Then,
while the cooking goes on, the camp-table is covered with a small cloth,
the cleanliness of which does not appear to be so much an object as that
it should have as much embroidery or lace attached to it as possible. In
fact, I have seen many table-cloths, with about a square yard of cloth
in the centre, having from two to three feet of embroidery on every
side. Next, the much-coveted deep silver dish that every Bolivian of any
pretensions to decency must have, even though he has not a clean shirt in
his portmanteau, is produced and placed in due state on the embroidered
cloth. This dish, or “fuente,” as it is termed, having been filled with
“chupe” (a kind of watery stew, composed of whatever meat or fish is
in the larder for the day, with rice, onions, garlic, “ahi,” or strong
chillies, and any vegetable added), a plateful of farinha is also placed
on the table, together with as many different kinds of bread or biscuit
as possible; and the patron, guests, and confidential dependents having
taken their seats, all state and ceremony is at an end, for each one
being armed with a spoon, a simultaneous attack upon the silver fuente,
or fount, is at once commenced, and he who is most dexterous with his
weapon secures not only the major portion of the savoury mess, but, if he
be a successful fisher, the most solid and substantial morsels.
The meal is not, however, considered complete without a cup of chocolate,
made from the excellent cocoa growing on the banks of the Mamoré River,
near Exaltacion and Trinidad. This chocolate is, in my opinion, quite
equal, if not superior, to the well-known Maravilla or Caracas cocoa, so
largely sold at the present day, and may be exported in large quantities
from Bolivia when the railway of the rapids is complete. At present each
trader to Pará takes a full cargo of cocoa in hide seroons, a ready sale
being sure to be met with there, as the quality is so much superior to
that grown in Brazil itself.
On the 24th, the sixth day after leaving Trinidad, we arrived at the
“Junta de los Rios,” being the junction of the Rio Grande with the
Mamoré. The Rio Grande takes its rise on the southern slopes of the
mountains near the town of Cochabamba, from whence it flows in a
southerly direction until it is turned towards the west by the mountains
near Sucre, when it takes a magnificent curve round to the north, and
flows on to join the Mamoré; and although it has the longest course of
the rivers of Bolivia, it is so shallow that it is quite useless for
purposes of navigation. Although the whole of its course is laid down on
most maps, I should be inclined to think that probably it has never been
fully explored, for the Siriono savages have made their last stand in the
strip of land through which it flows, between the Piray and the Itonama
or Magdalena.
About forty leagues from the Junta de los Rios, the river Piray runs
into the Rio Grande on its left bank, and from this point the Rio Grande
receives the name of Sará until it joins the Mamoré. The Piray, of
the navigation of which I can only speak from hearsay, flows from the
district of Santa Cruz, and is said to be free from all obstacle for at
least eight months of the year; but for the remaining four I should think
it would be closed to steamers, as even canoes have to be unloaded and
dragged over the shallows, which, I was told, are of frequent occurrence.
The Rio Grande at its mouth appeared to be very dry, while the Mamoré had
plenty of water, and was about 500 yards in width.
About 9 a.m. on the 25th, we entered the river Chapari, leaving the
Mamoré, or as it is called from the junction upwards, the Chimoré, on
our left. I was only able to ascend the Chimoré a short distance, just
to get some slight idea of its capabilities for navigation purposes, and
it seemed to me to be a far superior river in volume of water to the
Chapari, which is barely 200 yards wide at its junction with the Mamoré,
and brings down beautifully clear water, that soon becomes lost in the
muddy waters of the larger river. I was much disappointed that Don Bello
did not arrange to ascend the Chimoré to its port of the same name,
instead of taking the Chapari, which, as will hereafter be seen, is full
of obstructions to the progress of the canoes. I suppose the reason why
the Chapari route is the one in general use, is that it allows the canoes
to ascend right up to the (so-called) port of Coni, or the landing-place
and depôt for the city of Cochabamba; while the port of the Chimoré is
about two leagues distant therefrom. A good road might easily be made
across from Chimoré to Coni, and I should think that the ascent of the
Chimoré could be done in about half the time required for that of the
Chapari, as I have been credibly informed that there are no rapids, and
but few shallows, on the Chimoré.
Throughout the day the Chapari kept of a uniform width of about 150
yards, and though every turn of the river caused the usual playa, or
sandbank, there was always a fair channel for the canoes.
Steamers for the upper waters of the Mamoré—that is, above the
rapids—should be about 80 or 100 tons burthen, and stern-wheel boats
would probably be the best for the purpose, as they would be of lighter
draft than screw-propellers. Eighteen inches to two feet should be the
limit of draft, although the channels would generally admit of deeper
vessels being used—indeed, some of the canoes draw three and three feet
six inches; but the danger of grounding on the playa is so constant, that
only flat-bottomed craft would be always sure of making fair progress. At
present the practice is, when it is found impossible to haul the canoes,
with their loads, over the shallows, to unload them and drag the packages
through the shallow water, in hides doubled up so as to form rough and
water-tight boxes, termed “pelotos,” and frequently the cargoes are thus
drawn along for two or three days successively.
When steam navigation is commenced on these upper waters of the Mamoré, a
station should be set up opposite to the Junta de los Rios, that is, on
the left bank of the Mamoré. It would serve as a depository for canoes
and goods from or for Santa Cruz, and would be free from attacks of the
Siriono savages, who are on the opposite shore, and do not seem to use
canoes at all. As we proceed with the journey, we shall see what the
capabilities of the Chapari are for navigation; but rapids and strong
currents (“cachuelas” and “corrientes”) are spoken of as existing higher
up, and also “barbaros,” or savages, called Yuracarés; but they are
“manso,” or tame, being called barbaros simply because they refuse to be
baptized into the Roman Catholic Church.
During the day we were frequently much delayed by getting into false
channels amongst the sandbanks; these often obliged us to return a
considerable distance before we got into the right course, as they do not
connect with each other, but end abruptly in a most inexplicable manner.
There is very little, if anything, to shoot on the river Chapari, for
the Yuracarés are such good hunters that game of all kinds has become
very scarce in their district. Fish is said to be very abundant, but as
we worked long hours by day, the men were too tired to sit up fishing at
night, and consequently we had no time to test the resources of the river
in this respect.
On the 26th we paddled, nearly the whole of the day, through a succession
of snags and dead trees that had collected across the river, and formed
an almost complete barricade. These obstructions might be removed by
hauling them down stream with a steam-tug, but the operation would be
a long and difficult one. In the afternoon, being about ten minutes
behind the other canoes, I took up a channel on the right bank, and kept
on round a large island formed in a big bend of the river, the channel
being very dry, and in places very full of snags. It is, however, much
shorter than the main course of the river, which we got into again before
nightfall.
July 27th. Throughout the day’s journey the river was wider than the
part travelled over yesterday, and there were fewer snags and less
fallen timber to delay the canoes. To-day we overtake two large cargo
canoes, or gariteas, belonging to Don Bello, and there are four others
ahead, all laden with cocoa for sale in Cochabamba. Thus there are nine
canoes altogether in our party, and this would seem to give proof that
there are a good many men always to be had in Trinidad, although to look
at the place one would fancy it deserted; and such was the impression
that I gathered from my visit there. However, when one thinks of the
number of canoes always in movement on the upper rivers, it is clear
that there must be a considerable population. To-day I counted up the
“tripulaciones,” or crews, with us and the four canoes ahead, and made
the number of men to be exactly 100, exclusive of servants. Most of
these are from Trinidad, and there are other canoes on the Piray for
Cuatro Ojos, and down the Mamoré to Santa Ana, Exaltacion, and the other
villages. During the afternoon we passed a station called the “Cruz,”
being simply a rough cross set up to mark the half distance from the
mouth of the river to the port of Coni.
The next day (28th) the morning was very cold, the thermometer going
down to 60°, through the continuance of a strong south wind which has
been blowing for the last few days. The river this day was bordered
with groves of chuchia, which one of the Bolivian patrons chose to set
on fire. The canes being very dry, the fire took large proportions with
great rapidity, and the wind blowing straight down stream, our canoes
passed a bad time from the quantity of ashes that were blown over us.
During the afternoon, Don Bello being a short distance ahead of my canoe,
I saw him take aim at something near him on the bank; but his gun missed
fire, and he beckoned to me. However, before I could get fairly up, a
fine deer ran down the bank and rapidly up again. Having my double barrel
in hand, I fired with B B, but was out of range. The deer was as large as
a good-sized English sheep, and I much regretted that we did not manage
between us to secure him. During the evening I consoled myself by making
the best rifle-shot I ever made, or probably ever shall make, killing a
pava from the opposite side of the river, the bird being at the top of
a tree probably 100 feet high, and the river being more than 150 yards
in width. Certainly the Winchester rifles do make extraordinary good
shooting; but such a shot as this was, of course, a chance that will
never occur again to one.
On the 29th the river, which during the last three days had been very
fairly favourable for navigation, again appeared full of old timber
and snags; we therefore made very slow progress, having to make many
delays on account of the heavy cargo canoes, which drew from two to
four feet of water, requiring to be partially unloaded in many parts
of the course travelled over to-day. Our lighter passenger canoes, or
montarias, could have got far in advance of the cargo craft, but we
should not have gained time by doing so, for the probable result would
have been that we should have been kept waiting an unconscionable time
for the cargoes at the Coni, while the crews were fishing and otherwise
delaying, as they invariably do when out of the sight of their patrons.
Upon one occasion, when they overtook us, we found that one of the men
had just been stung by a “raya” fish, the wound being in the heel. The
man was suffering a good deal of pain—about as much, I judged, as that
caused by a scorpion’s sting. I gave him a glass of cachaça, with about
thirty drops of chlorodyne, to dull the pain; and as we had no ammonia
available at the moment, I advised him to bathe his leg and foot freely
with urine. The raya of these rivers appears to be much smaller than
that of the coasts of Venezuela, where I have seen them nearly two feet
square; while these are rarely more than six or eight inches square. The
bite or sting is here, consequently, not so much to be dreaded as that of
the rayas of Venezuela, which cause a wound that might be thought to have
been caused by a severe cut from a jagged knife; while on these rivers
the wound is invariably a punctured one only. In Venezuela the wound is
considered to be very dangerous, and people rarely recover from it, while
here it appears not to have much more effect than the sting of a scorpion
or centipede; but that is bad enough, and painful in the extreme. The
offensive weapon of the raya is placed at the root of the tail, and is,
perhaps, three or four inches in length, by about a quarter of an inch in
width. The sides are serrated, the points of the teeth being set at an
angle, with its apex towards the end of the sting, and thus, when this
probe is driven into whatever the fish is attacking, it enters readily;
but when it is withdrawn, the teeth scratch and tear the sides of the
wound, doubtless depositing at this time the poison, which is probably
injected through small channels along these teeth in the same way as the
rattlesnake and the cobra di capella inject their poison down a groove in
the under side of their fangs. As the fish is flat and of a dark brown
colour, it is at all times difficult to detect; but it is more especially
so on the stony beds of the upper rivers, where the men, who have to wade
barefooted over the shallows, are always in danger, the rayas being in
great abundance. A good stout pair of thigh boots is, however, a perfect
preservative from the attack of this venomous fish.
On the next two days, the 30th and 31st of July, our toilsome journey
was continued in a constant battle with the shallow water and stockades
of dead wood. During a mid-day halt, one of the Bolivian merchants, who
had a number of tiger skins as part of his cargo, opened the packages
and spread the skins out on the sandbanks, to have the dust and insects
beaten out of them, as well as to air them—an operation that is very
necessary, as the skins, being fresh, are soon damaged if left packed for
any length of time. The trade in these skins seems to be a favourite
one, the best sale for them being in La Paz, where the Quichuan Indians
pay a long price for them for use on their feast-days. When dressed
in these skins, and their heads adorned with macaw feathers, they are
supposed to represent the wild animals of their country’s forests. These
tigers or jaguars are of good size, and must be splendid beasts when
alive, as some of the skins are fully five and six feet from the root of
the tail to the tip of the nose, with dark and lustrous spots that give
them a very handsome appearance. From the large trade in these skins, it
would seem that these animals are very numerous in the forests and on the
pampas of the Beni, and it seems strange that throughout the journey we
did not meet with any of them, although their footprints were always met
with wherever we landed.
August 1st. The river appears to be wider than ever, being at least 500
yards in width, and running very strongly. We are now six days on this
river, and instead of its decreasing it grows wider, but it is also much
shallower—so much so that, what with the shallows and dead wood, it would
be quite impossible to take up any kind of steamer. At mid-day we saw
four large otters (“lobos”), and I sent a ball amongst them from about
500 yards distance. It seemed as though one had been hit, for there was a
great commotion amongst them, and only three were seen afterwards, though
the body of the wounded one did not turn up, probably being carried away
by the strong current; the other three made for the shore and were lost
in the bush. In the afternoon my montaria was very nearly upset; for we
were pulling hard against a strong current, when it mounted a sunken
pole, and, swinging round, the rudder broke clear away. Drifting down
stream, we managed to get hold of a stump, and, passing a rope on shore,
hauled up to the bank to effect repairs. In any little accident such as
this, the principal danger seems to be caused by the men themselves,
who, instead of sitting perfectly still, get excited and rise from their
seats, and as the canoe sways about, they disturb the equilibrium, and
one is fortunate indeed if an upset does not occur; therefore, the first
thing for the patron to do in any accident is to shout at the men to keep
their seats, and, if necessary, enforce his orders by any means at his
command. To-day the “marigueys,” “carapanas,” and mosquitoes made their
appearance again, the lower part of this river having been very free
from these pests; but as the nights have got much warmer, owing to the
cessation of the south wind, the increased temperature may have brought
them out.
August 2nd. The morning start is now obliged to be deferred until full
daylight, as the numerous shallows and other obstructions render it
impossible to travel in the dark. Just as we were starting we saw a small
canoe pass rapidly by us on the opposite side of the river. There were
three men in it, who were the first of the Yuracaré Indians that we had
seen. We called to them, but they would not answer or come over to us.
These Indians do not use bark canoes like the Caripunas and Pacaguaras
of the rapids, but dug-outs of a very narrow and long description, much
similar to those used by the Cayubabas of Exaltacion.
High mountains in the south now made their appearance, being probably the
ridge shown on the maps as running from the Chapari towards the Chilon
and the Rio Grande. The tops of these hills were in sight yesterday
afternoon, but this morning whole ranges come into view, following one
another far into the interior, the summits of those farthest off being
lost in the cloudy atmosphere.
On the banks of this upper part of the river, the large kind of bamboo
grows in abundance. This very useful tree is here called “taquarembo,”
while in Venezuela I recollect it is called “wacwa,” and this difference
of names given to things in Spanish-speaking countries causes great
confusion of ideas to travellers. Bamboo is not found on the Amazon or on
the Madeira, as it seems to require a dryer and higher land.
Soon after starting we arrived at the mouth of the river Coni, which
enters the Chapari on its right bank. The port of Coni, where we finally
leave our canoes and take to the road for Cochabamba, is about six
leagues from the junction of the Coni with the Chapari, which changes its
name above the junction to San Mateo. The Coni is a small river about
100 yards in width at its outlet, and so shallow that we had to drag the
canoes over the bar, which we had no sooner overcome than fresh shallows
obstructed our progress. Indeed, so unsuitable for any navigation is
this river, that the whole of this day and the two following ones, the
3rd and 4th of August, were occupied in one incessant struggle with the
shallows, so that the six leagues (eighteen miles) from the mouth of the
river to the port occupied us for three entire days. These shallows are
dignified by the name of the “cachuelas,” or falls, of the Coni, but they
are properly speaking “corrientes,” or rapids, running over long banks
covered with loose stones brought down from the mountains during the
floods; and as the whole course of this river is one constant succession
of these rapids, it is surprising that it has been selected by the
Bolivian traders instead of the Chimoré, to arrive at which the road from
Cochabamba would only have been some four leagues longer.
THROUGH BOLIVIA AND PERU.
CHAPTER XXII.
Coni and its trade—Yuracaré Indians—Their bark shirts,
ornaments, and dyes—Musical instruments—Tradition of Cain
and Abel—Difference between the Indians of the interior and
those of the plains—Bravery of the Yuracarés—Start from
Coni—Pachimoco—River San Antonio—Cristal Maio—Continuous
rains—Zinc-roofed houses—Coca plantations—Minas
Maio—Metalliferous character of district—Coffee and cotton—El
Chaco—Cuesta of Lina Tambo—Los Jocotales—Inca Corral—Cuesta de
Malaga—Snowstorms.
Coni is distant about forty-five leagues from Cochabamba, and is only a
small clearing in the jungle, with a few huts, where the mule-drivers and
traders from Cochabamba remain while waiting in the dry season for the
arrival of the canoes from Trinidad. At this place I found a corregidor
and a few traders who had come down from Cochabamba, the corregidor to
receive the departmental tolls on the traffic, and the traders their
cargoes of cocoa, as well as to ship the return loads of wheaten flour,
salt, and potatoes.
The salt is made up in bricks weighing probably ten or twelve pounds
each, and is brought from the “salitreras,” or salinas of Central and
Western Bolivia. A brick, or “pan” as it is called, is worth three pesos,
or about 9_s._ 6_d._, in Trinidad. The trade in this article is a very
important one to the civilized Indians of the Beni, as that department is
entirely without any salt deposits; but the savages of the Madeira, such
as the Caripunas and Pacaguaras, do not seem to have acquired a taste for
the luxury, as, although they will eat salted provisions when given to
them, they do not ask for salt or care to accept it.
There were about 200 mules in all waiting at Coni, the cargo for each one
being eight Bolivian arrobas, or about two hundred-weight. During the
five or six months that this trade is open, more than 1000 cargoes of
eight arrobas each are received from Cochabamba in salt or flour, while
a similar quantity of cocoa, dressed hides, and tiger skins is returned;
and this trade is carried on under every possible difficulty of miserable
roads and defective means of navigation. As the mule-drivers only come
to Coni when they expect to get a freight, intending travellers must
make arrangements to have animals ready for their arrival, or they will
probably have to foot it over very bad roads. The hire of a mule from
Coni to Cochabamba, or _vice versâ_, is fourteen pesos (about £2 5_s._).
Coni is about 950 feet above sea-level, and has a delightful climate, the
vegetation not being of that dense and rank nature found on the Amazon
and Madeira Rivers. There are consequently fewer insect plagues, such as
mosquitoes, etc., and fever and ague are very little if at all known.
When the Amazonian route for the commerce of Bolivia begins to be fairly
opened up, the present location of the port of Coni must be abandoned,
and a clearing and port made on the Chimoré, at the small Indian village
of the same name on that river.
The district is the home of the Yuracaré Indians, who are called
savages, but are very friendly and well disposed. They are nomads in
so far as that they only live in one clearing for perhaps two or three
years, until they are tired of the spot, or fancy that the chaco does not
yield so well as it did at first; while possibly another reason for the
move is that, as they are very smart hunters, the game has got scarce
within reasonable walking distance. They then shift to another part of
their district, which extends from the higher waters of the Chapari to
the foot of the hills of San Antonio and Espiritu Santo on the road to
Cochabamba.
The day after our arrival at Coni, two of the headmen came to pay us a
visit, accompanied by half a dozen of their women, who were laden with
burdens of plantains and yams, which they carried in nets, supported on
their backs by a band which passed across their foreheads. These people
are very much like the ordinary Mojos Indians and the Pacaguaras of the
river Trés Irmãos, but are much more civilized than the latter tribe,
as they do not all wear their hair in the usual savage style, cut close
over the eyes and hanging down behind, while they always have some sort
of clothing, either a bark shirt or some articles purchased from the
traders. Many of them understand Spanish very fairly, and they all were
very well behaved; indeed, it was wonderful to see what self-restraint
they exercised, controlling their curiosity in a marvellous manner, and
not asking for everything that took their fancy, as do the Pacaguaras
and Caripunas of the rapids; and I rewarded their patience accordingly
by presents of cigars, sugar, biscuits, and a “pinga” or small drink of
Hollands apiece, which latter they seemed to approve of highly. The men
are fairly formed and of good stature, but the women are undersized, and
appear to be rather ill-treated, as is customary among savage tribes.
[Illustration: NECKLACE OF BRIGHT RED BEANS.]
They use but few adornments, a necklace of wooden beads or of seeds being
the general ornament amongst them. Their bark shirts are the finest that
are made anywhere in the Beni. Those made by the Mojos Indians are all
of a dark-brown colour, and of coarse, rough texture; but the Yuracarés
make theirs from a tree that gives a fine white bark, which, when beaten
out to the proper thinness, is painted in very bright colours. Some of
the patterns thus painted on the shirts are of great merit, and all the
colours are extracted from the various dye-yielding trees or earths
of the forests. A good cascara can be bought from them for about two
pesos. The chief, or cacique of the tribe, on state occasions wears a
curious appendage or pigtail, composed of bright feathers from macaws and
toucans, backs of bright-coloured beetles, and shells of nuts, etc. All
the tribe paint small black stripes and rings on their arms and legs,
whilst the women have a smear of red or black paint on their cheeks. I
was fortunate enough to secure three very fine specimens of these bark
shirts, one of the cacique’s pigtails, some of their necklaces, and a set
of their musical instruments, which, as may be surmised, are of a most
primitive character. They are of various shapes, producing at most three
or four notes, and are generally made of some hard kind of wood; but a
monkey’s thigh-bone or the leg-bone of a stork is often pressed into the
service, as, being hollow, these bones are easily made into a rough kind
of flute or whistle. I could not discover much melody in the concerts
which these Indians favoured us with, the principal object seeming to be
the production of as much noise as possible; the custom being for as many
performers as there are instruments, to seat themselves in a ring, and
each one to produce any note he pleases without the slightest reference
to his neighbour’s efforts. The effect is therefore more startling than
pleasant, especially as the fifers are accompanied by a drummer, whose
business seems to be to overcome, if possible, with his own horrible
instrument, the effect of the ear-piercing whistles.
[Illustration: GROUP OF BOLIVIAN MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS, ETC.
A, Flute, made of hard wood; B B B, Whistles, made of hard wood; C,
Flutes, made of leg-bones of a stork; D D D, Necklaces, made of seeds and
beads; E, Ornaments, made of nut-shells and toucan breast feathers; F,
Small comb, made of hard wood; G G, Necklaces of monkey’s teeth; H, Tooth
of Capybara, used as ear ornament by Caripunas.]
These Indians produce a very fair kind of cloth or drill from the wild
cotton which is found in abundance on their territory, and as they are
very clever in extracting dyes of different colours from the forest, they
make up some very good hammock-cloths, sashes, and other articles. They
probably have been taught this art of weaving by the civilized Indians of
the Beni, who, as I have before mentioned, make some very excellent and
durable material called macanas.
[Illustration: AUTHOR, AND YURACARÉ INDIANS. (_From a photograph taken at
Cochabamba._)]
The corregidor says that altogether there are about 500 or 600 men in the
tribe, and they appear to be fairly under his orders. As I was travelling
on public business and had taken charge of despatches for the Government
at Chuquisaca from the prefect of the Beni, the corregidor offered me a
guard of these Indians for the journey to Cochabamba, and appointed the
cacique and five young Indians to accompany me. The cacique’s name was
Gregorio Frias, and he seemed to have an idea that he was a relative
of the then president of the republic, Don Tomas Frias; and perhaps he
was not far wrong, as I was told that a few years ago a brother of his
excellency lived in the district for some time, and had many of these
Indians at work on his chaco and coffee plantations, some trees of which
are still to be seen at the Coni, bearing excellent fruit. The other
Indians were young men, named Juan Baptista, Amadeo, Carlos, Roman, and
Donato, who were all pleasant-looking young fellows that I was glad to
have as companions of my march to Cochabamba.
The Yuracarés have evidently been under the tutelage of the Jesuit
missionaries in bygone years, as they preserve a few traditions in proof
thereof. It is supposed that some unscrupulous servant of the Church
made use of the ascendancy gained by the Jesuits over these Indians for
his own purposes, and oppressed them until they turned against him and
his religion. I observed that the oldest of those who travelled with me
always took off their hats when passing a church, as though they had
some idea of paying respect to it; but the same men told me that they
considered the priests to be very bad men, and that they would not allow
them to visit or remain in their villages.
I translate the following account of one of their traditions from a
journal published in Cochabamba in October, 1872, in which is given a
short account of the sources of the river Mamoré. The paper says, that
“a little distance above the junction of the rivers Sacta and Vio,
three large stones are met with, placed one above the other in the form
of a column about thirty yards in height, dividing the river into two
channels, and offering a gigantic and imposing spectacle to the observer.
According to the tradition of the Yuracarés, the human species sprang
from the union of the tiger with these stones, the offspring being
called Mamoré, which, in their tongue, is equivalent for Eve. This Eve
had two sons: one, a son of crime and perversity, became the progenitor
of the Carais, as the Yuracarés call the Bolivians and other strangers
who pass through their territory; the other, full of goodness, virtue,
and blessings, was the ancestor of the Yuracarés. This tradition, which
parodies the characters of Cain and Abel, serves to prove that these
Indians preserve some notions of the Book of Genesis, which had probably
been taught them by the missionaries that had been amongst them.” Here is
a confusion of ideas, one of the most curious of which seems to me to be
the placing the tiger as the deity, or first cause, as this would seem
to have some analogy with the tiger-worship prevailing amongst certain
tribes of the jungles of Hindostan.
At Coni I was first struck with the great difference between the Bolivian
Indians of the interior of the republic and the Indians of the plains of
the Beni. The former, who are all styled “Collas” (meaning dwellers in
the Cordilleras) by those who inhabit the plains, are at first sight
seen to be of an entirely different race, evidently dwellers in a cold
climate, whilst the Indians of the plains are only able to live in warm
tropical places. The Colla Indian is hardly ever seen without his poncho
on, and muffler, or “bufanda,” round his neck. At a glance you see that
he has an aversion to the cleansing effect of water, whilst the Indian
of the plains only wears his poncho at nights or on very cold days, and
will, if he is allowed, spend half his time in bathing. The Yuracarés who
accompanied me continually stopped for a bath every time we crossed the
river.
Through the kindness of Don Ignacio Bello, to whom nearly all the animals
then at the Coni were contracted, I was able to arrange for mules for my
journey to Cochabamba; and on the 9th of August I started, accompanied by
an arriero, or mule-driver, and my servant-boy, the Cruzeño that I had
been fortunate enough to secure in Exaltacion, who, instead of going from
Trinidad to Santa Cruz, his native place, had decided to follow me to
Sucre on the understanding that I should send him home from that town—a
promise that I readily agreed to, for he had become very useful and
trustworthy, but which he, poor boy, never saw carried out, as he died of
small-pox in Cochabamba. The Cacique of the Yuracarés and the five boys
of the tribe also accompanied me, and proved very useful on the road, as
they generally managed during the day to shoot with their bows and arrows
either fish from the river or game from the forest, a welcome addition
to the repasts at the nightly halts. These Indians always volunteer to
accompany a traveller of any position, and as it was desirable that they
should be especially well disposed towards the navigation and railway
enterprises, I took considerable pains to conciliate them, and believe
that when operations are resumed for opening up the Bolivian commerce
they will be found very useful allies. As labourers will have to be taken
to the works from the interior of the republic, the Yuracarés can be made
very useful in clearing ground at the Chimoré port, and in navigating
the canoes that take the labourers as far as Trinidad, or perhaps as far
as the first of the rapids, Guajará Merim, from whence the labourers
could march to the various points on the railway where their services
are required. They could also be made use of as guards against the few
hostile tribes of the Mamoré, such as the Sirionos and the Chacobos;
while, under proper management, it might be possible to induce a hundred
or two of them to locate themselves at the wooding stations which will be
required above the rapids when steam navigation is organized. As these
Indians are more expert with their bows and arrows than any other tribe
of the Mamoré, their presence would effectually check the incursions
of those savages that refuse to approach civilization in the slightest
degree. They are also reputed to be the bravest of all the tribes of the
Beni, as proof of which I was told that the many marks and scars on their
bodies are caused by the practice that prevails amongst the young braves
of the tribe of slashing their bodies in sport, to show how well they can
bear pain; and if a quarrel arises amongst them, the custom is for the
whole of the tribe to turn out in the chaco, or some other open spot,
where the belligerents are set opposite each other at about 100 paces,
when, each being armed with bow and arrows, a regular duel ensues, the
tribe encouraging the combatants to continue the fight until one of them
is mortally wounded or sinks exhausted from loss of blood.
The road from the Coni leads in a south-west direction, and is simply
a path cut through the forest of sufficient width for a mule and its
cargo. After about four hours’ ride we arrived at Pachimoco, a single
house, where lives the Intendente of the Yuracarés, José Tiflis by name,
and next in authority to the cacique. We were received very kindly, the
supplies of the chaco, such as yucas, maize, and plantains, being freely
offered to us. Here I noticed that many of these Indians suffer from
skin diseases, amongst them being a leper. Their women are dirty and
uncombed, and, after the usual manner of savages, have to do all the hard
work of wood and water carrying, while the men hunt, fish, and plant in
the chacos. From the Coni to Pachimoco is reckoned as five leagues, but
it cannot be more than four, if so much, as we were travelling barely
four hours and did not do more than about a league an hour, as the road
was very bad, being full of pot-holes of mud and slush. The “naturales,”
as the Yuracarés are generally termed by the Bolivians, are splendid
walkers, and on the few good parts of the road I had to keep my mule
well at work in order to be up with the cacique, who led the way on
foot ahead, carrying my gun, and a very fair-sized burden slung at his
back. Just as we got to the clearing a heavy shower of rain fell, so I
decided not to go any further that night, but accepted the invitation of
the intendente, who had the centre of the hut cleared for my camp-bed. A
number of the Trinitario boatmen, who had walked over from the Coni to
visit the Yuracarés, slept just outside the hut, and kept up a continuous
chatter till far on into the night.
The next morning (10th August) the mules were caught and cargoes up by
about half-past seven, and, bidding adieu to the intendente and his
family, we took the road, refreshed by a few hours’ good sleep. A couple
of hours’ riding brought us to the river San Antonio, an affluent of the
San Mateo, which river runs into the Chapari. The San Antonio, where we
first crossed it, is about a mile in width, forming, at this dry season,
an immense playa of water-worn stones, through which the river finds
its way in shallow channels, whilst during the rains the whole width is
covered with a very turbulent and rapid stream, perfectly impassable
by man or beast. The eastern bank of this river was a succession of
high cliffs. One which we passed under I judged to be 130 to 150 feet
sheer perpendicular height, being cut straight down—the rock, a rotten
sandstone of reddish brown colour, having been cut down by the river,
which is continually wearing it away at its base. Other cliffs, as
high and yellower in colour, appeared on ahead, glistening brightly in
the glare of the sun. Amongst the stones in the bed of the river were
limestones, sandstones, and conglomerates of all colours, many being
splotched with a bright red lichen that grows on the rocks and stones
that are under water. The limestones were almost all veined with a clear
opaque quartz, and I observed a fine class of serpentine, the base of a
dark olive green, with veins of whitish colour.
Having crossed the river, the track leaves the plains of the Mamoré and
the Chapari, and soon commences to enter upon the mountainous districts
called the Yungas of Espiritu Santo. The track so far is but a path cut
through the forest, and is in wet weather quite impassable, from the
depth of mud and the numerous holes in which mule and rider may easily
come to grief. Over the hilly lands it has in former days been roughly
paved in parts, after the fashion of old Spanish roads. Where this rough
paving is absent the paths are much worn by the trampling of the mules,
and by the drainage of the rains which hollows them out, so that at times
one seems to be riding between two walls of earth.
After about seven hours’ ride, we arrived at a “pascana,” or
stopping-place, in the Yungas, near the same river that we had crossed
early in the morning; and the spot being convenient for a resting-place,
we halted for the night, turning the mules loose to graze on the
river-banks. This practice of loosing the mules at night causes great
delay in starting on the following morning, but it is unavoidable until
clearings are made in the forest, as the animals must be free to wander
at will in the forest in search of the softer leaves, succulent plants,
and small patches of grass, which is all they get after their day’s work,
for the arrieros will not carry any corn with them, as it would occupy
the place of a cargo, and so deprive them of so much freight.
On this part of the journey, a small tent that I had with me came in
exceedingly useful, as without it I should have had to sleep at night
exposed to the dews, which are very heavy, to say nothing of the rains,
which fell frequently. A small ridge-shaped tent of striped cloth is
easily carried on such a journey, as it requires two poles only, which
should be jointed and form one package together with the pegs and ropes,
whilst the cloth folds into another. The two packages just fit nicely
between two portmanteaus, and complete one mule-burden. The tent-cloth
should by all means be double, as the heavy rains soon soak through, and
drip from a single cloth.
August 11th. We could not start till half-past seven in the morning,
having had considerable trouble to get the mules together. The road keeps
up the course of the San Antonio, into which it descends frequently,
and these ascents and descents, or “cuestas,” as they are called, gave
us some of the roughest riding I have ever had. When the hill to be
surmounted is very high and steep, the path is cut in zig-zags, which
were so short and of such sharp turns that when one mule was in the bend
of one angle the next one in the file was immediately below, while the
preceding one would be just overhead. However, I managed to ride the
whole way, although it is the usual practice to climb these cuestas on
foot, and drive one’s mule on ahead, after having made fast the bridle
to the saddle; but I had to dismount once in crossing the river, when
the mule had mounted a large stone in mid-stream, and was in danger
of slipping; so I got down, and having coaxed her to descend into the
stream again, was able to remount and complete the passage. The day was
passed in this kind of rough work, and towards afternoon we came to
patches of cleared lands and scattered houses in the district known as
Espiritu Santo. Our third halt was made at one of these clearings, called
“Cristal Maio,” situated at an elevation of 1920 feet above sea-level.
These settlements are made by Bolivians of the type found throughout the
interior of the republic, such as Cochabambinos, Pazeños, etc., as they
are called according to the town or district from which they come. It
is, however, only the Bolivians with any tinge of Spanish blood that are
known by these names, as the pure Indians are all either Quichuans or
Aymarás.
The principal proprietor of the district is a Señor Prado of Totora near
Cochabamba, and by permission of his mayordomo, or head man, I put up for
the night in one of his houses; and as I had during the day shot a fine
large black monkey, we had a good supper for all hands. This mayordomo
was at first inclined to refuse us permission to stay for the night on
the lands under his care, and ordered us off, even going so far as to
fetch a rusty old musket out, and threaten to shoot our mules, which my
arriero had very imprudently let loose into a clearing of grass without
permission; but upon my ordering the mules to be caught and tied up,
he was pacified, and a little quiet persuasion, accompanied by a cigar
and a “pinga” of “re-sacada” or nip of extra strong aguadiente from my
travelling flask, together with the prospect of a share of our supper of
roast monkey, procured us leave to hang up our hammocks in the house and
turn the mules into the regular “largadero,” or grazing ground, along the
river-bank.
Before night closed in I had a splendid bath in the torrent near at hand,
and as all mosquitoes, marigueys, and other venomous flies have been left
behind, it was highly enjoyable. Amongst the rocks in the bed of the
torrent was a soft kind of marble, quite white and crystalline; there was
also a slaty sort of limestone of an earthy nature, with thin white veins
or bands of quartz; and there was evidence in the rusty look of many
boulders that iron enters into the composition of many of the formations
of the district, even if true ironstone is not to be found. A stone was
given to me here which had bands of a soft black substance that seemed to
me to be an inferior kind of plumbago, and I was told that there was a
large deposit of this mineral in the neighbourhood.
Rain is said to be almost perpetual in this district, the months of
August and September alone being blessed with a few fine days. The
houses, in view of this constant rain, are built with roofs of very
steep pitch, with an angle of sixty degrees perhaps; whilst the settlers
who can afford the heavy cost have covered their houses with sheets of
tin or zinc, brought at great expense from Cochabamba and the Pacific
coast. The timbers used are extraordinarily heavy, in order that the
violence of the wind in the frequent storms may not overturn the houses.
A foundation wall of dry stone, raised about eighteen inches from the
ground, is first placed, and on that a bed-plate of hard timber dressed
with the axe to twelve or fourteen inches square, then the uprights and
wall-plates to match complete a most solid framing. In many cases side
walls are altogether absent, the only closed-up part being in the tall
sloping roof. The wind has thus free passage through the lower part, and
the house is not so easily overturned—a catastrophe which I was told
frequently happens to houses with closed side walls.
The chief agriculture of the district is that of “coca,” the “cocales”
or plantations of which seem to be the principal wealth of the settlers,
as the best districts for the production of this valuable plant appear
to be the eastern slopes of the northern hills of Bolivia. A very large
trade in the article is carried on at most of the towns of the republic,
but Totora appears to be the principal depôt. The plant is a small tree,
allowed to grow to four or five feet in height, and planted in rows about
eighteen inches apart, which are kept in excellent order. The leaves,
which are narrow and about two or three inches in length, are collected
carefully, dried in the sun on a prepared earthen or cement floor, and
then, when pressed into “seroons,” are ready for dispatch to Totora,
where they fetch from eleven to sixteen pesos the “sesta” of twenty-two
pounds, say 1_s._ 7_d._ to 2_s._ 4_d._ per pound.
The use of coca is almost unknown to, and certainly not practised by the
Indians of the plains of the Mamoré, but the Quichuan and Aymará Indians
appear to be unable to exist without this stimulant, for it serves them
in place of food and drink when driving their mules or llamas on the
long journeys which separate the towns of the interior of the republic.
These Indians carry, attached to their belts or waistbands, a small
pouch with two compartments: in the larger the coca leaves are kept;
whilst the other has a store of wood-ashes, a pinch of which is put into
the mouth along with two or three of the leaves. The use of wood-ashes
put me in mind of the East Indies, where a small quantity of lime or
ashes is used along with the betel leaves and areca palm nut, the whole
together forming the luxury for masticating called “Pan.” I heard some
wonderful tales of the pedestrian powers of the Indians, and observed
that the arrieros and others with whom I travelled always provided a
store of coca amongst the first articles, when preparing for a journey.
Any of these Indians will think nothing of keeping on the run all day
behind the baggage-mules, and doing thirty or forty miles daily for weeks
together. I cannot speak from personal experience of the beneficial
effects of “coca-chewing” in staving off hunger, as on my journeys I have
always been fortunate enough to have sufficient provision for the day’s
requirements in my saddle-bags; and I must say that I always preferred
even a hard biscuit, to say nothing of a hard-boiled egg or a snack of
cold meat, to a chew of coca; so perhaps the few experiments I made were
not sufficiently persevered in. There is very little if any taste in the
coca leaf, the only flavour being such as well washed-out tea leaves
would be likely to afford.
The night passed quietly under the roof placed at our disposition by our
irate friend the mayordomo, and the following day, the 12th August, we
started about 8 a.m., after the usual trouble and delay in catching the
mules. This fourth day’s ride continued to be over very rough ground, the
whole of the distance done being over a succession of cuestas, which, in
places, were actual staircases. At one moment the rider would ascend to
3000 feet elevation, and then quickly down to 2500 and even 2000, the
road being dug out of the side of the rock, just wide enough to allow of
the passage of one mule with its burden.
At a place called Minas Maio there is a tradition that gold has been
found in the sands of the ravine, and at a river called the “Tuy,” in
Espiritu Santo, the river-bed was full of quartz stones, from which I
selected a few that have since been declared by a geological authority to
have come from gold-bearing reefs. There is also much shaly ironstone in
some of the ravines, while copper pyrites abound in some of the quartz
stones in the rivers; and there is no doubt that the region is highly
metalliferous, and will well repay explorers when improved navigation
on the Mamoré and the projected railway round the rapids of the Madeira
shall have caused the amelioration of the present bad roads of the
district.
There are a good many houses on the slopes of the hills surrounding the
broader part of the valley of the Tuy, which appears to be still on
the watershed of the Mamoré. Several of these houses are roofed with
sheets of tin, and the clearings, though small, are many in number, thus
making up a good acreage of cleared land. Towards dusk we stopped at a
place called “El Chaco,” and occupied a corner of a hut; but whose it
was, or by whose permission we took up our quarters therein, I failed
to discover. There were one or two miserable-looking Indians about, but
they said nothing to us as we appropriated the space we required; and it
seems to be the custom in these parts for travellers to enter any house
they please, and take possession of whatever part of it suits their
fancy best. I observed, however, that this custom only holds good when
the traveller, from his appearance and belongings in baggage, animals,
servants, etc., seems likely to be able to pay for the shelter he seeks.
In consequence of the many clearings, it is now necessary to tie up the
mules at night, and they are given a grass called “saracachi,” which
appears to be grown especially for them. This grass, which is rough and
coarse, but much liked by the animals, is peculiar to the district, and
grows in low stunted bunches, which are cut off at the ground, leaving
the roots, which soon afford another growth. Coffee of a very superior
class grows here, but does not appear to be cultivated largely, owing,
doubtless, to the greater profits yielded by the coca. Cotton also is
somewhat general, and the trees appeared to be of very fine growth,
but as they were only in flower, I could not judge of the quality.
Cultivating the coca for trade, and plantains for food, appear to be the
sole occupation of the wretched-looking Collas and Quichuan Indians,
who all seem, in this district at least, to be a most morose set of
fellows. They work in regular gangs in the coca plantations, about a
dozen Quichuan Indians, or peons, at work, cleaning between the rows,
being overlooked by a colla “sobre-estante,” or foreman. The settlers are
inhospitable in the extreme, but perhaps this may be because they only
produce sufficient provisions for their own use. I found it impossible to
purchase even a fowl, or a few eggs, at any price; so that, had I not had
with me a small supply of good “charqui” from Trinidad, and a few tinned
meats, I should have passed a bad time on this part of the road. The
people about here appear to understand but little Spanish, their ordinary
language being Quichuan; and they appear to be in the utmost poverty,
although I was told that the peons earn four reales per day (about 1_s._
7_d._), and are found in rations of yucas and plantains. They are, as
a rule, dirty and uncombed, being clothed in rags of all colours—that
is, if one can apply the word “colour” to the different dingy hues that
prevail in their extraordinary apparel.
The mountains at El Chaco rise, on either side of the river, to a height
of probably 6000 or 7000 feet, their tops, generally in the clouds,
being clothed with forest. Rain fell heavily during the night, and the
following morning (the 13th) was also wet, so we waited till 8 a.m.,
when, there being no sign of a break in the downpour, we made up our
minds to brave the worst and continue our journey. The road soon became
terribly bad, being much softened by the heavy rain; and on one cuesta,
where there had been a great landslip during the past wet season, the
riding became very dangerous—so much so that we were forced to dismount
and drive the mules on ahead. This landslip was of such extent that it
seemed as though the whole side of the hill had fallen away, the path
being covered up for more than a mile in length, a distance that had to
be traversed in drenching rain over the _débris_ of the mountain-side;
and as at every step one sank in the soft earth nearly up to one’s knees,
both men and animals were glad to get on to the track again. The summit
of this range, called the “Cuesta del Lina Tambo,” took us up to about
6150 feet above sea-level. Towards afternoon the rain ceased, but the
forest was very wet and the mists very thick.
At about 5000 feet elevation, I noticed that the lowland vegetation of
palms of all classes ceased, and tree-ferns became very numerous, whilst
mosses and ferns in endless varieties were most luxuriant. The trees,
which were now less lofty, were all thickly covered with moss.
After passing the summit of Lina Tambo, we crossed a river, called the
San Jacinto, over a bridge of rough timbers, spanning perhaps sixty feet,
and built with abutments of dry stone (_i.e._ without mortar). From these
abutments large balks of timber projected on either side about twelve
feet, and were joined together by a centre span of about thirty-five,
the whole forming a substantial, though strange-looking structure. When
crossing this river, one would be led to think that the main watershed
of the district had been passed, as the San Jacinto apparently flows in
a contrary direction to that of the San Mateo and San Antonio; but this
must be caused by a great bend of the ravine which forms its course, for
it is also an affluent of the Chapari and Chimoré system, the highest
Cordillera being still two days’ ride further on. Owing to the time
occupied in trudging across the landslip, the night overtook us before
we could reach the next houses, called Los Jocotales, and we therefore
made the fifth night’s halt at a “pascana,” or resting-place, by the
road-side, setting up the tent, and hobbling the mules to prevent their
straying; but notwithstanding our care in this respect, we found next
morning that one of them was missing, and from her tracks we found that
she, having probably slipped her hobbles, had wandered onwards on her own
account, thinking, doubtless, that as the roads were so bad she would
get on better without a burden. We had to divide her cargo amongst the
others, and after following her up for about a couple of hours, we found
her, grazing by the way-side, and were again able to make her perform
her share of the work; and soon after we came to Los Jocotales, where
we had hoped to have passed the previous night. At this place tolls are
taken, two reales, or 9½_d._, being charged for each cargo of merchandise
carried by mules or donkeys; but luggage, or any articles not intended
for sale, are allowed to go free. The traders complain bitterly of having
to pay tolls upon a road that is so little cared for as this is; and
certainly their complaints are just ones, for no repairs are ever done
to the road unless a landslip takes place, which, as it totally destroys
the road, renders a reconstruction imperatively necessary. This toll
is farmed out by the municipality of Cochabamba, and the farmer being
supposed to maintain the road out of the tolls he collects, of course he
does not spend more in repairs than he is positively obliged to.
Towards mid-day we ascended a very high ridge of hills, on the summit
of which the aneroid marked nearly 8000 feet above sea-level. Here my
arriero knocked up with a bad foot, from having, at Pachimoco, trodden
upon an arrow, which entered the sole of his foot. The wound being but
a slight one, he did not pay proper attention to it, but now, from the
walking, it has become so painful as to necessitate his taking some rest;
so, although it was only about two o’clock in the afternoon, as soon
as we had passed the hill we made for the first houses that were to be
seen. These were a few small huts where live the Indians in charge of
the cattle grazing on the coarse and rough grass on the hillsides. These
huts are called Inca Corral, and are pitched in a wide valley, running
nearly north and south at an elevation of 7715 feet above sea-level. The
wind blew down this valley with searching force, the thermometer at night
sinking to 39½° Fahr. The Quichuan Indians build their huts so small and
so low in height, that I was at first much averse to sleeping in any of
them, especially as they are generally black with smoke and dirt from the
fire burning in an earthen pan on the floor, the smoke from which has to
find its way through sundry holes and crevices in the walls and roof. At
this place I set up my tent, but the wind blew so keenly that the canvas
was quite unable to keep it out; and although I had plenty of blankets, I
passed a miserable night, from the intense cold caused by the searching
gusts, which seemed to pass right through all the wraps I could heap on
the camp-bed. After this night’s experience I was never too particular as
to the size or the condition of the hut offered me as a sleeping-place,
for in these high altitudes, four walls with a roof of mud, or of any
other solid material, are much preferable to canvas.
The country has now become much more open, the tropical forests having
been left behind and below us. The ferns of all kinds are now lost, and
the few trees are quite stunted and covered with mosses and lichens,
which, being mostly of a whitish colour, give an appearance of age and
decay to the prospect. Maize of a very large size and very sweet is grown
here, also barley and potatoes. A so-called fruit, but which is really a
root, in appearance and taste much like a small yellow carrot, is eaten
raw in large quantities, and esteemed a great delicacy by the cotters;
its name, as nearly as I could make out, is “Yacunes.”
On the next day, August 15th, when daylight broke, the grass was covered
with hoar-frost, and as the thermometer only registered 39°, the cold
seemed intense—at least, to our party, who had just come from the
tropical plains of the Mamoré. The morning was, however, clear, and
therefore, as soon as the sun shone over the hills, the temperature rose
rapidly. Proceeding up the valley or raised plateau of Inca Corral, we
soon began the ascent of the Cuesta de Malaga, the highest on the road
between Coni and Cochabamba. This hill is really the dividing ridge of
the watersheds of the Mamoré and Rio Grande systems. On this ascent I
noticed that all trees stopped at about 10,800 feet elevation. Some high
peaks near the pass had snow in their crevices, and I was told that in
1873 a snow-storm in August filled up the pass, and an arriero and his
“recua,” or drove of mules, perished in the drift. A cross set up by the
way-side attests the catastrophe. Here we met a party of the Yuracaré
Indians on their way back from Cochabamba, where they had been sent by
the Corregidor of Coni as escort to a lady relation of his returning
thither. The poor fellows seemed to feel the cold terribly, as the only
wraps they had were their bark shirts and a few strips of linen cloth.
Their blue faces and swollen fingers told a tale of so great suffering,
that the few reales they gained by their journey were indeed well earned.
Seeing how the cold affected these Indians, I asked the party with me if
they would not rather return; but the younger ones, who had never been to
Cochabamba, were anxious to see the city, and therefore elected to go.
Fortunately, I had a few spare blankets, and at nights, when they were
huddled together, they were able to keep fairly warm.
The summit of the pass I made to be 12,550 feet, and soon after crossing
it we came to cultivated lands and a few isolated huts.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Total change in the appearance of nature—Cochi-janchi—Barley
and potatoes—Chuño—Koad to Coni by Bandiola—Sacába—Approach to
Cochabamba—Tambos—Apartments—The city and people—Luxuriously
furnished houses—Fruits, flowers, and grain crops—Douche
baths—Alaméda, or public garden—Sweets and ices—Tertulias and
rocking-chairs—Commercial firms and their trade—Cascarilla,
or cinchona bark—Hospitality of foreign residents
and others—Moonlight ride—Climate—Want of sanitary
arrangements—Mineral wealth of the district.
From the top of the cuesta of Malaga onwards into Bolivia the face of
nature is so changed, that one seems to have suddenly arrived in another
land. To the north of this hill, the mountains are covered with trees,
and the plains bear their luxuriant wealth of tropical vegetation, but on
the south the aspect is very different. On this side, the rocky mountain
ranges of the Andes seem to produce nothing but crops of stones, which
lie so thickly upon all the level plains that cultivation can only be
carried on after the most laborious work. This rocky and stony nature of
the soil gives the country a very dreary look, which is only relieved
by trees and foliage, wherever a river has afforded opportunities of
irrigation.
On the uplands and slopes of the hills barley and potatoes are grown,
while on the uncultivated lands a rough and long grass grows in tufts,
and affords fair grazing for sheep and oxen.
About 5 p.m. we arrived at Cochi-janchi, at 10,950 feet above sea-level.
This village has a particularly melancholy look, as there is not a
vestige of a tree to be seen; the houses, which are very small in size,
being built with walls and roofs of mud, or adobe, placed in enclosures
made by walls of the same material. There is a small church built with
mud, like the houses, and there are altogether about fifty or sixty farms
scattered over the hill-side. The people must be very industrious, as the
hills are much cultivated, some up to their summits, of probably 12,500
or 13,000 feet elevation. The district supplies Cochabamba with potatoes,
and there appears to be a large trade done in them, both fresh and
preserved. In the latter state they are called “chuño,” which is really
nothing more than a frozen potato, and a most horrid substitute for the
real article. The process of preserving seems to be that the potatoes are
cut into slices and then into cubes, about the size of ordinary dice;
these are exposed to the almost nightly frosts until they present a dry,
corky appearance, in which state they will keep for any length of time,
and form the staple article of food with the Quichuan Indians; indeed,
throughout the interior of the republic, the chuño is met with at every
table. I cannot say that I discovered its excellencies, for it seemed
to me to taste just as it looks, like cork; but it is nevertheless a
favourite component part of the chupe, which forms the first course both
at breakfast and dinner. And certainly it appears to me to be the easiest
method by which potatoes can be preserved; no tins or air-tight cases
being required—a dry floor or sack serving all purposes for storage.
The mules are now fed with barley, given to them in the straw and
unthreshed. This fodder seems to suit both mules and horses admirably,
but requires to be varied now and then with grass food when the animal is
not on a journey. It costs, near Cochabamba, about two pesos, or 6_s._
2_d._, the quintal of 100 lbs. weight, about sufficient for four animals’
nightly rations.
From Cochi-janchi there is another track that leads to Coni, by passing
through a district called Bandiola, to the east of Espiritu Santo; but
that track also has to pass the ridge of Malaga, and I was credibly
informed that the cuestas in that direction are far more severe than
those over which I travelled; and as my Yuracaré Indians refused to
return to their homes by the Bandiola road, I think it may be agreed that
it is not a practicable one. The Malaga cuesta, although rising to a
great height, was not very steep, the ascent and descent being so gradual
that I did not once have to dismount from my mule in going over it.
Next day, August 16th, the thermometer stood at 45° at six o’clock, which
was quite cold enough to be pleasant, but not so sharp as the previous
night at Inca Corral. I tried to get my arriero started early, but as he
had many visits to make in the pueblo, and much chicha to drink at each
house, it was past ten o’clock before we got on the road again. We soon
began another ascent, which was very laborious, as the mules show signs
of tiring more and more every day. The top of this hill was 600 feet
lower than the cuesta of Malaga.
After passing several small and insignificant villages, we came to the
town of Sacába, a very considerable place. The day was market day, and
the “plazas,” or squares, were full of the country people, who wear
ponchos and shawls of the brightest colours, so that the scene was
most picturesque. These markets are held in the open air, and almost
everything that can be named is to be bought. Bread, meat, general
provisions and stores, drugs, dyes, woollens, calicoes, and other stuffs
of all kinds, pots, pans, and household implements, the stalls being all
mixed up together, so that the market has a look as though the tradesmen
of the town had emptied the contents of their shops out into the plaza.
There are, however, no public horse or cattle fairs in Bolivia, the
trade in animals being carried on quietly between the owners of the
flocks of sheep and droves of oxen that one sees on the hills, and the
butchers. The beasts are always killed, and their carcases dressed and
cut up at public abattoirs outside the town, the meat being sold in the
plazas or market-places, there being no butchers’ shops in any of the
streets. The houses of Sacába are decently built in regular streets, but
as the town is situated in a stony plain, the dust was very trying when
a strong north wind was blowing. Our ride up to and through the town
was done during a perfect dust-storm—so thick that it was necessary to
tie our handkerchiefs over our faces, or we should, I think, have been
suffocated. As for the people in the open plaza, they must have suffered
severely, and their goods of a perishable nature must have been almost
spoiled by the clouds of dust that passed over the town.
Leaving Sacába, our shortest route lay across a ridge of mountains that
stretch out into the plain, and behind which the city of Cochabamba is
situated; but, as the mules were very tired and footsore, we kept to the
plain, and went round the end of the ridge. The approach to Cochabamba
was up a stream, now dry, with what appeared to be country residences
on either side, many having considerable pretensions to comfort, and
all having good, well-stocked gardens. These country houses are called
“quintas,” and the owners mostly have town residences as well. A bridge
for the road had been built over the river, but one of the piers had
fallen, from the simple fact that the foundations were not on rock,
but on sand and small stones. We entered the city about half-past six
in the evening, crossing the principal plaza just as it was getting
dark, putting up at the “tambo,” where, with difficulty, I succeeded in
getting a small and dark room, which was quite destitute of any bedding
or furniture. There was nothing to be had to eat or drink in the tambo,
and I could only get a plate of greasily cooked beef-steak, which my boy
managed to buy somewhere outside; but, notwithstanding the poverty of the
accommodation, having had supper, I managed to pass a very good night, as
I had my camp-bed, and was therefore independent of hotel fittings, being
always able to sleep well, provided that I could get under a water-tight
roof.
The tambo is an old Spanish institution that is fast giving way to the
hotel, or “posada,” and probably Bolivia is the only South American
republic where the tambo can be seen in its old-fashioned style. The
tambo of Bolivia is not so well managed as the travelling bungalow of
India, where the wayfarer not only finds a room, but also finds the
necessary articles of furniture, such as a cot and washing apparatus,
while there is always an attendant who can prepare a repast if the
traveller has no servant of his own. In Cochabamba the tambo, as a
building, outwardly is all well enough, but the rooms are small, dark,
and badly ventilated, and in place of furniture a brick or mud shelf, of
a width sufficient for sleeping on, is built up in one corner, or right
across the end of the room. Sometimes this sleeping-bank takes the form
of a daïs, raised only about a foot above the ordinary floor of the room,
and the arrangement is in Bolivia not confined to tambos, but found also
in many middle-class houses in use instead of bedsteads. Most travellers
carry a mattress and pillows with their baggage; and in Bolivia a very
useful mattress is made, specially for travelling, not too thick, and
with one side covered with leather, so that when rolled up there is no
danger of the stuff side getting wet, and when in use the leather side,
being below, helps to keep the damp from the sleeper. Bolivians seem
to be able to sleep soundly on this table or shelf arrangement; but
European travellers should be careful to have their own cots with them,
as, if they try the tables, they will soon find that sleep is out of the
question, the mud or bricks being tenanted by armies of active insects,
to whom the arrival of a stranger in the land affords an opportunity for
varying their nightly rations of Bolivian vitality that they are not
at all slack in availing themselves of. Materials for washing seem to
be quite superfluities in Bolivian tambos, and it becomes, therefore,
necessary to carry a metal basin on one’s travels. However, the daily
charge for a room is not at all extravagant, being a couple of reales,
or about ninepence; but probably the proprietors of the tambos think
that as the tribes of insects, that may be said to be joint owners
of the hostelry, are sure to take a good contribution for themselves
out of the unlucky traveller, it would be but justice to let off his
pocket as lightly as possible. Fortunately for me, I was not destined
to remain long in the tambo of Cochabamba, for on the following day I
presented my letters of introduction, and soon had several kind offers
of hospitality from various friends. Probably the reason why tambos
are so badly furnished and attended to, is that it is the custom for
travellers in Bolivia to quarter themselves on friends, and therefore
there is not sufficient custom for good hotels. Had I arrived earlier in
the day, I should have gone straight to the friends to whom I had been
recommended; but, after all, I found that I had so many offers that, as
I could not divide my time fairly amongst all the hospitable people who
were willing to house me, I decided the difficulty by taking apartments,
and secured a first floor in one of the best streets leading out of the
principal square. My drawing-room was very large and lofty, and, being
furnished in the usual South American style, with chairs, sofas, and a
very small pedestal table, had quite a diplomatic look about it. The
rent was also in diplomatic style, being sixty pesos faibles, or about
£10 per month—quite enough, considering that no attendance or cooking
was required, as I invariably took my meals with one or other of my
acquaintances, and my boy prepared my morning coffee and attended to the
rooms. More moderate apartments may be had in the city, but one cannot
reckon upon getting a couple of decent rooms for less than thirty or
forty pesos per month—say £5 to £8.
[Illustration: VIEW OF COCHABAMBA. (_From a photograph._)]
Cochabamba, probably the most important town of the republic of Bolivia,
is situated in a plain 8450 feet above sea-level, overlooked by the
rugged snow-clad heights of Tunari and Larati, whose giant tops rise
fully 10,000 feet above the city. The town is well built, with regular
streets, which all lead to the usual central plaza, in which are the
government and municipal offices, and a cathedral that occupies nearly
the whole of one side of the square. The public offices have a handsome
colonnade extending over the foot pavement and running round two sides of
the plaza, forming a promenade with good shelter either from sun or rain.
There are in the city about 50,000 people, and amongst the upper classes
are found many descendants of old Spanish families, but the bulk of the
population are Indians of Quichuan or Aymará extraction. The language
of society and commerce is Castilian, and the Indians of the town, who
amongst themselves use their own tongue, whether Quichuan or Aymará,
nearly all speak or understand Spanish; in the outlying villages and
farms very few have been sufficiently educated to know any but their own
language, and it therefore becomes necessary to have an interpreter for
the journey from one town to another. These Indians present many features
of interest, but their character and peculiarities are seen to greater
advantage in their little homesteads on the mountains, and we shall have
frequent opportunities of meeting with them outside the cities.
After many weeks of rough travelling, one of the greatest pleasures of
arriving at Cochabamba is to meet with a well, nay, highly educated
society, the fairer portion of which especially attract observation;
for, apart from the natural charms with which “el bello sexo” of Spanish
descent are largely endowed, the ladies of Cochabamba are generally
accomplished musicians, while many are also good linguists, French and
Italian being more in favour than English or German. But the “bello
sexo” of Sucre, or Chuquisaca, as it is otherwise called, are generally
considered to be more graceful and elegant than those of Cochabamba;
so I must not part with all my praises for “las bellas Cochabambinas,”
but reserve some for the fair Sucrenses, or Chuquisaqueñas. Many of the
best houses are luxuriously furnished, and as all the furniture and
appointments are either of American or European manufacture, the cost of
an establishment must be very excessive, as everything has to be brought
on mules or donkeys over the Andes from the ports of the Pacific coast.
I saw several drawing-rooms in the city that had as much plate-glass
and as many ornaments as are to be seen in a tastefully furnished house
in London, and most houses of any pretensions have good pianos, which,
costing perhaps £60 or £80 in Europe, are worth about £200 by the time
they get to Cochabamba. At this rate, one can easily see that it must
take a small fortune to furnish a house decently in the interior of the
republic of Bolivia.
The chief wealth of the department appears to be in agriculture, for
Cochabamba may certainly claim to be the agricultural capital of Bolivia,
La Paz, Potosí, and Oruro being the chief mineral centres, whilst the
true capital of the republic, Sucre, is the political and educational
centre. Cochabamba is the storehouse for the crops of wheat, maize,
barley, and potatoes that are grown on the plains on which the city
is built. There are many large gardens in the outskirts of the town,
which produce fruits of all kinds, such as grapes, oranges, apples,
pears, peaches, apricots, and strawberries. Roses, carnations, camelias,
and most European flowers are also grown, so that a visitor may easily
fancy himself in the south of France, or even in a well-stocked garden
at home, only that the latter idea must be of one of the finest summer
days of England for the comparison to hold good at all, for it is almost
impossible otherwise to compare the blue sky and fine clear atmosphere of
Cochabamba with our own murky and cloudy skies. Nearly all the quintas,
or country houses, are furnished with bathing arrangements, and have good
gardens attached to them; but the one that took my fancy most was named
“Maiorina,” a most valuable possession, or “finca,” as they are called.
This finca not only has the largest and best stock of fruit and flowers,
but it also has a really splendid douche bath. The house is built on
a steep hill-side, and a small mountain stream of clear cold water is
led by an aqueduct into the bath-house, which is dug out to a depth of
perhaps twelve feet, and well lined with marble. The fall of water is
about twenty feet, and as the stream enters the bath-house with a volume
of about six inches deep by twelve inches in width, the blow received by
the bather at the bottom is so severe that great caution is required to
avoid exposing one’s head to the full force of the water. The stream has
its rise in the snow that almost continually lies on the top of Tunari,
and the water is therefore intensely cold—so much so, that to descend
into the well of the bath nearly takes one’s breath away. The first
effect of the cold upon me was to give an intense pain at the back of
the head below the ears. I was therefore very cautious at first to keep
clear of the big douche, and, holding my hands over my head, and bending
forward somewhat in a diving attitude, receive the spray only, diverted
from the main stream by the hands. I was told that several incautious
bathers had been knocked down by the fall, and as the attendant does
not remain in the bath-room, such an occurrence may easily end fatally.
Notwithstanding the intense coldness of the water, and the fact that the
bath is about three miles from the city, it is well frequented, and I
saw many young ladies go with great regularity, although I should have
thought the cold would have deterred them from bathing. The bath is the
property of the owner of the Finca Maiorina, but he kindly allows the
public to use it on payment of a reale each, or about 4½_d._, a payment
which can only suffice to keep an attendant. The cost of construction
and the repairs must be altogether at the expense of the proprietor, to
whom all visitors to Cochabamba should be very grateful, for the bath is
certainly a splendid luxury.
Cochabamba, like the generality of South American towns, has its
“alaméda,” or place of public resort. To call these alamédas parks,
would be misleading, for they are generally too small to be dignified
with such a title, being more like some of the small parks or gardens
that have of late years been made in the suburbs of London, on spots
that were previously howling wastes, tenanted only by brickbats, dead
cats, and street arabs. Certainly London has somewhat improved latterly
in the matter of public enclosures, but still we could take a lesson
in this respect from South America, where, when a town is commenced,
almost the first thing projected is a plaza, or public square, and then
an alaméda, or public garden; so that the town, as it grows, is sure
of having some open breathing-places left unbuilt upon. Such a course
might be adopted with great advantage in each of the rapidly built up
suburban districts of London, where street is built close upon street,
and terrace upon terrace, so that to get a breath of fresh air one is
obliged to travel long distances to one of our noble parks, or right
into the country. The alaméda of Cochabamba is just outside the town,
and easily accessible on an evening or early morning stroll; it consists
of four avenues made by poplar trees. But one cannot speak highly of
the care bestowed on its preservation, for the walks are covered with a
thick dust, which rises in clouds upon the slightest provocation. The
entrance is through a gate or façade of considerable size, built of rough
stonework, covered with plaster, on which, painted in bright and glaring
colours, are representations, by a native artist, of some of the battles
fought during the War of Independence, that ended in the break up of the
empire of Spain in South America into the republics of the present day.
Art in Bolivia does not appear to have risen to any great height, and
therefore the frescoes and paintings by native artists that are to be
seen in public places are not of a very high order of merit, and remind
one forcibly of the cheap and highly coloured scenes sold at home for
children’s portable theatres. The rules of perspective also appear to be
about as much known in Bolivia as they apparently are in China or Japan;
so that the paintings have a mediæval or Byzantine look about them, which
might perhaps be highly appreciated in certain high art circles of the
present day.
The city is fairly furnished with shops, which do not, however, make
any great show in the windows, the goods being laid out in large stores
or warehouses. A few fondas and billiard-rooms have inferior _table
d’hôtes_, where the ordinary meals of the country can be procured,
but the cuisine is of very third-rate character, and such places are
therefore to be avoided if possible. Chocolate, sweets, and confectionery
are plentiful and good, but the splendid ices that are to be had all
through the year are the greatest luxury of Cochabamba. These are both
cheap and good, and are made, it is said, from the snow always lying in
the crevices of the heights of Tunari, from whence it is brought down
by Indians for the ice-makers, who turn it into cream, vanilla, lemon,
or strawberry ices, which meet with a ready sale during the heat of the
mid-day and afternoon hours.
At the “tertulias,” or evening parties, which are quite an institution
in Cochabamba, ices play an important part, along with tea, coffee,
cigarettes, and small-talk. These tertulias are, to my mind, about the
most dreary performances that a human being can be forced to assist
at. It is the custom after dinner for the ladies of the house to take
up their positions in rocking-chairs, a number of which are placed in
a circle, generally near the open windows, except on the few occasions
when the weather is unfavourable. Gentlemen friends are then expected
to drop in promiscuously and, occupying the vacant chairs, provide the
ladies with a feast of small-talk and scandal, which seems to be as
much admired in the west of the world as it is in the east. Frequently
these meetings take a political turn—and, indeed, one may almost say
that they always do—for it is very rare to find more than one of the
various parties of the day represented at a tertulia, as party spirit
runs so high in the gloriously free republics, that it is not at all
safe to differ in opinion with your neighbour at what would appear to be
a friendly reunion. A stranger, of course, is not supposed to take any
side in politics, but it is difficult to avoid being thought to be of
the same party as one’s host; and it is therefore sometimes necessary
to shift your opinions with every visit that you make during the course
of the evening, as you are not expected to stay at any one house more
than half an hour at the most, unless you are on very intimate terms
with the family. To see a circle of say ten or a dozen people rocking
away, some vigorously and others lackadaisically, while endeavouring
to keep up a conversation, has a very funny look; but the motion of
the chairs is so pleasant, that one soon falls in with the custom, and
rocks as hard as any of the natives, though not able to join always in
the chatting. The same kind of dreary visiting is practised on Sunday
afternoons, from about two until four or five, during which hours polite
and proper young men are to be seen hastening from house to house, got up
in most elaborate style, and evidently making a most serious business
of a social duty that, if taken more leisurely, would be a pleasure. A
peculiarity I noticed particularly at these tertulias was, that each of
the ladies present was addressed by the title of “señorita.” Whatever
her age or position in life, married or single, rich or poor, all are
señoritas in Bolivia. It used to sound excessively funny to hear an old
lady, perhaps a grandmamma, called “señorita,” whilst the same term
was used for her granddaughters; but, as in Rome one must do as Romans
do, so, in Bolivia, a traveller who wishes to be thought polite and
cultivated must be careful to address all Bolivianas by the style and
title of “señorita.”
There are many commercial firms of considerable standing, the principal
being three German houses, who make very large importations of European
manufactures. All these goods have to be brought on mules’ backs from
the ports of the Pacific coast over the Andes, and are therefore greatly
enhanced in value by the time they get to be exposed for sale in the
merchant’s store, the freight from the port of Arica to the interior of
the republic varying from £40 to £80 per ton of twenty quintals of 100
Spanish pounds each, according to the season or the class of goods. A ton
would be about eight mule-loads, and taking beer or wine as an example,
we find that the cost of the freight of a case of any liquor from the
Pacific coast would be £1 5_s._, and at times £2 10_s._, while the first
cost at home of a case of beer would not perhaps be more than 10_s._ or
12_s._
In consequence of this excessively high cost of freighting, the
exports of Bolivia are limited almost entirely to the richest portions
of the minerals with which the interior of the country abounds, and to
“cascarilla,” or the bark of the cinchona tree. Bolivia enjoys an almost
total monopoly of this latter valuable product, which received the name
of Peruvian bark, because Bolivia itself was called Alto Peru before the
War of Independence; but, at the present time, I think it may safely
be asserted that all the Peruvian bark that is exported from Peru is
collected in the forests of the province of Caupolican in Bolivia.[3]
Indeed, so localized is the cinchona tree, being only found over,
comparatively speaking, a small tract of country, that it may be feared
that in a few years it will become almost extinct, as the tree dies after
the bark has been stripped from it. The government of Bolivia—that is to
say, whenever there is any central power worth calling a government—is
always satisfied with collecting the export duties on the “cascarilla,”
and takes no steps whatever to ensure the replanting of the forests, but
seems to be satisfied with prohibiting the export of plants or seeds, and
thinks thus to keep the valuable trade to the country, ignoring totally
the fact that the day is fast approaching when all the cinchona trees
will have been killed, and a trade that might, with very little care,
have been a continuous source of revenue, will be entirely lost. But this
short-sighted policy is pursued in Bolivia in every branch of revenue.
Even the sums received from farming the tolls on the roads, such as they
are, have to be sent to the provincial or central treasuries, and not a
cent is spent in repairs until the road gets into a totally impassable
condition, when a few spasmodic efforts are made, and the smallest amount
possible is laid out, in order that the cash shall only be diverted from
the public treasury for as short a time as may be.
Notwithstanding the difficulties under which trade is carried on in
Bolivia, the merchants appear to do a flourishing business, and some
of the best firms keep up princely establishments, and generally have
branches in all the chief towns of the republic. The foreigners resident
in Bolivia are somewhat exclusive in their social life, and although on
friendly terms with the townspeople, it is only on certain occasions
that one sees a mixed company of Bolivians and Europeans. But I noticed
that this exclusiveness only referred to dinner-parties—a class of
entertainment for which the European residents evidently do not think
the Bolivians sufficiently well educated. There is, it must be allowed,
good reason for thinking so, as the manners and customs of a Bolivian
dinner-table differ in many essential points from a European one. For
instance, salt-cellars are not often provided with salt-spoons; one’s
own knife being thought to be all that is wanted for carving the joint,
serving vegetables, and helping one’s self to salt, pepper, or mustard.
Similarly, table or gravy spoons are almost unknown, as every one helps
himself to soup or gravy with his own spoon. These little peculiarities,
doubtless, account for the almost general absence of European guests
at Bolivian tables, and _vice versâ_. At balls or soirées it is, of
course, absolutely necessary that ladies should be, if not in a majority,
at least well represented; and as there are not sufficient European
ladies in any town even for a quadrille, it is upon these occasions that
one gets a chance of seeing the ladies of the country to the greatest
advantage. The German merchants do not seem to admire the “bello sexo”
of Bolivia sufficiently to be often caught in the matrimonial net, and
any bold adventurer who falls captive to the charms of a fair Boliviana,
and accepts her for better or worse, is by his fellow-countrymen rather
thought to have made a mistake. Frequently the balls and parties are
got up in an impromptu manner, and then they are really delightful. I
remember one of these, at which, after dancing till nearly midnight, a
moonlight ride was proposed, and immediately put into execution. There
was no lack of horses, and, through the kindness of one of my German
friends, I was excellently well mounted; and away we started, about half
a dozen ladies and a dozen cavaliers. Through the quiet town we rode at
a good pace, and out across the plain to a lagoon, then entirely dry,
where we ran races by the bright moonlight, and let off some rockets and
crackers that one of the Germans had brought with him. We passed our
pocket-flasks round, the ladies also not disdaining a small nip to keep
them from catching cold with the night air, and then back to town, having
thoroughly enjoyed the ride.
The foreign residents in Cochabamba always receive travellers with the
greatest kindness and hospitality, and for my part I shall always retain
the liveliest memories of the good time I spent with them. By one of the
principal German firms I was received quite as a friend, although I was
not provided with letters of introduction to the house. The establishment
I refer to was throughout kept up on a most magnificent scale, and the
arrangements of the various rooms, such as dining, billiard, and smoking
and reading rooms, were as complete and as well ordered as many a club
at home. An American firm of contractors for public works, and owners
of the coaches that run from Cochabamba to Arani through the valley of
Cliza, have a fine house and workshops just on the outskirts of the
city, and are, far and away, the most hospitable men it has ever been
my lot to meet with; indeed, I do not call to mind ever having seen
such an open house kept up anywhere else. So truly hospitable are these
worthy Americans, that they expect every English-speaking traveller who
passes through Cochabamba to go direct to their house, and just take up
his quarters there, as though he were an old friend of years’ standing.
I was an entire stranger to them, and did not know of this excellent
custom of theirs, and so I fear that I involuntarily offended them by
going to the tambo instead of to their establishment; however, I did my
best afterwards to make up for lost time, by eating as many breakfasts
and dinners with them as possible, for they certainly kept the best cook
in Cochabamba. Every day these good fellows have meals prepared for at
least half a dozen more people than they have staying with them at the
moment, so that they are always prepared to receive casual droppers-in,
and on Sundays I have seen a score or so of self-invited guests sit down
to a first-rate breakfast, excellent in character and quality, both in
eatables and drinkables, and the meal has gone on just as though it had
been specially prepared for the occasion. Long life to these hospitable
Yankees, say I, and may their shadow never be less! and I am sure
that every one who knows them personally will echo my wish for their
prosperity and success.
While praising the hospitality of the foreigners resident in Cochabamba,
I must not forget that shown me by many of the native families of the
town, lest it should be thought that the Bolivians are behind their
European friends in this respect. By all the Bolivians with whom I came
in contact, I was received with the greatest cordiality, and by one
family, to the head of which I had been specially recommended by Don
Ignacio Bello of Trinidad, I was received quite as one of the family
circle, which I take to be about the greatest compliment that can be paid
to a stranger. My host, in this case, was a travelled and highly educated
man, while his charming señora was of one of the best families of La Paz,
and they had evidently improved greatly upon the general manners and
customs of the country, for their table was always well appointed, and
bountifully supplied with good things.
Cochabamba has a small theatre, but there is no regular company, and
travelling ones seldom visit the town, as it is out of the principal
routes of travel. During my stay, there was an amateur performance by
young men, who took both male and female parts; but their acting was
childish and nonsensical in the extreme, and the townsfolk seemed to be
of the same opinion, for the amateurs played to empty benches.
The climate of Cochabamba may, in my opinion, be classed amongst the
finest of the world, as it enjoys an almost perpetual summer, whilst the
nights are pleasantly cool, and therefore invigorating to constitutions
depressed by the humid heat of the Madeira and Amazon valleys. There
seems to be but little difference all the year round. Certain months have
more rain than others, the wettest months being November to January,
but even then the rain only falls in the shape of good heavy showers,
lasting, perhaps, an hour or so, when the sun breaks out again. A
thoroughly wet day, with rain falling from morn till night, is a great
rarity in Cochabamba, although at higher and lower altitudes, in the
same parallel of latitude, such days are of frequent occurrence, while
the central plains of Bolivia seem to have just a desirable amount of
rainfall and no more.
Few towns could be mentioned that are more advantageously situated, from
a hygienic point of view; indeed, I should say that a “City of Health”
might be established at Cochabamba with very good results. Fever and ague
are quite unknown, and if sanitary matters were attended to, it might
soon be said that the place was quite free from diseases of any kind;
but unfortunately, at present, such sicknesses as small-pox and scarlet
fever are got rid of with difficulty, owing to the filthy habits of at
least four-fifths of the natives of the place, who seem to be quite
without any notions of public cleanliness. There are no sewers or drains
of any kind whatever, and consequently the state of the whole city, with
the exception of a few of the principal squares and main thoroughfares,
which are swept every day by a gang of prisoners from the town jail, can
be easier imagined than described. Vaccination also is much neglected,
and consequently, when an outbreak of this dreadful scourge occurs, it
rapidly takes vast dimensions, and great numbers suffer and die, for the
Indian blood seems to cause the disease to take its most virulent form.
A town like this offers a most favourable opportunity for showing clearly
the advantages afforded by a dry earth system of sewage to cities
destitute of a plentiful supply of water. A president who would introduce
this beneficent system into Bolivia would, in my opinion, confer a far
greater favour on his country than any of its rulers have hitherto
succeeded in doing. It will, perhaps, scarcely be credited, that even
in the best establishments there are no closets or other receptacles
for house refuse; indeed, in my experience throughout the country, such
a convenience never came to my notice, excepting in the houses of the
foreign residents. There is a back yard to most houses, which I can only
describe as a dreadful cloaca maxima, and this horrid place is frequented
by all the members of the family, without distinction of age or sex. The
house refuse is thrown in this yard, and although pigs, dogs, mules,
and any other animals that may be on the establishment are turned loose
therein, the hot sun seems left to do the work of a disinfectant, except
that an occasional sweeping takes place, when the rubbish that remains is
set fire to, and burned to ashes.
When one sees such a dreadful want of the commonest knowledge of sanitary
matters amongst a society otherwise sufficiently cultivated, one is
almost tempted to think that there must be something fundamentally wrong
in the educational system of the country; and certainly it must be set
down as a great blot upon the teachings of the Roman Catholic clergy of
South America, that they have not taught their flocks the elementary
principle that “cleanliness is next to godliness.” The people are,
however, so apathetic, and so thoroughly wedded to their customs, that
probably a revolution might be threatened to any president who should
endeavour to make a law of common decency obligatory in the republic.
Perhaps, however, it has been thought that sewers are beyond the
financial resources of the towns; and there may be another good reason,
namely, that an abundant supply of water is not to be depended upon all
the year round. But dry earth is always at hand, and therefore it seems
at once apparent that Moule’s system would confer great blessings upon
all the communities, if it were thoroughly carried out.
Very little has been done in mining in the immediate neighbourhood of
Cochabamba, as from its great distance from the coast the carriage of
any but the richest silver ores would be too expensive to leave any
profit for the miner. There is, however, without doubt, immense wealth in
minerals in all the hills encircling the plain in which the city stands,
and, in proof of this, I was shown many specimens of manganese, silver,
and lead ores that had been taken from the outcrop of the lodes in the
district. These minerals must remain unexplored until the railway and
navigation of the Madeira valley shall have opened up Eastern Bolivia,
and caused good roads to be made from the head-waters of the Madeira and
Amazon to the interior of the republic.
The people of Cochabamba, of all classes and shades of public opinion,
are resolved to do all that lies in their power to assist this enterprise
to completion, for they see in it their only hope of emancipating
themselves from the heavy costs and charges levied upon all their
European necessities by the merchants of La Paz and the Peruvian ports
on the Pacific coast, as also their only hope of securing an outlet
for those abundant agricultural products that are now lost for want of
customers.
FOOTNOTES
[3] The average yearly shipments of Peruvian bark from Arica amount to
9611 cwts., of 100 lbs. each, having a cash value at the port of about
£118,300. (See Appendix, p. 400.)
CHAPTER XXIV.
Shortest route to the Pacific coast from Cochabamba—Journey
to Sucre _viâ_ Totora determined upon—Leave Cochabamba
in one of Haviland and Keay’s coaches—Dangers of the
journey—Tarata and Cliza—The pampas compared to the plains
of Central India—Punata—Señor Manuel Arauco, his house,
family, museum, etc.—Manufacture of felt hats, ponchos,
etc.—Arani—Lagoons near Vacas—Irrigation works—New road
between Arani and Totora—Pocona—Totora—Proposed road from
Totora to the river Chimoré—Probable future system of roads in
the east of Bolivia—Misque—Ravines and river-courses used as
roads—Aiquile—Chinguri—Quiroga—Palca—Cuestas Jaboncillo and
Masa-Cruz—Canto Molino—Thermal spring of Huata—First view of
Sucre.
From Cochabamba, the shortest route across the republic to the Pacific
coast, is to go by Oruro to Tacna and Arica, and the road is a regularly
travelled one, with posting-houses, which I have been told are the best
in Bolivia. My business obliged me to visit Sucre, and I determined
to make a round by Totora and Misque, in order to see a new cart-road
that was in course of construction from Arani to Totora, at which place
I hoped to obtain some information as to the practicability of a road
from thence to the Chimoré, the proposed new port for the navigation
enterprise of the Madeira River.
The only means of travelling in the interior of Bolivia is by mules; so
I bargained with an arriero for the necessary animals for the journey to
Sucre, at the rate of fifteen pesos, about £2 8_s._, for each animal,
the arriero having to provide forage at his own expense. This is the best
bargain to make, but the arrieros prefer getting the traveller to buy the
forage, so that, acting in collusion with the villagers or posting-house
keepers, they may be able to defraud the unfortunate traveller daily.
The usual charge per mule from Cochabamba to Sucre is about twelve or
thirteen pesos, say £2, inclusive of expenses for forage, etc.; but the
route by Totora is longer than the route mostly used, which goes by San
Pedro, so I had to pay a higher price. As some parts of the road are
said to be infested by foot-pads, it is not advisable to travel alone;
and as it would be difficult to find an honest arriero who would do
so, it is just as well to make some inquiries about the arriero that
offers his services, and secure one that is known to the merchants or
respectable people. The gentry who in Bolivia practise the profession
of mule-drivers, are not as a rule to be trusted with untold gold, but
the “gay muleteer” seems all over the world to have rather a shady
reputation; however, if a traveller secures an arriero that is well known
to the merchants, he and his belongings will be perfectly safe.
On the 31st of August, I despatched my arriero ahead with my baggage and
saddle-mules, and settled to leave Cochabamba in Messrs. Haviland and
Keay’s coach about mid-day, the proprietors, my worthy American friends,
having given me a free ride to Arani. We ought to have left at mid-day,
but the prefect was behindhand with his despatches to the central
government at Sucre, so we were detained for nearly an hour beyond the
proper time of starting. The coaches are big, lumbering affairs, looking
like a cross between a Spanish diligence and a French char-à-banc, but
they are, by their weight and strength of springs and wheels, well suited
to the extremely rough roads that have to be travelled over. They are
drawn by six horses, driven in our case by an American coachman with a
wooden leg, he having had his leg broken in one of the frequent upsets
that the conveyances meet with. A Bolivian who travelled in my company
to Totora, and who was contractor for the new road that I was going to
see, was lame from the same cause; so when I took my seat, and said
farewell to the friends who came to see me off, I must say I had serious
misgivings as to whether I should reach the journey’s end in safety, and
would far rather have mounted my mule, instead of accepting the seat in
the coach.
The roads were frightfully loose, the six horses raising fearful clouds
of dust; consequently the driver and native passengers required frequent
and copious draughts of their national drinks at every chicha-shop we
passed, these libations being varied by repeated applications to bottles
of “pisco,” or white rum, during the runs between the “chicherias.” I
don’t think that I could conscientiously say that this heavy drinking
was entirely caused by the dust, as all the passengers seemed to have
provided themselves with bottles of pisco quite as part of their
travelling impedimenta. The result was that the driver soon got so
intoxicated that he was quite unable to keep his team on the track which
was dignified with the name of a road. How he managed to keep himself on
the box was a marvel; but I fancy that he was able to jam the end of his
wooden leg into a crack in the foot-board, and so, getting a purchase, he
was able to retain his seat notwithstanding his condition, and the severe
lurches that the coach took at frequent intervals. As for the passengers,
the frequent drinks took effect in different ways; the men were mostly
hilarious and noisy, but the females of the party, and some of the
younger males, were very ill. Certainly the movements of the coach, as it
swayed and rolled over the ruts and channels in the track, were almost
as bad as those of a small Liverpool liner “in the Bay of Biscay O!” but
if so much pisco and chicha had not been consumed _en route_, I think we
should have been spared some of the very distressing scenes that occurred
on the road.
Leaving Cochabamba, we were soon on the pampas, and as August is one
of the dry months, the fields were bare and dusty, but in the spring
and showery seasons large crops of barley, wheat, and maize are raised.
The pampas are dotted over with the dome-shaped huts and houses of the
Quichuan Indians, and from their being built in mud and stones, the
country presents features similar to many of the plains of Central India,
with their stone and mud walled villages. We passed through the towns
of Tarata and Cliza, both populous and flourishing places, built on the
flat pampas, and at each of these towns we had to stop while politics
were discussed, and vast quantities of pisco and chicha consumed; indeed,
these stoppages were so frequent and of such lengthy duration, that it
was quite dark before we arrived at Punata, where my Bolivian friends
had determined to put up for the night; considering the bad state of the
roads, the condition of our Jehu, the frequent jibbing of the horses,
who, whenever the coach got into an extra deep rut, scattered all over
the road and stood head to head, refusing either to pull, or even to move
out of the way and allow the passengers to push the coach themselves, a
performance that we had to go through several times, until the horses
seemed to be ashamed of themselves, and suddenly started off at full
gallop again.
The arriero, with the mules and luggage, got to Punata shortly before we
arrived there, and were waiting for us on the plaza. My Bolivian friend
would not allow me to go to the public tambo, but took me to the house of
a friend of his, Señor Manuel Arauco, who received me most kindly, and
gave me both house-room and entertainment. My host is one of the most
influential persons of Punata, and a most remarkable man. On entering
his house I was much struck with the dignity of his appearance, he being
perhaps six feet three or four inches, and of a frame suitable to such a
height; but when he did me the honour of introducing me to his family,
and I beheld a tall and stately lady in the prime of life, with, three
queenly daughters, all up to six feet at least, and of most handsome and
pleasing features, I thought it would be hard to match such a bevy of
graces anywhere else in the world. My first impressions almost inclined
me to believe that some one of the numerous accidents of the journey from
Cochabamba had been fatal in its effects, and that I, a second Gulliver,
had awakened in Brobdignagia, but the kind and pleasing manners of my
host and hostess soon convinced me that, though my entertainers were
giants they were also mortals. The evening passed away quickly, in the
usual rocking-chair and desultory chit-chat style, and the following
morning I was ready for the road by 7 a.m.; but my Bolivian friend was
not to the fore, heavy drinking not being compatible with early rising. I
therefore sent my baggage mules ahead with the arriero and servant boy,
giving them orders to wait for me at Vacas, the village where we intended
to make the next halt, the distance from Punata being about thirty miles.
While waiting for my Bolivian friend to sleep off the effects of
yesterday’s chicha and pisco, I strolled through the streets of Punata,
which I found to be a town of about 16,000 inhabitants, with the usual
central plaza, and roughly paved, but well laid-out streets. The chief
trade seemed to be in wheat, barley, and potatoes, which were to be
bought either wholesale or retail in almost every store. Clothing for
the Indian population seems to be made in the town; ponchos and a kind
of rough cloth being made from vicunha and other wools. Felt hats are
also a staple industry of the place, and, being of excellent quality,
are much sought for throughout the republic. The best and softest are
made from vicunha wool, and are worth from twelve to fifteen pesos
bolivianos—say £2 10_s._ to £3; but one of sheep’s wool can be bought
for any price, from half a dollar upwards. The makers of these hats use
a rough frame, on which a cloth is stretched to receive the wool; under
this is suspended a kind of bow, the cord of which passes about an
inch or two over the cloth; the wool is then beaten by the cord being
pulled smartly, the effect of the process being to beat the wool into
a very fine fluff, which is wetted and pressed into the required shape
with the addition of sufficient size to give the necessary stiffness.
The delay in starting also gave me the opportunity of becoming better
acquainted with my host, Señor Arauco, whom I found to be a most worthy
and intelligent man. He possesses a very interesting museum of animals,
birds, insects, and general products of the province, and although
he is of independent circumstances, he is by no means an idle man.
He told me that his amusements consisted of the “arts and sciences,”
and that he made what discoveries he could, and instructed young men
of the town in any that proved to be useful. Indeed, the whole family
seemed to be occupied in teaching something, for the young ladies
taught artificial-flower making and lace-making gratuitously, they
having learned these useful accomplishments from books. Señor Arauco’s
labours included photographing, bird-stuffing, and preserving skins of
animals, cabinet-making, tanning, and wood-staining; and he showed me
some excellently tanned specimens of leather of different colours and
qualities; also various dyestuffs and drugs collected in the forests of
the hills which border on the plains of the Beni. Amongst other articles,
I noticed and brought away samples of brasiletto wood, campeachy, and a
root which might be utilized as a purple dye instead of orchella weed;
also turmeric, collected near Santa Cruz, and called “coorcama” in the
district. This article commands a large sale in Europe at about £30 per
ton, and as it is to be found in large quantities on the slope of all the
hills bordering the plains of the Beni, it might, with great advantage,
be made an article of export when the railway of the rapids has been
constructed. Señor Arauco, spoke with great enthusiasm of the benefits
to accrue to the eastern provinces of Bolivia from the completion of the
railway and navigation schemes.
Towards mid-day my Bolivian companion pulled himself together, and we
started from Punata about 1 p.m., and, after a couple of hours’ ride,
passed through Arani, a small town at the end of the pampa, remarkable
only for its extremely narrow and ill-paved streets. We then began to
ascend the hills by the new road, for which my Bolivian companion was
the contractor. The road is worked in zigzag grades up the mountain
sides, the inclination being probably 1 in 8 and 1 in 10, and seeming to
me to be too steep for any kind of coach, including American ones with
wooden-legged drivers. The scenery in these parts is wild and gloomy, the
hills being almost denuded of any kind of vegetation except a long rough
grass, which seems to give good pasturage to the cattle, roaming about
apparently quite untended or watched by any one. The view from the hills
looking across the pampas of Arani and Cliza would have been very fine
had it not been much obscured by clouds of dust, and by the mirage left
by the intense heat of the mid-day sun.
We had to ride pretty sharply, as travelling after dark on such roads
is not at all a pleasant business, for one could easily miss the road,
and find one’s self rolling down the mountain side; but we had better
luck, and got to Vacas about seven o’clock, just as night was falling in.
Near Vacas are the lagoons from which it is proposed to take water for
the irrigation of the pampas of the Cliza and Arani valley. These lakes
are three in number, the largest being about one and a half leagues in
length, by half a league in breadth. The works, which have been carried
out by Messrs. Haviland and Keay, of Cochabamba, for account of Mr. Henry
Meiggs, of Lima, are now in abeyance, and it was supposed that they
would be abandoned, as it was surmised that if the channels cut from the
lagoons to the pampas were opened, the lagoons would drain dry in about
four years, and therefore no return for the capital spent (about £50,000)
would be obtained. I think it may be considered that these lagoons are
only drainage deposits from the surrounding hills, which attain altitudes
of 14,000 and 15,000 feet, the lakes themselves being about 9500 feet
above sea level, while the pampas to be irrigated are at an altitude
of nearly 9000 feet. There are no rivers to empty themselves into the
lagoons, and there is only the drainage of the hills to depend upon,
and as this drainage is probably in excess of the yearly evaporation,
the level of the water is kept up; but some authorities think that the
lakes are decreasing yearly in size, while others say that the level is
kept up by a supply from springs below the ordinary surface level. These
lakes are probably parallels, on a small scale, of Lake Titicaca, in the
north-western corner of Bolivia, or of the Lake of Valencia in Venezuela,
lakes that are known to be decreasing rapidly from extended agriculture,
aided, in the case of Lake Valencia, by denudation of forests. If
irrigation could be taken to the pampa lands of the Cliza valley, they
would perhaps become the richest agricultural plains in the world, as
their climate, owing to the considerable elevation, is suitable for the
production of almost any cereal; and it seems somewhat strange that
proper statistics of the rainfall of the district have not been taken,
in order to determine whether the yearly supply received into the lakes
would be equal to the demand.
Vacas is a small Indian village, of no other interest than that it
is said that from thence exists a path that leads to the Chimoré and
Coni, and its position on the map would lead to the belief that it is
favourably situated for explorations to those rivers. As we arrived after
dark, we found the posta locked up and deserted, but, after some little
trouble, the man in charge was hunted up by our arriero, and a fowl and
some potatoes having been purchased, we set our boys to make a “chupe;”
for we had been provident enough to put up a small bag of onions,
chillies, and other condiments, not forgetting the ever necessary garlic,
before we left Cochabamba. We therefore managed to make a very excellent
pot, which provided us with a capital supper, after which my camp-bed
was put together for me, and my Bolivian friend contented himself with a
shake-down on the mud bench, which, with a rough table, forms the only
furniture of the postas, whilst the arriero and the boys slept on the
hides and mats that we carried for covering the cargoes of baggage, and
for protecting the animals’ backs from the pack-saddles.
The next morning, the 2nd of September, we were up betimes, having our
mules saddled and cargoes up by 6 a.m., when we left Vacas, intending
to make the day’s journey end at Totora, distant about twelve leagues.
The greater part of the route lay over the new road from Arani to
Totora, which has been made without any engineering help, the grades,
consequently, being very uncertain. The sites chosen for the road might
also in many cases have been much improved upon. In one instance, part
of the road, about two leagues before arriving at Pocona, a small and
unimportant village about midway between Arani and Totora, has been
taken over a ridge, the descent from which is accomplished by a zigzag
of three inclines of possibly 1 in 6 at least, while a far preferable
route up a ravine near by was available, in which the abrupt descent
might have been avoided by a continuous grade of about 1 in 25. However,
considerable work has been undertaken in the construction of this road,
some of the cuts being of great depth, one point of rock being cut down
fifty feet at least. Altogether, the work reflects the greatest credit
on the contractor, Señor Demetrio Jordan, of Cochabamba, it being the
first piece of road construction undertaken in the republic by a Bolivian
contractor. The tools in use by the peons were of the most miserable
description, and of native manufacture, and, considering this, it is
clear that the Quichuan Indians may be made very fair navvies. The daily
wages they earned were, I was given to understand, about four reales, or
1_s._ 7_d._, without provisions.
Pocona merits no other mention, than that its beautiful site, at the
head of a splendid valley, will attract a population when the interior of
the republic enjoys the facilities of improved ways of communication.
At dusk we arrived at Totora, the approach to which reminded me very much
of a ride in the Black Country of home, for the numerous chicherias on
the outskirts of the town were belching forth many-tongued flames of fire
into the gathering darkness. Totora is a place of considerable trade, and
contains about 15,000 inhabitants. It is the chief emporium in Eastern
Bolivia for “coca,” which is collected here from the plantations of the
Yungas of San Antonio and Espiritu Santo, etc., and despatched to the
towns of the interior. The tax levied on this article forms a principal
item of the budget of the treasury of the republic, and my friend the
Bolivian contractor received payment for his road from Arani by the
hypothecation of this tax for a certain number of years. Coffee, flour,
sugar, and potatoes are also articles of export to other departments,
while foreign merchandise finds its way here from Sucre and Santa Cruz,
numerous droves or “recuas” of mules and donkeys being met with between
Totora and Sucre.
In Totora I sought information with reference to roads leading to the
head-waters of the Chimoré, and was introduced to two of the principal
men of the place, Don Eugenio Soriano, and Don Saturnino Vela. These
gentlemen are owners of “cocales,” or plantations of coca, in the
hills which form the watersheds of the affluents of the Mamoré, and of
those of the Rio Grande, Señor Soriano has made a track from Totora
to Arepucho, where his cocales are situated, and is now cutting a
further track from Arepucho to the Chimoré. He assured me that a much
better road is found by Arepucho than by Espiritu Santo and the Yungas
of San Antonio, and gave me the distances thus: Totora to Arepucho,
fourteen leagues, and Arepucho to the Chimoré, twelve leagues; total
twenty-six. The road from Cochabamba to Coni, _viâ_ Espiritu Santo, is
forty-four leagues. If the road from Arepucho to Totora be made, the
twenty-six leagues can be easily ridden in two or three days at most;
and from Totora to Cochabamba, the road being good, can be done in two
days, making, say, five days in all, the last day of which can be done
in coach from Arani. The Espiritu Santo route cannot be got over with
any degree of comfort in less than seven days, and the road is not
susceptible of much improvement; whilst the wide crossing of the river
San Antonio renders the route almost impracticable for general traffic.
It appears, therefore, that future efforts for the opening up of the
interior of Bolivia by the Amazon and Madeira route, should be directed
to the construction of a road from the Chimoré, _viâ_ Arepucho, to
Vacas or Totora, this latter place having the advantage of being a good
starting-point for a road to Sucre, as well as to Cochabamba and Oruro.
These roads may, at some future date, be developed into an internal
system of railways for the eastern part of Bolivia, in connection with
the Madeira and Mamoré Railway.
The next day’s journey was to terminate at Misque, distant about twelve
leagues. The arriero and his mules were despatched early, whilst I
waited till about nine o’clock, by which time a breakfast was prepared
for me by the family that, through the introduction of my Bolivian
companion, had given me lodgings for the night.
The height of Totora is about 10,000 feet above sea-level, and the
surrounding country is rocky and barren. The road rises slightly on
leaving the town, and soon falls on to a large plain, about 500 feet
below the Totora hills. It then rises very sharply to 11,500 feet, only
to descend, by a very steep and bad “cuesta,” into a narrow and tortuous
quebrada, up which it runs for about a couple of leagues. This part of
the route was said to be infested by robbers, but though I passed up
it alone I was unmolested, except by stray cattle, that several times
disputed the right of way with me. Certainly a better place for attacking
travellers could scarcely be imagined, for the ravine was in many parts
not more than twenty yards in width, its steep sides being covered with
brushwood, affording capital cover for an ambush.
Road-making in Bolivia is still in its infancy, and in the hilly parts
of the interior the tracks are taken up the bottom of the ravines, as,
during the dry seasons, a better riding road is found there than could,
without considerable work, be had on the sides. This arrangement is
all very well when the ravines and rivers are dry, but in the rainy
season they become quite impassable, and consequently all communication
between towns situated as Totora and Misque are, is at an end until dry
weather returns. Riding in these ravine roads is also very dangerous
in unsettled weather, for a storm may occur on the hills from which
the ravine leads, and a flood will then come down upon the unfortunate
traveller, with but little warning of its approach.
I overtook the arriero, with his train of cargo-mules, about two o’clock
in the afternoon, and the whole day was passed in very rough riding,
the “cuestas” and “bajadas” or ascents and descents being frequent and
severe. At Misque, where we arrived about 7 p.m., I presented a letter of
introduction with which I had been favoured to one of the head men of the
town, who I will leave nameless, on account of the shabby manner in which
the people of his household treated me. The patron himself was not at
home when I arrived, and it seemed that his people had been celebrating
his temporary absence with a drinking bout; for when I knocked at the
door, I was greeted with shouts of derisive laughter, and roughly told
that I had better take up my quarters in the “cabildo,” or town gaol.
This incivility mattered but little to me, personally, as I had my small
tent and plenty of provisions, and could therefore pitch my camp in the
plaza of the town with perfect comfort to myself; but I always preferred
getting house quarters, if possible, as, the nights being cold, my
arriero and servant-boy required shelter also. However, we found an empty
room in the town hall, and took possession of it, cooking our supper in
the courtyard; and during the night the patron returned, and immediately
came to see me, tendering profuse and profound apologies for the way in
which his people had treated me. Such an occurrence deserves noting, on
account of its being the only instance that ever I heard of upon which a
traveller has been turned away with inhospitality from a Bolivian house
of any pretensions to respectability, and I am sure the owner, in this
case, was very much annoyed at his family’s rudeness.
Misque is an old cathedral town, once of considerable importance, as is
evidenced by the many pretentious buildings, now empty and falling into
decay. It is said that the abandonment of the town during late years has
been caused by a curse that has fallen on it, because of the murder,
during a revolution, of one of the bishops of Misque, who, after death,
was dragged through the town at a horse’s tail. The true reason for the
desertion of the place is more probably to be found in the prevalence
of an aguish fever, caused by bad drainage. The town is situated in a
beautiful plain, about 7000 feet above sea-level, and should, therefore,
be very healthy. Irrigation has been carried to some extent, several
fields and “pôtreros,” or feeding-grounds for cattle, in the immediate
neighbourhood of the town being in very fair order. Due provision for the
escape of surplus water has not, however, been provided, and the stagnant
water, left to dry up by evaporation, is doubtless the cause of the
sickness.
The next stage, done on September 4th, was from Misque to Aiquile, about
ten leagues. The first half of the day’s riding was made up a very wide
and almost dry river-bed, the slopes of the hills on either side being
dotted with comfortable-looking farmhouses. The road travelled over
during this day was much more level than that of the previous days, the
greatest altitude passed being about 9000 feet, and we arrived at Aiquile
early in the afternoon. The corregidor of the town was a very amiable
and pleasant man, who soon procured very comfortable lodgings for me,
in the house of an old lady said to be 105 years old. This age was duly
attested by the church books, and certainly the appearance of the old
lady seemed to give authenticity to the statement. She herself told me
that she attributed her great age to the miraculous care of a “Crucified
Christ” that she had in a glass case, and under lace curtains, in her
principal room; but the climate of the place seemed to me so delightful,
that I should not have been surprised to have heard that people generally
lived to great ages there. The town is a thriving place, of about 4000
inhabitants, the streets being broad and well laid out. The trade seems
to be entirely in agricultural products, principally carried on with
the town of Santa Cruz de la Sierra, to which place a road branches off
from Aiquile. Flour, potatoes, coca, and salt are sent to Santa Cruz, in
return for sugar and chocolate. Aiquile is 7850 feet above sea-level.
September 5th. We were in the saddle by 8 a.m., and on for Chinguri and
Quiroga, another stage of about nine leagues. Both these places are small
hamlets of little importance, the only thing worthy of mention being
that at Quiroga, about 7000 feet above sea-level, there are several
very large and fine “cañaverales,” or fields of sugar-cane, small in
height and of slender growth, but said to yield good produce. Cultivation
was well carried on, considerable work in aqueducts, channels, and
other irrigational requirements having been executed. The corregidor
of Quiroga was not so amiable as his official brother of Aiquile, and
refused to give me any assistance in obtaining a night’s lodging. We
therefore looked about the town to shift for ourselves as we best could,
and entering the courtyard of the largest house in the place, we found
that the owner was absent, and therefore we appropriated the “patio,” or
central courtyard, to our use, and made up our beds under the verandah,
which protected us a little from the dew at night.
From Quiroga to Palca forms the next day’s journey of about twelve
leagues, mostly through a succession of ravines, the bottom lands being
cultivated with sugar-cane and maize, or lucerne (“alfa”), wherever
irrigation has been found practicable. At about the middle of the stage
the traveller enters upon the course of the Rio Grande, flowing between
two ranges of hills, on either of which a road might, with considerable
ease, be constructed. Bolivian road-makers, as I have already observed,
prefer the bed of a river to its banks, and so the road or track is
taken up the stream, crossing it about seven times. The river was rising
rapidly as we rode up its course, and I therefore looked out anxiously
for a bridge, which is much talked of as a wonderful work of art; but,
on getting to it, found that, as is apparently customary with bridges
in Bolivia, it consisted of abutments only, the roadway being missing
entirely; so we had to ford the river again, the water coming well up
to our saddles. This bridge had a suspended roadway on chains, to which
so great a sag or curve was given, that during a heavy flood the whole
top structure was washed away. The site was well chosen at two points
of rock jutting out from the main hills on either side, and approaching
each other to within about 100 feet, the foundations for the abutments
being so good, that, notwithstanding the badness of the masonry, they had
for some years resisted the frequent floods. The Rio Grande, therefore,
does not offer any very great obstacle to the formation of a good road
to Sucre, which will some day be constructed—that is, when the Bolivians
begin to think more of road-making, and improving the interior of their
country, than of revolutions. In the rainy season, when the river is
full, and, by reason of its extremely swift current, quite impassable to
animals, a “balsa,” or raft, worked somewhat lower down the river than
the site of the broken bridge, forms the only means of communication. The
day’s ride terminated at Palca, a small farm, or “hacienda,” where, the
proprietor being absent, we could get no other accommodation than a bare
room to sleep in and fodder for our mules.
The last stage commences at Palca, and ends at Sucre. The ride is a
short one of about eight leagues, but on account of the many ascents and
descents it is advisable to set out early. We left about 6 a.m., and soon
reached the “Cuesta de Jaboncillo,” so called from the greasy nature of
the earth—apparently a steatite, or soapstone—on which the mules find
great difficulty in keeping a footing. This cuesta, short but sharp in
slope, is of no great height; but the next, called “Masa Cruz,” rises to
about 8550 feet above sea-level, and on the Sucre side falls 1350 feet in
about a couple of miles. This was perhaps the steepest hill that I ever
recollect riding over; for although the ruling gradient would be only
about 1 in 9, or say 11 per cent., many parts of the descent were 1 in
4, or 25 per cent., and in these places it was as much as I could do to
preserve my seat in the saddle. A traveller in the interior of Bolivia
must be careful to purchase a stout and strong crupper—the best being the
native-made ones—to be made fast, by at least three thongs or laces, to
as many rings or D hooks at the back of the saddle. These do not gall the
mules so much as the English make; but many travellers prefer a breeching
and breast-strap, so that they are ready for both ascents and descents.
At the foot of Masa Cruz, on a small plot of flat land, formed at
the junction of three large and deep ravines, are a few houses and a
flour-mill called “El Canto Molino.” Here most of the maize and wheat
grown in the Cochabamba districts is ground. It seemed strange that corn
should have to be brought all the way from Cochabamba to this place to
be ground, and the fact offers a striking example of the difficulties
caused by the want of good roads; for, just as Mahomet had to go to the
mountain when he found that the mountain could not go to him, so the corn
of Cochabamba has to be taken to Canto Molino to be turned into flour,
for there only is good material for millstones to be found. It would
be almost an impossibility to drag grindstones up the ascents between
the Canto Molino and Cochabamba, but the corn and flour can be easily
carried, and affords remunerative employment to a small army of mule and
donkey proprietors. The machinery of the mill is, as may be supposed, of
very old-fashioned and primitive construction, being principally made of
hard wood. The power is obtained from a vertical wheel, driven by water
led down from the neighbouring ravines.
From Canto Molino the road leads up a ravine of from 200 to 300 yards
in width, with hilly country on either side offering good sidelong
ground for a road; but here again the road is taken up the bed of the
river, which, from being dry for the greater part of the year, offers a
ready-made road quite good enough for animal traffic. At Huata, in this
ravine, there is a thermal spring, at which a bathing establishment, much
patronized by the residents of Sucre, has been built. The spring is led
into a receptacle about twenty feet square by five or six feet deep, the
water flowing constantly through, so that one can enjoy its delightful
temperature notwithstanding the smallness of the bath. I had no means of
gauging the temperature, but should guess that it was about 75° or 80°
Fahr.; and it is necessary to be rather cautious about exposure after
bathing, as the place being about 8000 feet above sea-level, changes
in the temperature are not infrequent. Beyond Huata there is a very
sharp cuesta, which rises to 10,000 feet elevation, and shortly after
surmounting the crest of this hill, the capital of Bolivia, Sucre, or
Chuquisaca as it is called in the Quichuan tongue, comes into view. The
first appearance of the town is both pleasing and imposing, for the
number of churches, convents, and other large public buildings give an
air of importance to the place, which is not maintained upon closer
inspection. The country round about is very bare and dull-looking,
vegetation being, it may be said, entirely absent from the prospect, as
water in the district is very scarce, and only to be met with in the
bottom of the numerous ravines, with which the surrounding hills are
deeply scored. On the eighth day from Cochabamba I arrived at Sucre, the
time usually occupied in travelling between the two places being five to
six days; the _détour_ that I made, by Totora, occupying two days more
than the route by the valley of San Pedro.
[Illustration: SUCRE, OR CHUQUISACA, CAPITAL OF BOLIVIA.]
CHAPTER XXV.
Sucre—Seat of the Government—Court of Justice and
Archbishopric—Cathedral—Image of “Our Lady of Guadalupe”—Plate
and pictures—Revolting character of the pictures—The clergy
of Bolivia—Palacio del Gobierno—Sala del Congreso—Deputies
and Debates—Treaty with Chili—Diplomatic body—Politics and
parties—Quintin Quevedo—Casimir Corral—Sack of his house in La
Paz—Rojos, or Ballivianistas—Hilarion Daza—Schemes for roads
to the river Paraguay—River Amazon _v._ river Paraguay—Remarks
upon the finances of Bolivia—Results to be expected from
the enterprise of the Madeira and Mamoré Railway—Closing of
Congress—The Bolivian flag—Revolution of 1874—Defeat of Quevedo
and Corral, and deposition of Frias by Daza.
The capital of Bolivia was formerly called “Chuquisaca,” which in the
Quichuan tongue is said to mean “River of Gold,” but at the establishment
of the independence of the republic, the town received the name of
“Sucre,” in honour of Bolivar’s celebrated coadjutor. If General Sucre
gained fame by the nomination, the town certainly lost a pretty name and
received a very commonplace one. Amongst the Indians and lower orders the
prettier title is preserved, but as amongst the educated classes the ugly
one prevails, I suppose one must, in writing of the town, follow the lead
of the upper ten.
Sucre owes its importance to its being theoretically the constitutional
seat of the government of the republic, but as, owing to the frequent
revolutions, the government is generally “en campaña,” or “on the war
path,” the other towns, such as La Paz, Oruro, and Cochabamba, have the
responsibility of housing the president and his ministers quite as often
as the capital. Both Cochabamba and La Paz possess larger populations
than the capital, which may be said to have about 25,000 people, who are
of very mixed races, ranging from the pure-blooded descendants of the
“Sangre Azul” of Old Castile, through the “cholo,” or half-breed, down to
the Quichuan and Aymará Indians.
There are no manufactures whatever carried on in the town, and but little
commerce, the merchants of the district being numerically far below those
of Cochabamba, La Paz, or even Santa Cruz de la Sierra. In former years
the Indians appear to have been well skilled in the art of inlaying in
mother-of-pearl and ivory. Many beautiful specimens of this work, in
cabinets, crucifixes, and ornaments, can be seen in Sucre, although they
are now becoming very scarce, as travellers have nearly exhausted the
stocks, and the art seems to have entirely died out. There are a few
well-stocked drapery stores, and a well-managed and completely equipped
“Botica Inglese,” or English chemist and druggist’s establishment, to
which is attached an American bar for soda ice-cream drinks and other
curiously compounded and consoling beverages, which receive a fair share
of the patronage of the young men about town.
It is said that Sucre owes its origin to the proximity of the famous
Silver Hill of Potosí, the wealthier miners of that place having chosen
it as a preferable place of residence to the cold and bleak slopes
of the mineral district of Potosí, from which it is distant about
twenty-five leagues. Universities and ecclesiastical establishments
were erected, and in the early part of the seventeenth century the town
became the seat of an archbishopric and of a supreme court of justice
for the Spanish acquisitions in South America, with the titles of “San
Arzobispado y Real Audencia de la Plata y Charcas,” and jurisdiction
from the river Plate up to Alto Peru, formerly the country of the
Charcas Indians, a race said to exist prior to the Incas. Most of the
universities have been allowed to decline, so that to-day there are
but two that have maintained any degree of repute. I did not have an
opportunity of becoming acquainted with the routine of academical life
in Sucre, but judging by the number of diploma’d men in the country, the
acquisition of the title of “Dr.” cannot be a very difficult task. In
Bolivia, as indeed in most South American countries, one is quite safe
in accosting a stranger or chance acquaintance as “Señor Doctor;” and if
this be not the right title, then one may try “Mi General,” or at least
“Mi Coronel.”
Churches and conventual establishments abound in the city, but none
of them are at all remarkable for their architecture, which is of the
plainest possible style, the simplicity being spoiled by a thick coat
of plaster. The largest of these edifices, the cathedral dedicated to
“Nuestra Señora de la Guadalupe,” standing in one corner of the principal
square, is a spacious building, the interior of which, on account of
its extent, presents an imposing appearance on festival days, when it
is filled with a well-dressed congregation. This church must, in very
recent times, have been the receptacle of an enormous wealth of jewels
and precious metals, poured into its treasury by the successful miners
of Potosí. The principal object of value, and of interest to strangers,
is the image or picture of “Our Lady of Guadalupe,” from whom the church
takes its name. The figure is rather more than six feet in height, and
is formed in jewels of many kinds, set upon a plate of gold. All the
precious stones are of great size and of first-rate quality, but some
of the pearls are of especial beauty, advantage having been taken of
peculiarities of shape to fashion them into representations of animals
or birds, which adorn the virgin’s robe. Thus, a pearl about the size
of a pigeon’s egg, and with a peculiar shape, has, by the addition
of a golden head and legs, been made to represent a slender Italian
greyhound; another represents an ox, another a frog, whilst the whole
of the figure gleams resplendently with rubies, diamonds, emeralds, and
jewels of all kinds. Some authorities set down the value of the image at
2,000,000 dollars, but I think this must be an exaggerated estimate, as
probably, had the church been in the possession of such a large amount of
convertible treasure, not even the sanctity of the patron saint of Sucre
would have saved her from the rapacious hands of some of the adventurers
that have occupied the presidential chair. On high festivals the image
is carried round the principal squares of the town, under the escort of
a procession, including the president and his ministers, the archbishop
and his principal clergy, a battalion of infantry, bands of music, and
the most important merchants, lawyers, doctors, and gentry of the town.
Upon these occasions “Sucre” is _en fête_, fine weather being almost
always to be relied upon; the streets are full of people of all ranks and
conditions, the gay colourings of the ponchos, shawls, and petticoats of
the lower orders affording a lively contrast to the black coats and silk
dresses of civilized society.
Besides the rich image of the virgin, the cathedral contains a very
valuable collection of vestments and plate, and it is said that a few
years ago it possessed twenty-four massive silver candelabra; but
President Melgarejo, being pressed for silver to continue the coinage of
his bad money (“Moneda de dos Caras”), melted down all these magnificent
candlesticks except two, which alone remain to testify of the splendour
of the church in former days, and of the ruthless vandalism of a
Bolivian in power. The two remaining are about seven feet in height, and
appear to be of solid silver. There are also several fine paintings,
some of which have been attributed to Velasquez and Murillo; they may
be worthy specimens of the masters, but the taste displayed in the
exhibition of these pictures in a church is, to say the least, peculiar,
as the subjects portrayed are of the most revolting character. One is
a representation of the flaying alive of a saint (St. Bartolomeo, I
think): a dreadful picture, with full life-size figures, representing
an executioner tearing the skin from the saint’s body, while he holds
between his teeth the knife which he has been using during his ghastly
work. The horridly cool and unconcerned look of the wretch, who goes
about his business as steadily as though he were skinning the hide from
a dead bullock, is most marvellously painted; whilst the suffering, yet
resolute look of the saint, can be more easily imagined than described.
Another of these pictures depicts the martyrdom of a saint in a cauldron
of boiling oil, another a saint being impaled, and each one of these
pictures perpetuates the memory of a dreadful crime that has, at some
period of the church’s history, either been committed or imagined. The
policy of accustoming unreasoning Indians to such scenes seems to be a
very unwise one.
The whole of Bolivia may be said to be priest-ridden, but Sucre, perhaps,
suffers more than any other place in the republic from the incubus of
a numerous and not over scrupulous clergy. Travellers in South America
will scarcely need to be told that the Roman Catholic clergy include men
of all shades of character; but though I have met many worthy pastors in
other countries of the continent, I must unwillingly say, that I cannot
recollect having met with any very striking excellence of character
amongst the priesthood of Bolivia. Open violation of the vow of celibacy,
insobriety, passion for jewellery, fine horses, and other worldly gear,
are amongst the most venial of the charges that might be brought against
many members of the clergy; so that one is tempted to think that the
first reform the country requires is a reform amongst its pastors and
teachers.
The streets and squares of the town are broad, and fairly well paved,
and the town has altogether a rather imposing appearance, although it
is to be regretted that the sanitary arrangements of the municipality
should in Sucre, as well as in the other principal towns of Bolivia,
be remarkable and conspicuous solely from the utter absence of care or
attention to the commonest requirements of our times. The description
that I have given of the state of Cochabamba will apply equally to
Sucre, and need not, therefore, be repeated. For this reason it is,
that small-pox hangs for such long periods of time about these cities,
and kills yearly large numbers of the Indian population, who, averse
to vaccination in ignorance of its benefits, fall easy victims to this
terrible scourge of South American cities. Whilst I was in Sucre this
plague was rife, my own servant-boy, the Cruzeño who accompanied me from
Exaltacion, falling a victim thereto.
Two sides of the principal square of the town are occupied by the
Government House, the Hall of Congress, the Municipal Buildings, and a
Barrack. The first, dignified with the name of “Palacio del Gobierno,”
is a very plainly-built edifice, with interior and fittings of the
simplest possible style. Here the president has a suite of apartments,
and the several ministers have offices. The “Sala del Congreso,” or House
of Commons, is arranged after the usual South American fashion, with
a “barra,” or outer bar, to which the public are admitted without any
restriction, except on occasions when the house itself votes a secret
sitting. A president of congress, and two secretaries, are elected by
ballot from amongst the deputies every month, the president’s duties
being to preserve order, whilst the secretaries regulate the proceedings
and edit the reports of the speeches; but, as these reports seldom leave
the printer’s hands until some months have elapsed, they cannot be said
to be of any very great value, either to the deputies themselves or to
the country. The barra divides the hall into two equal parts, so that
when a debate of interest takes place, the public present far outnumbers
the deputies, and does not fail to make its presence felt by frequently
interrupting the speakers with approving hurrahs for a popular sentiment,
or groans, cat-calls, hisses, and other lively expressions of disgust,
for one that does not coincide with the mob’s whim of the moment. The
members of the house generally speak from their seats, but at times the
public shout for them to ascend the tribune, as a small pulpit placed
at one side of the hall is grandiloquently termed. Two soldiers, armed
with rifle and bayonet, standing at the centre of the barra, curb, in
some measure, the fury of the mob that at times fills the hall, and
protect unpopular deputies from actual violence. During my stay in
Sucre, a treaty of boundaries with Chili, which, being very adverse to
Bolivia in its terms, was naturally much disliked by a decided majority
of all classes, came on for discussion, and at several sittings I fully
expected to see a free fight in the Congress Hall. Popular deputies would
harangue the crowd at the barra, which would loudly cheer the sentences
that sympathized with its patriotic notions, whilst those members who
dared to differ from the opinions of the mobocracy were scarcely allowed
a hearing. Republican institutions may be acceptable dispensations of
Providence to well-settled countries, but probably a European, visiting
the Congress of Bolivia at a stormy sitting, will carry away with him the
belief that the advent of a thoroughgoing despot would be about the best
event that could happen to the country. The Bolivian House of Commons
may, however, in one respect, be considered an improvement upon our
English one, for the presence of ladies is not supposed to be a hindrance
to the proper discharge of the functions of a deputy. The ladies of
Sucre, instead of having to hide behind a grating, are accommodated in
an open gallery, occupying a prominent position at one end of the hall,
so that a susceptible deputy may be animated to oratorical effect by
the smiles and approbation of his fair countrywomen. During the debate
on the Chilian question, several very excellent speeches were made, and
though I was much impressed with the eloquence displayed by many of the
deputies, I could not help especially remarking the speech of a youthful
deputy from Cochabamba, who, apparently scarcely of age (although he must
have been, or he could not have been elected), spoke for about three
hours, in a style that showed he had thoroughly mastered his subject;
but doubtless the presence in the gallery of a young lady to whom he was
paying his addresses, and who was one of the prettiest girls of the city,
gave him courage to offer his opinions at length to his fellow-deputies,
the majority of whom had, in age at least, a better right to the title
of “patres conscripti.” This question of settlement of boundaries with
Chili occupied the attention of the Congress for nearly a whole month,
being argued with much warmth by the opponents and supporters of the
treaty which the government had made with the Chilian minister, Señor
Carlos Walker-Martinez. The final modifications, as agreed to by the
Congress, defined the twenty-fourth degree of latitude as the northern
Chilian boundary, from the Pacific coast to the highest points of the
Andean range, excepting towns already under Bolivian government, such as
Antofogasta—not to be confounded with the town of the same name on the
coast. This treaty, therefore, reduced the Bolivian coast-line to even
less than that afforded by the miserably small slip given to the republic
at the time of the partition of the Spanish empire of South America.
A sort of private box is apportioned to the members of the diplomatic
body, from which, for some years past, a representative of Great Britain
has been missing, Brazil, Peru, Chili, and the Argentine Confederation
only, maintaining resident ministers. As long as there was any chance of
raising a loan on the London market, the presidents of Bolivia managed
to accredit ministers to England, but as soon as it became evident that
there was very little prospect of launching further loans, the envoy
invariably found that the state of his private finances necessitated his
departure from the court of St. James, for the poverty of the treasury
of Bolivia is, apparently, so great, that the country is unable to
maintain any paid representatives abroad. A misunderstanding seems to
have occurred between the last English minister to Bolivia and one of the
numerous presidents that have, during the past few years, successively
usurped the powers of government, the president going so far as to
send the minister his passport; since when, the English government has
declined to accredit any one to the republic. As this happened some
years ago, it might now be an assistance to a struggling country, if the
recognition of European governments were afforded by the presence of
ministers or consuls.
Politics in Bolivia are best described as purely personal, for the
different political parties seem to spring up, change, and die out
according as some ambitious leader comes to the front, and soon gives
place to a newer man. During my stay in the republic I tried to discover
whether there was any difference in the policy of the parties, but,
to my perhaps limited vision, they all seemed embued with the same
creed, namely, either to turn or keep your adversary out of place and
power. One party, called “Rojos,” or “Reds,” may perhaps be deemed
“Liberals,” whilst another, “Los Oligarcas,” may be supposed to be the
“Conservatives”; but it was difficult to see that either of them had
any other platform than the ruling maxim just mentioned. The political
division was, however, at the time to which I refer, a threefold
one—Quevedistas (Oligarchs), Corralistas (Liberal Oligarchs), and
Ballivianistas (Rojos, or Radicals). The party once led by General
Melgarejo, a former president, had then for its chief General Quintin
Quevedo, and its supporters were therefore termed Quevedistas. They were
decidedly in a minority, but their activity and good organization, aided
by the unpopular course of action taken in the disputes with Chili by the
party in power, enabled them to commence a revolution which very nearly
succeeded in placing General Quevedo at the head of the country. However,
the old adage of “many a slip, etc.,” is very applicable to the fortunes
of revolutionists; and the final result of Quevedo’s enterprise was that
he had to seek a refuge in Puno, where, I regret to hear, he has since
died. There are rumours that he was poisoned, and it is quite probable
that this means of breaking up the party may have been resorted to, for
by Quevedo’s death only could it have been entirely defeated, all his
followers being greatly attached to him. He was universally looked up to
as the future president, and his career seems to have been singularly
free from the faults that have, with few exceptions, been recorded of the
rulers of Bolivia.
[Illustration: GENERAL QUEVEDO.
(_From a photograph taken at Cochabamba._)]
The “Corralistas” were led by Dr. Casimiro Corral, minister of home
government and foreign affairs under the presidency of General Morales,
and seemed to me to embrace the most talented men of the country. This
party was, however, singularly unfortunate, not being popular with the
lower orders. Its leader had to expatriate himself to the town of Puno,
which, together with Tacna, seems to be the refuge of disappointed
Bolivian revolutionists. The government of the day did not, however,
come out of the dispute with Dr. Corral with any great _éclat_, as
they gained a very bloodless victory over the gallant doctor and some
of his adherents, who, to the number of about twenty, were holding a
conference in the doctor’s house at La Paz on a certain evening in
September, 1874. The meeting probably was a political one, but there was
no immediate danger of a disturbance of the public peace from the fact
that politics were being discussed. However, the government determined
that the assembling of a caucus opposed to their own _régime_ was a
movement that must at once be suppressed _vi et armis_, so they sent a
general in command of a company of infantry, with a field-gun, which they
loaded with grape shot and laid point blank on Dr. Corral’s front door.
Then, after a flourish of bugles, the general summoned the doctor and
his friends, mostly young men, to surrender, and upon their declining to
open the said front door, the cannon was discharged, and a way made for
the entrance of the soldiers. Then, whilst part of the troop fired from
the street at the closed windows, the remainder entered, firing upwards
through the floor, so that the gallant doctor and his adherents were
exposed to a curious style of cross-fire. Of course, resistance was out
of the question, and Dr. Corral, with about half a dozen of his friends,
after being well buffeted by the soldiery, and after witnessing the sack
and destruction of the contents of the house, were marched off to the
military prison, where they remained until they could raise sufficient
funds to pay their jailers for conniving at their escape. Occurrences
such as these are very frequent in Bolivia, notwithstanding that it is
supposed to enjoy the free liberty of republican institutions.
The third party in Bolivia has been in power for about three years,
and therefore has had a long term of office, although it has hard
work to keep its place. The terms “Rojos,” or “Reds,” and “El partido
Ballivian” are somewhat indiscriminately applied to this section of
public opinion, which includes many independent members, as well as many
of the supporters and co-political religionists of the lately deceased
President Don Adolfo Ballivian. At the time I write of, it was nominally
headed by Dr. Tomas Frias, who was apparently far too old to be at the
head of a turbulent republic, and he was evidently only a puppet in the
hands of his able minister of “all work,” Dr. Mariano Baptista, one of
the cleverest men Bolivia has ever produced. However, Dr. Frias and his
“alter ego,” Dr. Baptista, have lately been jockeyed out of the reins of
government, and exiled from the country by an unprincipled adventurer,
one General Hilarion Daza, whose advent to power must universally be
allowed to be the greatest misfortune that could possibly have happened
to the republic. He commenced life, I have been credibly informed, as a
“mozo,” or waiting-boy, in the house of an Englishman in Sucre. He was
then a tailor for a short time, after which he became fired with military
ardour, and, joining the army, his audacity and unscrupulousness made
him so useful to his first patron, General Melgarejo, that he passed
rapidly from the appointment of “full private” to that of “general of
division.” Arrived at this position, he took the earliest opportunity
of deserting his benefactor, and selling himself and his battalion to
General Morales, after whose death by the hand of his son-in-law, Daza
became generalissimo of the army, and subsequently minister of war to
President Frias. Being thus practically in command of the republic,
he soon usurped the supreme power, for notwithstanding that at the
commencement of the last Quevedistic movement he voluntarily took an oath
to support the civil power of the state, exemplified in the person of
Dr. Frias, he so manipulated matters that poor old Dr. Frias was driven
into exile, and the quondam “mozo” installed himself at the head of
the republic. Of all the adventurous careers recorded in the annals of
South American republics, Daza’s, when written on history’s page, will
perhaps stand out as the most glaring instance of successful perfidy and
audacity. The secret of his success is, however, easily discovered, and
proves how little suited are republican institutions to countries which,
like Bolivia, contain such a mixture of races that adventurers are never
at a loss to find elements of discord ready to be set in action against
the respectable portion of the community. Daza, throughout his career,
made it his study to keep one battalion of soldiers, well clothed, fed,
and paid; the result being, that whilst the soldiers talked loudly of
their “country,” they really served their chief, who thus had unlimited
power at his command. The finances of Bolivia have generally had to be
balanced by means of forced loans or contributions; but whether the
treasury had or had not the wherewithal to pay the salaries of the
ministers and the employés of the various departments, it had, somehow
or other, to find pay for the first battalion; and on the shoulders of
this battalion, composed entirely of uneducated Indians, Daza has ridden
to the presidential palace. Installed in power, he seems, however, to
be endeavouring to conduct himself in somewhat more civilized fashion
than when he was a simple general of division, for one of his principal
supporters (an Englishman) tells me that he rules his countrymen
excellently well, and that, as to his moral character, whereas he was
formerly drunk _every evening_, he now only allows himself to be thus
overcome on _three nights in the week_. Let us hope, therefore, that
he will go on improving in respectability until, if he stays in office
long enough, he becomes a model for South American presidents. But to
what a pitch of degradation must the country have sunk, when a man of
Daza’s antecedents and character is elevated to the seat once honoured
by occupants such as the great liberator, Simon Bolivar, and his famous
coadjutor and friend, General Sucre.
A great deal of the time of the Congress, which, I believe, only sits
for two or three months in the year, is always taken up in considering
new schemes, which speculators are continually bringing forward with the
object of breaking up Bolivia’s isolation from the civilized world. Not
that I would by this be understood as saying that I consider the republic
to be outside the pale of civilization but, hemmed in, as she is, by
the Andes and her neighbours, Peru and Chili, on the west, and by the
impenetrable swamps and morasses of the yet unexplored Gran Chaco on the
east, she may with truth be said to be so secluded as almost to form a
small world of her own, and will continue to do so until the magnificent
route of the Amazonian watershed is accepted as the natural inlet and
outlet of trade. In the Congress of 1874 most of the schemes for which
new concessions or renewal of old ones were being sought, were connected
with the opening up of the eastern side of Bolivia. On the Pacific side,
the only enterprises are connected with the silver mines and nitrate
deposits of the desert of Atacama—a district so rich in minerals, that
alone it should be sufficient to form the basis of the well-being of its
fortunate owners, the Bolivian nation. From La Paz many efforts have been
made to conduct the trade of Bolivia, by the lake of Titicaca and Puno,
to the Peruvian seaboard, but up to the present time little has been
done except the granting of concessions for projected railways, although
a couple of steamers have with great trouble been carried up to and
launched on the lake.
The applications for concessions on the eastern side were four in
number, all having for their object the construction of roads across the
unknown territory which separates Bolivia from the river Paraguay. One
scheme which met with a good deal of favour in Sucre, was started by a
Señor Antonio Paradiz, who obtained the renewal of concessions granted so
long ago as 1853, for the construction of a cart-road from Santa Cruz,
_viâ_ Chiquitos, to a port on the Paraguay, to be called Port Vargas,
and to be situated about 180 miles below the Brazilian port of Curumbá.
The projector of the enterprise estimated that with about £60,000 he
could complete his track, establish a rural colony at the port, and
place two steamers, a schooner, and sundry lighters upon the river. He
secured the right to all duties that might be levied at the port, for a
period of eight years. But the scheme has doubtless fallen through, for
poor Señor Paradiz lost his life in his patriotic endeavour to open up a
new trade-route for his country, being killed by savages in 1875, while
ascending the river Paraguay, exploring for a good situation for his
proposed Port Vargas.
The second scheme was propounded by Señor Miguel Suarez Arana, a Bolivian
gentleman of good family. He proposed to construct two cart-roads, one
from Santa Cruz to an undefined port on the Paraguay, and the other from
a town called Lagunillas in the Cordillera to the same undefined port.
This _concessionnaire_ asked for two-thirds of the duties to be created
at the proposed port, for a period of forty years, together with tolls,
premiums, and other special advantages; but nothing was done in the
matter by the Congress, and doubtless the scheme remains on record as a
project only.
The next scheme was one brought forward by one Captain Greenleaf Cilley,
a retired commander of the United States navy, who had married in Buenos
Ayres a lady descended from one Oliden, who received a concession of
lands from Bolivia nearly fifty years ago, and whose name is still
recorded on all the maps of the republic. These lands are high and
well-suited for the cultivation of coffee or cocoa, and Captain Cilley
hoped to be able to attract emigration to them, if he could obtain
a concession for a railway and funds wherewith to construct it. He
therefore asked for a concession to construct a railway from Santa Cruz
to the territory of “Otuquis,” on the upper waters of the river of the
same name, an affluent of the river Paraguay, and in which the Oliden
lands are situated. The length of this proposed line would probably be
not less than 300 miles, and Captain Cilley, who estimated the cost of
construction at £8000 per mile, asked for a guarantee of seven per cent.
on the expenditure, and for two leagues of land on either side of the
line. But even Bolivia was not reckless enough to promise a guarantee on
such an enormous capital, and this scheme has also gone to the region of
cloudland.
The fourth and last scheme was “invented and arranged” by Dr. Reyes
Cardona, some time minister to the court of St. James, and to the
Brazilian court at Rio Janeiro. This enterprising statesman proposed a
colossal scheme of railroads, commencing at Bahia Negra on the Paraguay,
crossing the deserts of Izozo to Santa Cruz, and thence passing by Sucre
on to La Paz. The doctor wrote pamphlet after pamphlet and paper after
paper concerning the merits of this vague scheme, but the only settled
idea that he seemed to have was to seize the funds belonging to the
Madeira and Mamoré Railway. In what part of the grand scheme of internal
railways for Bolivia the fund was to be spent did not appear to be of
much consequence, so that it was handed over to the doctor, to be dealt
with as his much-vaunted “honor, talento, y patriotismo” should direct.
These numerous and spasmodic efforts to obtain an outlet for trade in an
eastern direction, made by Bolivians themselves, prove satisfactorily
that the proper route for the commerce of the country is acknowledged to
be one that shall lead to the Atlantic Ocean. Whether this route should
be down the Paraguay or the Amazon is, in my opinion, sufficiently well
determined in favour of the latter river, whose affluents spring from the
richest slopes of the republic, and flow through its most fertile plains.
Whatever opposition there is in Bolivia to the opening of an eastward
trade route, is kept up by a small minority of interested parties,
principally some of the leading merchants of La Paz and Tacna, who see
in the success of the eastward route a break-up of the monopoly of trade
that they have so long enjoyed, and a consequent probable diminution
of their profits. Another influence retarding the development of the
trade of Bolivia, is the jealousy that exists between the principal
towns, and which, instead of finding vent in a healthy competition of
trade, occupies itself with any sort of project calculated to hinder
the legitimate progress of one town or province above its neighbours.
The Paceños are, as a rule, very jealous of the growth of Cochabamba,
and of the importance that will accrue to that town from the opening
of an eastward route; and many of the deputies of the La Paz provinces
have systematically voted against enterprises whose realization would
improve the condition of the eastern provinces: but in the Congress
of 1874 three deputies, Dr. Belisario Salinas of La Paz, and Señores
Roman and Merisalde of the Yungas of La Paz, deserve to be mentioned as
having emancipated themselves from these narrow ideas, preferring to
assist in the general development and welfare of their country, rather
than restrain their efforts to the benefit only of their own immediate
provinces.
One of the most talented ministers that the republic ever possessed,
Don Rafael Bustillo, writing to the Brazilian government in 1863,
described in forcible language the position of his country. “Bolivia,”
he wrote, “occupies a territory entirely central in the vast continent
of South America. She has but five degrees of latitude on the Pacific
Coast, and even this is disputed, in part, by the Republic of Chili.
(This five degrees has been reduced to two and a half by the treaty of
1874, and one almost certain result of the war now being carried on by
Bolivia and Peru against Chili, will be that Bolivia will lose all her
seaboard; for if Chili prove victorious, she will certainly annex the
whole of the desert of Atacama, whilst if Bolivia and Peru succeed in
their ill-advised enterprise, Bolivia will probably have to cede the same
much-coveted territory to Peru in payment for her assistance.) Bolivia
is seated upon the masses of silver of the double range of the Andes. She
has a territory fertile beyond measure, where the treasures of the most
opposite climates are grouped together. With all this, Bolivia perishes
from consumption for want of methods of communication which may carry
to the markets of the world her valuable productions, and stimulate
her sons to labour and industry.” These words, which forcibly depict
the condition and requirements of the republic, are almost household
words in the country; yet, although they are well known and thoroughly
appreciated, the interests of the monopolizing merchants of the Pacific
seaboard have hitherto been powerful enough to preserve the isolation of
Bolivia, which they have only allowed to be communicated with through
their narrow toll-gates of Arica, Tacna, and La Paz. The only certain
means of providing efficient modes of transport for the, at present,
useless riches of the country, lie on its eastern side, for nature has
declared that the route to Europe shall not be a western one; and the
navigation of the Madeira and Amazon Rivers, when the railway of the
rapids is completed, will offer a more speedy and economic transport than
can be afforded by any scheme having the river Paraguay for its basis.
In regard to time, the Madeira and Mamoré Railway can with ease despatch
its freights from the port of San Antonio to Europe in twenty-eight
days or possibly less, whilst the Paraguayan route from Bahia Negra to
Europe will occupy at least forty. In reference to cost, the Madeira and
Mamoré Railway offers to carry a ton of freight from the centres of
Bolivia to the markets of Europe for £15, whilst the lowest estimate by
the Paraguayan route was that of £26 per ton, proposed in 1858 for the
navigation of the Vermejo.
Another reason for the present deplorable condition of the country
may be found in the absolute non-existence of any financial talent,
or even ordinary knowledge of national account-keeping amongst the
ministers and officials in power of late years. This has been thoroughly
exposed in the matter of the loan raised in London in 1872; and if the
shortcomings of the officials of the finance department are not to be set
down to want of knowledge, they must be charged to want of candour or
straightforwardness. In the financial accounts for 1873 the debt appears
as 8,500,000 Bolivian dollars, or £1,700,000, the correct nominal amount
of the loan; and although no notice is taken of the operation of the
sinking fund, which by the end of 1873 had paid off a first drawing of
£34,000, there is in the estimated outgoings of the treasury a credit
taken for the service of a loan of £2,000,000.
The national receipts at the time the country gained its independence
amounted to 2,500,000 of hard dollars, and in 1873 were as nearly as
possible of similar amount, being 2,566,034 Bolivian dollars, or say
£513,207, showing clearly the state of stagnation in which the country
has vegetated during its fifty years of independence. In the same year
the minister of finance declared a required expenditure of 3,660,679
dollars, or say £732,135, thus showing a deficit of £218,928; and,
nevertheless, the minister did not propose to Congress any plan for
equalizing the national accounts; whilst it is a fact that in the
Congress of 1874 not one proposal, either financial or political, except
the treaty with Chili, emanated from the ministry. In the ministerial
statement of the national finances, or budget, for 1874 one sees at a
glance that there is no effort made to equalize income and expenditure,
for not much more than £20,000 per annum is got from the Bolivian people
by any kind of direct taxation.
Customs’ rentals cannot be expected to increase until the completion of
the Madeira and Mamoré Railway creates new entries on the eastern side
of the republic, for Peru only can benefit by any growth of commerce
on the western side, having stipulated with Bolivia that it shall only
pay her £81,000 per annum out of the receipts of the port of Arica. It
seems certain, therefore, that direct taxation must be resorted to,
and as there is no individual poverty visible in the country, there is
no reason why the government should not be able to show easily a fair
balance-sheet, which should meet the current wants of the nation, and
provide honourably for the service of the public debt.
It is not, perhaps, too much to say that the realization of the joint
enterprises of the Madeira and Mamoré Railway, and the National Bolivian
Navigation Company, will change the entire character, not only of
the eastern provinces of Bolivia, but also of the republic itself;
whilst, at the same time, the Brazilian provinces of Matto Grosso and
the Amazons will be most materially benefited. It may, in the case of
Bolivia, seem absurd to say that its mineral wealth can ever appreciably
decrease; and, certainly, such an assertion must, to any one that has
passed over the highly metalliferous districts of Potosí, Oruro, and
the whole central plain of the country, appear entirely groundless; but
the examples of California and Australia teach us, that though mineral
discoveries are the first cause of the creation and settlement of new
countries, it is the development of their agricultural and industrial
resources that causes them to take rank amongst the nations of the world:
and this it is that Colonel Church’s enterprises will do for Bolivia,
for there can be no doubt but that their realization will place Bolivia
in the foremost rank of the republics of South America. No scheme that
has for its object the opening-up of the country on any other sides than
its northern and eastern can effect this result; for there alone exist
immense plains and tracts of country suitable for any kind of agriculture
or cattle-rearing. On the western side, the barren and inaccessible
heights of the Andes forbid any attempts at settling, while the southern
and eastern territory of the Gran Chaco is a cheerless swamp, never
capable of affording a home to other than the irreclaimable savage, or
the wild animals of the fast-decreasing forests of the continent.
Few, perhaps, are the enterprises that can hope to create and unfold such
vast industries as those found in the districts to be benefited by the
opening of the Amazonian route to the interior of the continent; for as
the traveller descends, in an eastward journey, from the barren summits
of the Andean Mountains, he will find that the railway will prove the
outlet, not only for the mineral riches of Bolivia, her wools, hides,
and other animal products, the cinchona bark (cascarilla), and other
drugs, dyes, and commercial values of her unexplored forests, but also
for the agricultural riches that already exist in considerable scale on
the descending plateaux of her eastern plains. At altitudes of 12,000
feet, barley and potatoes are grown; at 9000 to 6000, corn, potatoes,
apples, pears, and all kinds of fruits; at 6000 to 2000, coffee, coca,
cocoa, and plantains; and from 2000 to the plains, cocoa, plantains,
sugar-cane, maize, mandioc, arrowroot, yams, tobacco, and other tropical
products. The republic, therefore, in addition to the speculative
allurements of mineral wealth, can hold forth substantial inducements to
the breeder of stock, or the tiller of the soil; and there is no doubt
that the character of the people will improve when, through facilities of
communication, remunerative work is afforded them, for Bolivians, whether
of Indian or Spanish extraction, are very industrious, differing greatly
in this respect from the inhabitants of many other countries of South
America.
Politically considered, the enterprise will be of vast benefit to
Bolivia, for her population will find employment in the impetus given to
commerce, and will consequently become less turbulent, as revolutions
will decrease commensurately with the interest that each one will find
in their increasing prosperity. A bond of unity will also be created for
Bolivia, with her powerful neighbour Brazil, whereby she will be rendered
more secure from the encroachments of the republics of the Pacific
seaboard.
The results, financially considered, will be, that a trade, equal, if
not superior, to that now carried on through the Peruvian towns of Tacna
and Arica, will be created on the eastern side of the republic; and
from the custom’s receipts of this trade, Bolivia would have far more
than sufficient to keep up the service of, and rapidly pay off, both
her internal and external debts. Taking the year 1873 as a guide, we
find that the imports through the port of Arica amounted to £1,422,369,
and the exports to £860,607. Of these figures, three-fourths of the
imports, or £1,066,766, and £842,345 of the exports, fairly belong to
Bolivia, making a total of £1,909,121 in value of Bolivian commerce that
passes through Peru. The duties arising from this trade may reasonably
be averaged at twenty per cent. of the gross value, so that Bolivia
annually affords Peru a rental of more than £381,000, out of which she
magnanimously grants Bolivia a subsidy of £81,000. That Bolivian commerce
is not decreasing is proved by the fact that the exports of Arica for
1874 exceeded those of 1873 by nearly a million hard dollars, or about
£200,000. These statistics sufficiently account for the opposition
offered by the parties interested in the above trade to the opening-up of
the Amazonian trade-route. (See Appendix, p. 400.)
Bolivia is generally supposed to have rather more than 2,750,000
inhabitants; the above figures give, therefore, an average trade of about
14_s._ per head per annum, and it is not unreasonable to suppose that a
similar amount of trade will soon be carried over the Madeira and Mamoré
Railway. The loan of 1872 demands an annual service for interest and
sinking fund of £136,000, and the gradual payment of the other debts of
the country would require about £120,000 more. This total requirement
of £256,000 would, in a very few years, be provided by the custom’s
duties collected on the eastern route, for the amount is not equal to
three-fourths of the duties shown to be received by Peru from Bolivian
commerce.
Bolivia would still have the Peruvian subsidy, the profits received from
sale of the nitrates and guano of the desert of Atacama and islands
near the Pacific coast. These sources of revenue, together with the
departmental rentals, would more than suffice for the general government
expenses and the improvement of her internal means of communication. It
is not, therefore, too much to say that the realization of the Madeira
and Mamoré Railway may be made the means of materially changing and
improving the present deplorable financial and political situation of
the republic. It is, however, hopeless to expect that the men in power
should have sufficient foresight or courage to enable them to foster such
an important and promising scheme of progress for their country. No,
the policy of the so-called _statesmen_ of Bolivia is the short-sighted
one of self-interest, and because the realization of Colonel Church’s
enterprises would not be attended by immediate pecuniary advantages to
themselves, they have of late years placed every possible impediment in
his way. Fortunately for the masses of the population, Colonel Church
has proved himself to be of sterner and honester metal than Bolivian
statesmen are made of, and has refused bribes innumerable, offered him
with the view of tempting him to abandon his enterprise, and leave the
Bolivian people to the mercies of their gaolers of the Pacific seaboard;
and so the country will, in spite of its leading men, probably receive
the immense benefit of communication with Europe by the Amazon River
within a reasonable time. I can only hope that Colonel Church may be
spared to a long life, during which he may reap the due reward of
his steadfastness of purpose and integrity of motives, by seeing the
development of the country, which will then hail him as its best and
truest friend since the days of the great liberator Simon Bolivar, who
may be said to have given it independence or birth, while Colonel Church
will have given it lungs, through which to breath the invigorating
stimulus of intercourse with the civilization of Europe.
The labours of a Bolivian Congress generally last about sixty days, and
for the rest of the year the president and his ministers reign supreme.
The closing of the house is celebrated by a procession of the ministers,
who, led by the president, and escorted by a body-guard of soldiers,
go from the Casa del Gobierno to the Sala del Congreso, where they are
received by the members, standing and uncovered. By the way, Bolivian
deputies, though representatives of a land of liberty, are not allowed,
as our members are, to wear their hats in the House, but have to leave
them in the lobby. The president, arrayed in a gorgeous uniform of dark
blue, embroidered heavily with gold lace, begirt with a tricoloured
scarf round his waist, with a tricoloured plume in his cocked hat, gives
the spectator a curious notion of republican simplicity. On every state
occasion the president is immediately preceded by the national flag,
which is, perhaps, the prettiest flag to be found (barring, of course,
our own Union-Jack). It is composed of three colours, yellow, red, and
green, arranged in three wide parallel bars; and I have heard it said,
that the three colours were adopted to typify the green earth, and the
rising and the setting sun, the founders of the republic wishing their
Indian population to believe that their country included the whole of the
world.
[Illustration: PRESIDENT FRIAS.
(_From a photograph taken at Cochabamba._)]
At the ceremony of closing Congress in November, 1874, Dr. Tomas Frias,
the reigning president, who was, I believe, upwards of eighty years
of age, carried himself right royally, and read his speech to the
deputies with quite as much _hauteur_ as a crowned monarch might be
expected to employ. He was answered by the President of the Congress,
who congratulated the members upon the termination of their labours,
which, as far as I could discover, had consisted mainly of squabbling
amongst themselves and vilifying the government. The result of their
labours soon proved to be disastrous in the extreme, for the country was
again in revolution within less than a fortnight after the closing of
the session. If the members could have agreed together upon a ministry
to replace the then existing, one, peace would have been preserved;
but though the majority worked well together in abusing all who were
then in office under Dr. Frias, they could not at all agree as to their
successors. Under these circumstances the government encouraged the
Congress in wasting time in fruitless recriminations and discussions
until the closing day came, when, as the deputies were anxious to return
to their respective districts before the rainy season should set in
and render the roads impassable, they easily succeeded in hurrying a
short bill through the house, giving them powers to raise a revenue
equal to that of the previous budget. The government were thus masters
of the field, but were not left in peaceable possession very long, for
as Daza’s battalion, which was then in Sucre, was the only one that
had received any pay for many months, the other battalions, termed the
second and third, then stationed near Cochabamba, took the opportunity
of the return of General Quevedo from Congress to revolt and declare him
president of the republic, vice Frias, to be deposed in due course. It
is quite possible that Quevedo thought the second and third battalions
were not strong enough to fight “Daza’s Own;” but, anyhow, he refused
to head the proposed revolution, and endeavoured to induce the revolted
troops to remain quietly in their barracks, promising to represent their
claims to the government at Sucre. But Daza, seeing an opportunity of
ridding himself of one of his probable rivals for the presidency, managed
to get the government to decree that Quevedo had incited the soldiery
to rebel. He then made a declaration of steadfast attachment to Frias,
and marched to Cochabamba to put down a revolution which would never
have existed but for his violence. This was his programme, but his real
object was to get Quevedo into his power, succeeding in which, he most
probably would have had him shot without any trial; indeed, it was
currently reported that he had said publicly that he would do so. This
threat coming to Quevedo’s knowledge, made him pause while on his return
to Sucre to lay the complaints of the soldiery before the government,
and obliged him to take measures to secure his own personal safety. His
partisans, in various parts of the republic, then very unwisely rose in
his favour, and attempted to take possession of Oruro and Cochabamba;
but, as they were very badly armed, totally undisciplined, and almost
entirely without leaders, they were soon beaten and dispersed. There was
a good deal of desultory fighting, and a number of the revolutionists,
under a Dr. Miguel Aguirre, entrenched themselves in Cochabamba, where
they were attacked by President Frias and General Daza. Daza’s star
was, however, in the ascendant, and though the besiegers were driven to
great straits for ammunition, so much so that if the Quevedistas had
attacked vigorously they must have been victorious, after about a week’s
fighting the revolutionists withdrew, and left the city in the hands of
Daza, who shortly after followed up his victory so rapidly, that near
La Paz, at the battle of Chacomo, the revolutionary party were utterly
defeated, their leader, Quevedo having to fly to Puno in Peru, the
usual sanctuary of losers in the political struggles of Bolivia. This
crushing defeat of the revolutionists, who included partisans both of
Quevedo and Corral, ought to have had the effect of firmly establishing
the civil power of the state, exemplified in the person of the venerable
President Frias; but Daza, who had probably fermented the rebellion even
while he combated it, would not be satisfied with a settlement that did
not fully realize his ambition. Revolution therefore again raised its
hydra-head; and Daza, making terms with a Dr. Oblitas of Cochabamba, one
of the most unscrupulous partisans of Quevedo, soon drove poor Dr. Frias
from the country, and reaching the summit of a Bolivian’s aspirations,
installed himself in the coveted presidential palace. Here we will leave
him, hoping that the reports which have reached England of his changed
demeanour now that he has obtained the supreme power, have some truth
in them, and that his country, as I fear it will, may not progress,
land-crab fashion, backwards to the miserable state of tyranny and
oppression under which it groaned and suffered in the times of Belzu and
Melgarejo.
CHAPTER XXVI.
The Prado of Sucre—Belzu’s Rotunda—The President’s evening
constitutional—Personal politics—Quevedo’s birthday
banquet—Dancing with the general—Ball at the Chilian
Embassy—Baile caramba!—Environs of Sucre—La Paz not visited
on account of revolution in progress—Routes to ocean and
home—Santa Cruz, Curumbá, and the Paraguay—Oran and the
Vermejo—Tarija and Cinti—Cinti wines and spirits—Cobija and
Desert of Atacama—Silver mines of Caracoles, etc.—Encroachments
by Chili—Official report on the Desert of Atacama, published by
the Government of Chili—Description of the road to Tacna and
Arica commenced—Preparations for journey—Servants and their
pay—“Postas”—Buying and selling mules—A few requisites for a
land journey.
Before leaving Sucre notice should Be taken of the public gardens here,
called the “Prado,” although in other towns the gardens are generally
termed “alamédas.” The prado occupies a very fine site on the outskirts
of the city, and might, with a slight amount of judicious expenditure, be
made an exceedingly beautiful recreation-ground. The site slopes gently
downwards from the city to a ravine, and an attempt at hanging gardens
has been introduced, but the idea has not been fully developed, the
poverty or apathy of the municipality having allowed the whole affair
to remain in an unfinished state. Notwithstanding this, I must allow
that some little care has been bestowed in the way of beds of flowers,
gravel walks, and seats, etc., so that the prado of Sucre has not such
a melancholy look as the alaméda of Cochabamba, which was entirely
deserted and neglected by the authorities of that town. During my stay in
Sucre, I, at the request of a friend, designed a plan for completing the
prado; and presented the drawings to the municipality, who acknowledged
my labours by a courteous letter of thanks. The designs were framed and
placed upon the walls of the council chamber, but I soon found that there
was not public spirit enough in the august body of councillors to carry
out the work, although the cost would have been trifling, considering the
improvements that would have been effected. I have no doubt that my plans
are still hanging on the wall, a memorial of labour thrown away; but as I
was only _en route_ through the city, I had no intention of making profit
out of the execution of the work, and probably as there was no scope for
making a job out of it, the apathy of the councillors is easily accounted
for.
At the bottom of the prado is a rotunda, erected by General Belzu, to
commemorate his escape from the bullet of an assassin, who attacked him
at that spot whilst he was enjoying his evening stroll. By the way, this
evening stroll, or one may almost call it “parade,” of the president,
seems to be an established institution in Sucre, for every evening the
venerable Doctor Frias, followed by two aide-de-camps, was accustomed to
take his daily constitutional. General Quevedo, who was looked upon as
the probable future president, was also in the habit of taking exercise
about the same time, but as he was only a candidate for the presidency
he was not able to have a military escort, although he never lacked
a goodly following of the younger members of his party; and on Sunday
evenings and fiesta days, it was quite amusing to see the parade of the
different political sets. On these occasions a visitor had frequent
opportunities of observing that the rancour and ill-feeling that existed
between the several parties was evidently not caused by differences of
political feeling, but rather by personal hatred; for any chance that
occurred of offering a slight insult one to the other, such as occupying
the centre of the path, or the best seat, was eagerly made use of, and
on several occasions I quite expected to see the pocket revolvers drawn
and made free use of; certainly, if fierce looks could have wounded
opponents, they were freely given and returned. I have mentioned before
that politics in Bolivia are purely personal, and in the case of the
Quevedistas I can quite understand why they were so, for a more amiable
and pleasant man than General Quevedo it has rarely been my lot to meet.
I remember well the anniversary of his birthday that occurred on the 31st
of October, 1874. His friends then gave him a supper at his lodgings in
Sucre, and it was very pleasant to see the zeal with which every one
present joined in doing him honour by toasting him in champagne while
it lasted, and afterwards in bitter beer. After the banquet a number
of speeches followed, some of which were exceedingly eloquent, though,
perhaps, a trifle too bombastic in style. This part of the ceremony over,
the company could not separate without further testifying its enthusiasm
by an impromptu ball; but, as it was a bachelor’s party, this part of
the entertainment promised to become rather slow, until the general
got on his feet to acknowledge the good feeling of his entertainers by
dancing a “baile suelta,” or Spanish dance, with each one in succession.
At home we should, perhaps, fancy it rather a queer proceeding on the
part of one of our leading statesmen, if after their whitebait dinner,
or other friendly gathering, they were to perform a Highland fling or
hornpipe with each of their political supporters, but in Bolivia it
is quite _en règle_; and as in Rome one must do as the Romans do, I
joined with great gusto in the ceremony, and had the honour of specially
trotting out the general in a grand _pas de deux à l’Anglais_. As the
company present were all of one political colour, the utmost good humour
prevailed, and notwithstanding the absurdity of the affair, I think we
all enjoyed the evening thoroughly.
Talking of dancing reminds me of a very different affair that took
place whilst I was in Sucre, when the Chilian minister gave a splendid
ball at his residence to celebrate the treaty of boundaries that by
skilful diplomacy he had obtained from the Bolivian Congress. The house
tenanted by the minister was the property of the Melgarejo family, and,
as is usual in the best buildings throughout not only Bolivia, but most
Spanish South American countries, was built in the form of a square
enclosing a handsome “patio,” or court, which was roofed in with awnings
for the occasion; while the side walls being decorated with flags and a
profusion of lamps, the effect of the whole was very charming when “the
lights shone o’er fair women,” for the _élite_ of Sucre were present,
the fair Chuquisaqueñas coming out very strong both in numbers and in
quality. The rest of the quotation as to the “brave men,” is perhaps best
omitted, although the Bolivian race bears a high reputation for courage
amongst South American people; indeed, there is a story current, that
after a battle in Peru in which the Bolivians succeeded in capturing
the entire Peruvian army, the Bolivian commander had the Peruvians
formed up in line, when, placing his own band of music in the front,
he ordered the unfortunate prisoners to dance to the tune, exclaiming
“Baile caramba!” and the story goes that the Peruvians obeyed the strange
order rather than be shot down by their conquerors. I could never obtain
exact information as to the date or place of this occurrence, but every
Bolivian firmly believes it to have happened, so much so that the words
“Baile, etc.!” accompanied with an offensive expression, are universally
used in depreciation of the Peruvians; but a traveller’s idea of Bolivian
bravery would, I think, be that it is rather of a Falstaffian order,
“much cry and little wool.”
To return however to our particular “baile,” altogether about 500 people
were present, and the evening was a great success, although at one time
it ran great risk of coming to an untimely end, owing to the imprudence
of the chief of the embassy, who, possibly elated by his diplomatic
victory, aided, perhaps, by the exhilarating effects of Clicquot and
Mumm, so far lost his balance as to inform one of his fair partners, a
lady of one of the best families of the town, that she was an angel,
but that she had married a brute of a husband. This pleasant remark
was unfortunately overheard by the happy “brute,” who very pluckily at
once reclaimed his bride, and having placed her under the protection
of her mother, he sought the Chilian, and challenged him to immediate
mortal combat out in the street. Mutual friends intervened to prevent
the further progress of a dispute that looked ugly enough, and dancing
being kept up with vigour matters quieted down. The next day the Chilian
apologized, and although the gossips of Sucre kept the squabble alive as
long as possible, nothing more came of it.
Beyond the public buildings and conventual establishments to which I have
already referred, Sucre offers nothing of interest to a traveller, who,
unless he has business to transact or friends to visit, is likely to make
his stay in the town as brief as possible, for although the climate of
Sucre is almost as good as that of Cochabamba, its environs do not offer
any special attractions for short excursions. The only places near that
are worthy of notice, are Huata, which has already been described, and
where the thermal spring repays the visitor’s trouble with a grateful and
welcome bath. On the road to Potosí, a ride of about a couple of hours
brings one to a village called Nutshucc, where the wealthier inhabitants
of Sucre have built their “quintas,” or country residences. The road goes
out on the south side of the town, and, as usual, is taken up a ravine,
which at the time I rode up it had a good deal of water, in places
reaching to the horse’s girths.
But this being on my way to the Pacific, and my business in Bolivia being
completed with the close of the Congress, I may continue the description
of my journey, first premising that at Sucre a homeward-bound traveller
will probably determine which route he will take towards ocean and
home. My business engagements rendering it of the greatest urgency that
I should arrive in England with as little delay as possible, I chose
the shortest land journey _viâ_ Potosí, Oruro, and Tacna to Arica on
the Pacific coast. I greatly regretted having to leave Bolivia without
visiting La Paz (which is the first city of the republic in regard to
commerce and population, although politically second to Sucre), but owing
to the revolution having made its head-quarters there, it was impossible
to find “muleteros” that would expose their animals to the risk of being
taken either for the service of the revolution or of the government,
so that I was forced to give up the idea of visiting La Paz, and must
therefore refer intending travellers to other writers for a description
of that city.
In deciding upon the route, the first consideration will be whether the
traveller wishes to reach the Pacific or Atlantic Oceans. Should he
desire to avoid either the land transit over the Panamá railway, or the
bad weather so prevalent in the Straits of Magellan, his course will be
directed to the Atlantic. As I have before stated, the best route to
this ocean is down the Madeira and Amazon Rivers, but if our traveller
has arrived in Bolivia by ascending those rivers, he will be anxious to
see new worlds, and will steer his course either for the Paraguay or the
Vermejo.
Should the former river be chosen, the traveller must, from Sucre, make
his way to Santa Cruz de la Sierra, from which town there is a track
running through the villages of the Cordillera to Curumbá, a Brazilian
town on the western bank of the Paraguay. From this place there are
occasional steamers trading up and down the river, by which Asuncion can
be reached, and from thence to Buenos Ayres there is a regular service.
This route involves a land journey of about 850 miles, being about 300
from Sucre to Santa Cruz and 550 from thence to Curumbá. A straight
line from Sucre to Curumbá would be under 500 miles, but there is no
known road running direct between the two places; and in 1875 a Bolivian
Commission, sent for the purpose of opening up a track, returned without
success, having been unable to attempt to cross the lagoons and swamps
of Izozo. The road _viâ_ Santa Cruz is a well-known one, and in fairly
dry weather presents no obstacles that a good mule cannot overcome,
the principal difficulties being those presented by a journey through
sparsely inhabited districts almost entirely destitute of resources for
a traveller, who must therefore depend upon his own animals and what he
can carry with him in provisions, bedding, and other requisites. Arrived
at Curumbá the rest of the journey to Buenos Ayres would probably be a
very pleasant one, navigating down the magnificent river known above
Corrientes as the Paraguay and below as the Paraná and Rio de la Plata.
If the Vermejo route be attempted, a land journey of about 400 miles to
Oran, _viâ_ Potosí, Cinti, and Tarija, must be undertaken, and from
Oran, I have been informed, canoes can be obtained for Corrientes, a
distance by river of about 900 miles. The land journey is a rough one, as
it passes over a very mountainous country, but probably a traveller would
find more resources _en route_ than by the Santa Cruz and Curumbá line.
Both Cinti and Tarija are places of considerable trade, and the former
is specially noted for its wines and spirits, which find their way, not
only all over Bolivia, but into the neighbouring republics of Peru and
Chili. The Cinti wines are very excellent in character, and compare
very favourably with ordinary wines of Portugal or Spain, whilst the
“aguadiente de ubas,” or “strong waters of the grape,” of Cinti is far
preferable to the greater part of such spirits as gin or common whiskey
and brandy, and is quite equal to the best white rum of the West Indies
or the best “Pisco” of Peru. In Sucre and Cochabamba this spirit is
called “cingani,” and costs ten reales, or 4_s._ 2_d._ per bottle, whilst
the Cinti wine of fairly good quality costs half that price for the same
quantity.
There is a route to the port of Cobija, the only Bolivian seaport on the
Pacific coast, but the entire journey from Porco to Cobija, being through
a perfectly deserted country of most mountainous and barren character,
should not be undertaken unless the traveller has special reasons for
visiting the desert of Atacama with its silver mines and “salitreros,” or
nitrate deposits.
The department of Atacama has been a constant cause of envy to Chilian
adventurers, and consequently, for many years past, frequent disputes
as to the boundary line have occurred; but these have now been settled
for a time by the treaty made in 1874, to which I have already referred,
and by which the astute Chilian minister Don Carlos Walker y Martinez
succeeded in transferring about sixty miles of coast-line from Bolivia
to Chili. This was a most serious loss to Bolivia, already almost
land-locked, but doubtless the Chilians will not be content until they
have gained all the Pacific seaboard available, and have united their
territory to that of Peru at the river Loa, thus entirely isolating
Bolivia from free communication with the Pacific. The unfortunate
internal dissensions of the Bolivians assist the Chilians greatly in
their efforts to absorb the whole of this rich mineral district of
Atacama, but as the Chilians are a far more enterprising people than the
Bolivians, one can scarcely regret that such a rich territory should
become the property of a people capable of developing its resources. For
information upon this part of Bolivia an inquirer should procure a work
entitled “Ten Years in South America,” written by Benjamin S. Dingman, an
American engineer, and published by Messrs. Trübner and Co. The following
remarks on the desert of Atacama are therein found, and as I had no
opportunity of visiting the district I may perhaps be excused for making
the following quotation, as being the best testimony available to me of
the richness of this part of Bolivia. The volume devoted to Bolivia opens
with an account of “the Caracoles silver mines which were discovered in
1870 in the desert of Atacama, by Don José Diaz Gana, whose innumerable
explorations have been the means of opening an extensive horizon to the
capital and industry of Bolivia and Chili. It appears that Diaz Gana, not
being satisfied with the result of his explorations on the borders of
the desert, sent a part of his company to the interior to explore some
mountains where he had reason to believe some rich veins of ore would be
found. His envoys, Saavedra, Mendez, Porras, and Reyes, arrived at the
table-land which serves as the base of those beautiful grey mountains.
Reyes, climbing up the easy slope, picked up loose pieces of silver where
now are the Merceditas and Deseada mines, and continued picking them up
in different directions, not knowing their value, but thinking possibly
they might be of service. Later on he joined his companions, who had also
found loose pieces of ore, and had made marks in the lead with their
knives. Two of them immediately started to the coast to inform their
patron. They had been to Diaz Gana what Sancho Mundo was to Columbus.
The discovery was made, and that dry and solitary desert a short time
after was the centre of an active population. Diaz Gana baptized that
emporium of riches ‘Caracoles,’ for the fossils characterizing the lias
were abundant, and as a matter-of-fact man he fixed upon this notable
geological formation to give a name to his discovery. The young Chilian
Francisco Bascunan Alvarez is another of those untiring explorers who
have helped to convert the desert into a field of industry and labour.
After long and laborious explorations in Copiapo, Bolivia, and Catamarca
in 1857, he returned to the desert in 1870 and discovered in Caracoles
the group called Isla on account of its topographical position. The
mines are from 10,000 to 15,000 feet above the level of the sea, and
among the richest may be noted the Deseada, Merceditas, Flor del
Desierto, Esperanza, San José and Esmeralda. Then there are the Federico
Errasurig, Sud America, Salvadora, and a host of others, some of great
promise, others worth little or nothing. The experiments made by men
of science resulted in the encouragement of all kinds of enterprises,
and Caracoles soon became an immense field of speculators disposing of
large capitals. The merchants of Chili, both native and foreign, were
the founders of these companies, the stock of which was sold at fabulous
premiums. In Caracoles fortunes were made in a day, and not insignificant
ones either, but of millions. But in this, as well as in other pursuits
of life, all cannot have the same luck, and thousands went there only to
bury their fortunes and their bones also in their vain search for the
hidden treasures.”
After the celebration of the treaty whereby the boundary line between
Bolivia and Chili was fixed at the 24th parallel of latitude, the
government of the latter republic lost little time in commencing
to utilize the treasures of the desert which would probably remain
undeveloped as long as they were in Bolivian hands. A commission of
exploration was sent under the auspices of the government, and the
results obtained are given to the world in a pamphlet whose objects are
therein thus set forth: “The Chilian government, desirous of rendering
aid to private enterprise, has sent thither two commissioners, one for
the purpose of discovering the natural sources of wealth existing in
this desert and now hidden from view, and the other to study the means
of affording ready access for those who may be engaged in the work
of bringing its produce within reach of the markets of the world.”
The pamphlet is entitled “Nitrate and Guano Deposits in the desert of
Atacama; an account of the measures taken by the government of Chili to
facilitate the development thereof,” and was published by the Chilian
Consulate in London.
With these few remarks upon the routes from Bolivia to the ocean, I will
take up the description of the road _viâ_ Potosí and Oruro to Tacna and
Arica. In preparing for this journey a traveller should engage a servant
who knows the road well; and there are plenty of handy fellows always on
the look out for such service. I was to be accompanied to England by the
son of an old English resident in Bolivia, a young lad who was being sent
to England to complete his education, so that we required two servant
boys, as we had, what with baggage and saddle mules, too many animals
for one boy to look after properly. My companion’s father sent with us
as his son’s factotum, a very handy Argentine gaucho who was most useful
on the road, as he thoroughly understood the management of the mules and
their pack apparatus, which, if not kept in good order, is sure to give
the travellers endless trouble. I selected one “Juan de la Cruz Peña,” a
man from the province of Valle Grande, who had made the journey several
times, and turned out a very fair servant, although he was not nearly so
handy with the animals as the Argentine “Marco.” A fair sum to pay one
of these men for the journey from Sucre to Tacna is forty-five pesos,
about £7, and he will want his food, or a payment of two reales (9_d._)
per day in lieu thereof. A mule must be provided for him, and he will
generally find his own saddle, bridle, and sleeping-blankets.
Occasionally arrieros, who are going down to Tacna with minerals from
Potosí or Oruro, and returning to Sucre with European goods, will
undertake the carriage of a traveller’s baggage on some of their spare
animals; but it is scarcely safe to trust any of these gentry, as they
are quite likely to leave your baggage anywhere on the road wherever
their animals may break down; and as they always require pay before they
start, it is not a very safe proceeding to trust one’s belongings to them.
“The Posta” is an institution that I have only met with in Bolivia, and
if it were properly worked, it would be a great assistance to travellers
in a country where there are scarcely any roads; but the government in
this, as in every other branch of the public service, seems to look
only to the one end of making as much as possible out of it. As soon as
a revolution is over, the ministers who have installed themselves in
Government House, call for tenders for farming the “postas” between the
principal towns of the republic. The successful contractor having paid
to the government the purchase price of the contract, is supposed to
supply a sufficient number of mules for the post-houses on the route he
has contracted for. These postas are generally about four to six leagues
apart, and a few Indian huts are found in their neighbourhood. The
contractor sells to these Indians the right of carrying the travellers
and their baggage; and screws as much as he can out of them for the
transfer of the monopoly of the work between each station. The tolls are
fixed by the government, and the corregidor of any town will furnish
the traveller with a “guia,” or list of the postas and the tolls to be
paid per mile between each of them. The rates vary slightly, according
to the situation of the posta, but are generally from two to two and a
half reales per mule per league, which would be about 3_d._ to 3½_d._
per mile; and this price includes the services of an Indian in charge
of the animals. Of course, the Indians, who have to pay heavily for the
privilege of working the posta, provide wretched animals, whilst the
government contractor, who rarely, if ever, visits the route, but lives
either at La Paz or Sucre, never troubles himself as to whether the
post-houses are kept in good condition, and supplied with sufficient and
proper animals.
Between Potosí and Oruro there are very fair post-houses, in which, in
times of peace, baggage mules can be depended upon from post to post; and
if one can be sure that everything connected with the posta is in good
working order, and that there is no probability of a revolution coming
on, this becomes a very good plan of getting over the road quickly and
economically; but you must take your own saddle animal, for it is simply
impossible to ride the rough posta mules.
About buying mules for a journey in Bolivia many opinions prevail; for
some people think it best to buy low-priced animals, so that the loss
in selling upon arrival at one’s destination may not be great; but I
think that loss is better avoided by purchasing good animals, which,
although costly, are more likely to find a buyer at a good price. There
is, however, great difficulty in selling animals in Tacna, for after
such a long journey it is almost impossible to avoid their arriving
in poor condition; and then the arrieros of Tacna, knowing that the
traveller is obliged to leave for Arica and the ocean steamer, conspire
together and refuse to give anything at all like a proper price for the
animals, alleging their condition as rendering them valueless. Good mules
are, however, certain to pass through the trials of the road better
than low-priced and weedy animals; they therefore are likely to find a
buyer, as there are generally travellers for Bolivia looking out for a
good mount for their journey. For ours we had to provide eight animals,
namely, four good saddle mules, three for baggage, and one spare one
that could take its turn either under saddle or pack, as required. This
last we found a very useful assistant, as, when a sore back or lameness
occurred, we thus had means of freeing the injured animal from its burden
until recovery. The saddle mules cost from 150 Bolivianos, or pesos
fuertes (4_s._ 2_d._ each), up to 400, the highest price being for a very
fine “macho,” or he-mule, belonging to the father of my young _compagnon
de voyage_, Don Alfredo. This macho, a beautifully marked grey, standing
perhaps fourteen hands in height and proportionately well built, would
always command a high price, as, on account of his great strength, he was
capable of becoming a “pianera,” or carrier of pianos over the Andes.
This task appears to be the highest test of strength for a mule; but I
have been told that an animal seldom makes more than three journeys under
the burden, as the third essay of the herculean feat appears to break
down the poor beast’s constitution entirely. The profits to an arriero on
the transport of a piano from Tacna to Bolivia are so great that he could
almost afford to slaughter his mule at the termination of a successful
journey, and thus spare the poor brute a repetition of the dreadful
ordeal; for the weight of a piano is fully equal to two ordinary mule
burdens. Our baggage mules were bought in Oruro, costing from 80 to 120
Bolivianos each, and whilst all the saddle mules arrived in Tacna in fair
condition, we found notwithstanding our having a spare animal, and all
the care that we could exercise, the trials of the road were so great,
that the four cheaper-priced animals finished their journey in such a bad
state that we found ourselves only able to realize but a small portion of
their cost. The saddle mules could, however, have been easily and well
sold had we not been under engagement to send them back to Bolivia with
the servants; and, after the double journey, those that had to be sold
realized very nearly their cost price. Certainly my experience is, that
it is cheaper in the long run to buy first-class animals only.
For a journey over the Andes, a traveller must provide himself with a
good poncho as well as a good overcoat, for the early mornings and the
nights are sometimes very sharp and cold. A waterproof sheet, that will
come well over the shoulders and fall over the pommel of the saddle, is
also not at all to be despised, as nothing is more objectionable than to
get one’s knees thoroughly soaked in some of the heavy rain storms that
are frequently encountered at all seasons of the year. It is a good plan
to carry a cot that will fold up into a small compass and lay between the
two packs of a baggage mule; a mattress and blankets are also necessary;
whilst it is as well to have a mosquito bar with one, as, in case of
being obliged to pass a night in the open, it will be found very useful
in keeping off the heavy dew.
For eatables, a sheep can be purchased on many parts of the route for
about a dollar; so that, with mutton or a fowl, a good chupe can be made
at the postas, if one’s servant has any idea of cooking it. A few tins
of green peas or carrots help one to do without the dreadful “chuño,”
which is the only vegetable obtainable; and, above all, some Liebig’s
extract of meat should be carried, as it is a most welcome addition to
the cuisine. A little coffee, tea, and sugar should also be taken, and
then one is independent of the keepers of the “pulperias” attached to the
postas. At these shops bad bottled ale can be bought at prices varying
from four to eight reales (1_s._ 8_d._ to 2_s._ 2_d._) the small bottle;
but it is well to avoid this as much as possible, and carry with one
some of the best Cinti cingani, which is a safe and wholesome beverage
when used moderately. I have found it excellent when taken with a dash
of Angostura bitters, a bottle of which forms a very acceptable addition
to one’s baggage. The following are some of the retail prices in Bolivia
of things useful for the journey. Tea, three pesos, say 9_s._ 4_d._ per
pound; coffee six reales, 2_s._ 3_d._ per pound; brandy (Martel’s) two
pesos and a half (7_s._ 10_d._) per bottle; tinned meats, such as paté de
foie gras, etc., three pesos (9_s._ 4_d._) each; tins of sardines, four
pesos (12_s._ 6_d._) per dozen.
Before starting, a traveller should be very careful to see that all
the pack saddles of his mules are complete and in good working order,
otherwise he will suffer endless annoyances on the road. An “aparejo,”
or pack-saddle, with “reatas” (hide ropes), “cinchas” (belly-bands),
“sogas,” (head-ropes), “caronas,” skins for placing under the saddle to
preserve the mules’ backs from injury, and every necessary, costs from
fifteen pesos to twenty, say £2 6_s._ 8_d._ to £3 1_s._ 8_d._ A good
“tapa-carga,” or cover for the baggage, costs about nine pesos, or, say
£1 10_s._ The best made in Oruro are an entire hide, roughly dressed,
with the hair on, cut square and bound with white leather curiously
pinked out into quaint patterns. A small handy set of shoeing tools, a
few shoes, and a supply of nails should be carried; and attention to
these minor details of a journey will save much trouble, as, when all
appliances are in good order, the stages of the road pass by pleasantly
enough, and the travellers arrive at the posta which marks the end of
the day’s work in good temper, inclined to do good justice to whatever
is forthcoming for the nightly repast, after which the thoroughly earned
rest is heartily enjoyed both by masters, men, and animals.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Leave Sucre under escort of English residents—Village of
Nutshucc—Yotala—“Quintas,” or farmhouses—Don Tomas Frias’
country-house—Señor Pacheco’s quinta—The river Cachimayo and
its basket bridge—Fever at Nutshucc—The river Pilcomayo—Terrado
and Pampa-tambo—Quebrada Honda—Bartolo—Potosí—The Soroche—The
Fonda Coca—The Cerro de Potosí—Silver mines—Reservoirs—Church
of La Matriz—The mint—New coinage—Burying money—Future of
mining in Potosí—Departure from Potosí—Tarapaya—Yocalla—Yocalla
bridge built by the devil in a night—Leñas—Loss of my aneroid
barometer—Vicuñas—Condors—Lagunillas—Tolapalca—Bolivian
Norfolk-Howards, or Vinchutas—Vilcapujio—Curious custom
of Indian women—Llamas and alpacas—Ancacata—The pampa of
Aullagas—The “Chulpas”—Catariri, Pazna and Poopo—Miserable
appearance of mining towns in Bolivia—Machacamarca—Rumours of
revolution—Beautiful mirage—Arrival at Oruro.
My homeward journey from Bolivia was commenced on the 22nd of December,
1874, when Don Alfredo and I left Sucre, accompanied by Alfredo’s father
and three other English friends, who formed the entire British community,
and who very kindly escorted us for a few miles on our way, so that we
might be fairly started with a hearty English farewell and good wishes
for a successful journey. About four o’clock in the afternoon we rode
out, in number eight horsemen, making quite a commotion as we clattered
through the roughly paved streets of the town.
That evening we only intended to ride as far as the village of Nutshucc,
where we had been invited to pass the night at the house of Doctor
Calvo, formerly minister of justice and public education. Nutshucc,
distant about three leagues from Sucre, is a place of resort of the
principal residents of the capital, who have built themselves country
residences, termed “quintas,” or farmhouses, but which are generally much
more pretentious than farmhouses in our own country. A smaller village,
called Yotala, which lays between Sucre and Nutshucc, is a small and
slovenly-looking place, in which chicha making and drinking appear to be
the principal occupations carried on. Between Yotala and Nutshucc there
are some well-built quintas on either side of the road, several of which
have substantially-built retaining walls round the grounds, to protect
them from the scour of the floods, which even at the time we rode up the
ravine, in many places reached up to the girths of our animals. One of
the finest of these quintas belonged to Señor Arturo Arana, a successful
miner, who had made a large fortune out of the silver mines of Huanchaca.
In contrast to this really fine house was a little den in course of
erection by Don Tomas Frias, the then president of the republic, who was
having a most curious little box, about sixteen feet square and three
stories high, built as his place of refuge when seeking relaxation from
the cares of state. The fact that the president was building himself a
country residence was so much talked of in every town of the republic,
that I had expected to see quite a palatial edifice, or at least a
building as imposing as many of the quintas of the rich mine-owners of
Bolivia, or some of the mansions built by the Melgarejo family during
the presidency of the general of that name; but if all Doctor Frias’s
requirements were on as limited a scale as his country house in the
Cachimayo valley, the country could not have suffered much from him
personally. Yet, although he was a man of most modest and unambitious
desires, his minister of war, Daza, made up in show and extravagance for
his leader’s economy.
At Nutshucc the ford of the river Cachimayo, which must be crossed by
travellers to or from Potosí, is very frequently impassable. On the Sucre
side stands the handsomest villa residence in Bolivia, the property of
Don Gregorio Pacheco, who, I believe, has also made his fortune in silver
mining, which seems to be the only occupation in Bolivia that leads
to affluence. The house is well built, of stone, with a stucco front,
having a spacious corridor supported on well-proportioned pillars; the
whole arrangement being very comfortable, and the owner is proud of it
accordingly. On our arrival we found that the Cachimayo was coming down
in flood, we had therefore to leave our animals at Señor Pacheco’s,
and cross the river, about eighty yards in width, in a basket bridge,
the property and invention of Señor Pacheco, and therefore universally
considered to be a most marvellous and clever enterprise. The river is
spanned by a stout rope hawser, about three inches in diameter, supported
on either bank by a tripod of poles, well guyed down on every side. Under
the tripods are placed drums, turned alternately by manual labour, as
it is required to cause the basket to cross over from side to side. The
basket is slung from roughly-cut wooden pulley wheels, which work on
the hawser, but as the whole affair is of the roughest workmanship and
materials, the motion is so jolty and erratic that the occupant of the
basket is generally sea-sick before getting half-way over the stream,
while the chances are that the hauling ropes break down during the
passage, when the _voyageur_ is left in mid-air and mid-stream until he
can be rescued from the unpleasant position by an acrobatic performance
of an Indian, who has to go out on the hawser with a new hauling rope.
Nutshucc is considered a very charming place by the Chuquisaquenos, who
think it the height of luxury to be the owner of a quinta in the narrow
ravine of the Cachimayo; but although it is pretty by contrast to the
dreary plain in which Sucre stands, I did not think it at all equal to
some of the environs of Cochabamba. The hills on either side of the
Cachimayo ravine are of a shaly rock, which crumbles down in regular
slopes with a uniformly dull and heavy look, that quite take away any
idea of the picturesqueness which the valley might have, were the rocks
of a more solid character. My experience of the place was not altogether
pleasant, for on my first visit there I was taken with a severe attack of
ague-fever, probably the last lingerings of the usual ill effects of a
stay amongst the rapids of the Madeira River, and which the damp climate
of Nutshucc brought out. This illness came upon me whilst visiting the
Calvo family, and I was greatly indebted to the extreme kindness with
which I was cared for during the three days upon which I was too weak
to attempt the return journey to Sucre; but, kindness and hospitality
are, I must say, the rule in Bolivia, for in all my travels through the
country I only remember one house, already mentioned, where I was treated
with anything but the greatest courtesy and friendship. This good account
of Bolivians, refers, however, only to those of Spanish descent, for the
Indians, both Quichuans and Aymarás, as a rule, especially in the small
villages and at the post-houses, are brutish and rude in the extreme, and
even the offer of ready money payment will not, in some places, procure
for a traveller fodder for his animals, or a few simple necessaries for
himself.
However, to continue the journey, our animals, which had remained the
night at Señor Pacheco’s, were the following morning, the floods having
abated, ridden across the ford; and at early dawn, having been fortified
with a cup of coffee, we started on our way, intending to make Quebrada
Honda our resting-place at night, as this forms the first stage between
Sucre and Potosí. Leaving Nutshucc, which I make to be about 8000 feet
above sea-level, the road lays up a very narrow quebrada, or ravine, at
the head of which a steep ascent, or cuesta, called El Cruzero, has to be
ascended to a height of nearly 9000 feet above sea-level, from whence the
track rapidly falls again, until, after passing a small village called
Calara, the river Pilcomayo is reached. The altitude has then fallen
to about 7000 feet, and the river, which flows through a valley about
a mile in width, in flood-time is impassable; but we were able to ford
it easily, carefully avoiding some very treacherous-looking quicksands
that were dotted about the river bed. A short distance above where we
crossed, the valley narrows considerably, and there is high ground on
either side of the stream. The track would conduct one to the ruins of
a bridge which has been built over the Pilcomayo, but the road bed of
the structure was in such a rotten condition, that the arrieros do well
to trust themselves to the chances of the ford rather than risk falling
through from the bridge into the river. On either side of the ravine
are patches of cultivated land, watered by “azequias,” or irrigation
channels, led from the necessary distance up the stream.
Leaving the Pilcomayo, the road again ascends a cuesta, at top of which
are the stations of Terrado and Pampa-tambo, at an elevation of 9850
feet above sea-level. These are not good places to stop at, being small
farms and not regular “postas,” so we kept on our road, which crosses
cuesta after cuesta, until we arrived at a deep and wide ravine, called
Quebrada Honda, where we intended to stay the night, at a post-house in
the bottom, having travelled about twelve leagues during the day. The
general elevation of the country has somewhat increased, the summits of
the hills on either side of the ravine being about 12,000, whilst the
post-house in the bottom is about 11,200 feet above sea-level. At this
place we had great difficulty in getting the public room opened for us,
and were refused forage for our animals and food for ourselves, under the
plea that the owner of the house was from home; but by a slight display
of firmness, and a few hints as to the great importance to the government
of the business upon which we were travelling, we got the Indians in
charge to produce the keys, and open the room appropriated to the use
of travellers. For barley in the straw, which is the fodder generally
given to mules in this part of the country, we had to pay four pesos per
quintal, or about 13_s._ for a bundle supposed to weigh 100 lbs. Our
servant boys managed to get themselves some chupe, made from dried mutton
and chuño, whilst Alfredo and I supped off some cold provisions which the
kindness of our friends in Sucre had provided for us. The temperature at
night was low enough to make the use of blankets desirable, and as the
post-house was new and clean, we passed a good night, and rose betimes,
intending to get to Potosí before nightfall if possible.
Starting soon after six o’clock on the following morning, we made good
and rapid progress. Ascending the cuesta on the Potosí side, there is
nothing noteworthy on the road until, at about a league and a half from
Quebrada Honda, some small lakes are seen in a plain surrounded by high
hills. These drainage pools of water are a common feature amongst the
Andean ranges, and are many of them situated at very high altitudes,
those we passed to-day being at about 11,750 feet above sea-level. They
are very shallow, and cattle were walking across them at pleasure, whilst
several couple of ducks and some teal were on the margin of the water,
together with numberless “gabiotas,” or tern, which rose up screaming at
being disturbed from their work of searching for worms in the wet sandy
mud over which the track passes. About mid-day we arrived at Bartolo, a
small and miserable village, at which the traveller should arrange to
stay as short a time as possible, for the dust and dirt of the place
are intolerable. We refreshed ourselves with our cold provisions,
and a bottle of ale from our travelling larder, whilst our “mozos,”
(servant-boys) indulged in copious draughts of chicha mascada, which
horrible beverage is the only drink purchasable at Bartolo. Riding hard
all the afternoon, we arrived at Potosí about half-past six, just as
night was closing in, having done fourteen leagues and a half in the
day’s journey. We were so fatigued that I did not care that evening to
present a letter of introduction that my German friends in Sucre had
given me to their correspondent in Potosí, so we made straight for the
best tambo in the town, called the “Tambo Artéche.” This tambo is a
very large building, forming a square, with yards for the animals at
the rear. The square has galleries on every side, and reminded one of
some of the old-fashioned inns of home. We got a very good room off one
of the galleries, and after partaking of some poached eggs and chupe,
procured from a “fonda” near by, were very glad to see our cots put up,
and to have the prospect of a good night’s rest. This tambo was one of
the best that I recollect in my travels through Bolivia, but the only
accommodation afforded consisted of an empty room for ourselves, and
the use of a yard, or “corral,” for our animals. For the former we were
charged six reales, say 2_s._ 3_d._ per day, and this sum was the sole
demand made upon us for the use of the hotel, as we only had to pay for
the barley that our animals consumed, and nothing at all for their safe
custody, so that if the entertainment offered a traveller at a Bolivian
tambo be small, the charges are moderate in proportion. Barley was the
same price as at Quebrada Honda.
The next day was Christmas Day (1874), and we rose up to so cold, clear,
and bright an atmosphere, that I might well have fancied that we were
in Old England, especially as snow had fallen during the night, and lay
thick on the courtyard. Soon after rising I experienced an unpleasant
sensation in the throat, which caused a feeling of faintness, and was
said to be the effect of the sickness called “soroche,” that attacks
all new comers to Potosí. It is not, however, a specialty of the place,
but the effect of the high altitude, and is not felt so severely by
travellers passing from the interior of Bolivia to the Pacific, as, in
consequence of the more gradual nature of the ascent, probably their
lungs have time to adapt themselves to the rarified condition of the
atmosphere. Persons arriving from the Pacific are much more exposed to
the bad influences of this sickness, and several fatal cases are recorded
of almost sudden death amongst new comers direct from westward. The first
symptoms are giddiness and vomiting, and sufferers are advised to lie
down at once, or at all events cease any kind of exertion. The scent
of ammonia and garlic are said to be good remedies; whilst the use of
spirits is advocated by some, but by others considered to be sure to
bring fatal consequences with it. My own personal experience was that a
moderate quantity of spirits, taken at the first feeling of faintness,
arrested its progress; but the balance of opinion is so entirely
against the use of alcohol by sufferers from soroche, that I would be
loath to place my single evidence in the scale. The Indians aver that
their favourite stimulant, coca, is a complete preservative, and some
recommend the addition of a mouthful of snow or ice to the “chew.”
[Illustration: EL CERRO DE POTOSÍ.]
The soroche did not, however, prevent our feeling the want of a good
breakfast, so we left our tambo and proceeded to the Fonda Coca, a very
decent and clean little restaurant near by, where we had a very nice
mutton chupe, with eggs poached in it; some so-called beef-steaks, which
were hard and greasy; a very good bottle of Cinti wine, and some coffee.
The charge for this breakfast for two was eleven reales and a half, or
about 4_s._ 10_d._, a sum which was certainly not unreasonable. We then
strolled out to see the city, which is built at an elevation of about
13,500 feet above sea-level, at the foot of the magnificent Cerro de
Potosí, an immense white-capped cone, whose summit is probably more than
2000 feet above the city, the most interesting in Bolivia, having at
one time a population of probably over 200,000, but now only being able
to boast of about a tenth of that number. The famous Cerro, which might
well be termed the “Silver Hill of Potosí,” has in times of recent date
yielded immense stores of treasure, and was doubtless the principal
source of Spain’s former great wealth. Whilst the mines were workable
without machinery the profits derived from them must have been enormous,
but even the seemingly fabulous riches of this hill of silver will not
tempt speculators to attempt the impossible, and try to drag powerful
pumping engines over the Andes from the Pacific to Potosí. Consequently
the output of mineral has so decreased that the population has emigrated
or died off, and the greater part of the city is in ruins, which standing
desolate and forlorn on the barren hill-side, only serve as a monument of
the departed activity of the place. The city has also suffered more from
revolutions than any other in the republic, having been a continual bone
of contention between opposing factions, many of the houses bearing marks
of the severity of the struggles of which they have been the silent but
suffering witnesses. Some few interesting remains of former prosperity
may still be seen, the twisted columns of the façade of the church of
the “Matriz” are marvels of architectural effect, and the reservoirs
for the storage of the water supplying the power for the stamping-mills
constructed during the time of the Spaniards, show that though the
Spanish government was a despotic one, it designed and carried out works
that its republican successors seem quite unable to match, for I do not
recollect to have seen anywhere in Bolivia a single public institution
that has been erected since the War of Independence, saving some
paltry-looking “cuartels,” or barracks, of which there are two or three
to every town; whilst churches, convents, colleges, and other buildings,
dating back before the war, are seen in every city of importance.
The streets of Potosí are very narrow, the houses very old-fashioned,
much smoke-begrimed, and blackened with the accumulated dust and dirt of
years; for although water is laid on from the reservoirs for the supply
of the town, its use seems to be avoided as much as possible. This fear
of water may be the result of the constant coldness of the climate and
the piercing winds which are seldom absent from the bleak heights of the
Andes. The Indians all have a dreadfully unwashed look about them, and
their places of public resort, such as the “recoba,” or market-place,
are perfect pig-sties. The principal object of interest in Potosí is the
mint, where is to be seen the only steam-engine at work in Bolivia. The
machinery was made by a Philadelphian firm of engineers, and, being under
the superintendence of Americans, is kept in very fair working order,
the coins struck being very good impressions, though, as the feeding is
done by hand, many of them come out in incomplete shape. This machine was
set up by General Melgarejo, who is said to have pressed on its erection
as rapidly as possible, in order, probably, that he might lose no time
in flooding the country with his abominable base coinage. He certainly
would not have taken so much pains and trouble with any other enterprise;
for it is said that the beams for the stamps were dragged by oxen all the
way from the forests of Tucuman, and considering the numerous hills and
ravines that have to be crossed between Tucuman and Potosí, one may say
that Melgarejo is to be credited with a considerable achievement, even
though the object he may have had in view was a rascally one. The coinage
that has been struck recently, consisting of Bolivianos, or dollars,
of 4_s._ 2_d._ value, half Bolivianos, reales, and medio reales, is of
first-rate quality, and is so much sought after by the Indian population
that it has been found extremely difficult to keep pace with the demand,
the Indians of Bolivia having the propensity, in common with all other
uncivilized peoples, of burying their earnings, and they are cunning
enough not to bury the bad Melgarejos, but only the good new money. The
Quichuan Indians apparently do not care much for ornaments, such as
bangles or armlets; the women wear a kind of spoon-headed pin, made of
silver or baser metal, according to the wealth of the wearer. These pins,
or skewers as they might more properly be termed, seem to do the double
duty of pinning up a shawl or head-gear, and of being used as spoons in
the consumption of chupe and chicha. The women are also fond of amassing
as many different coins as possible, and attaching them to a knitted
bag, which they use as a kind of market purse. These “murchilas,” as
they are termed, are often covered with silver moneys of all sizes and
nationalities, and some very rare old Spanish coins may thus be met with
by amateurs who will pay the owner a good price in current money.
Among other curiosities worth looking for are the “mechas,” and “yescas,”
or tinder-cases and steel-strikers, for which the town is noted. Some
of these yescas are true works of art, the engraving being executed
in good style; whilst many of them are inlaid in gold on hard steel
in a wonderful manner. The “mechas,” or tinder-cases, are also very
nicely designed and executed, in silver or gold, and together with the
steel-strikers form a good memorial of the cleverness of the art-workers
of Potosí.
[Illustration: YESCA AND MECHA HOLDER (POTOSÍ).]
There does not seem much _immediate_ future for the mining interests of
Potosí, although it is an undoubted fact that the Cerro still contains
inexhaustible supplies of silver ore, but none of the old levels and
shafts can be worked, nor can new ones be sunk advantageously, without
heavy pumping machinery, which it is practically impossible to carry up
from the coast. But, at some future day, when railways shall have opened
up the interior of Bolivia, these mines will again become valuable; but
even then, the mines of Oruro and Huanchaca, and others located in the
central plains of the republic, are much more advantageously situated
for purposes of export than the deposits of Potosí. A great drawback to
successful mining in these regions is found in the total absence of fuel
for smelting purposes, as the forests that once existed in the lower
ravines of the metalliferous districts have been entirely exhausted, and
no discovery of coal has yet been made, or is, perhaps, likely to be
made, within a reasonable distance for transport.
We remained a couple of days only in Potosí, perfecting our arrangements
for the next stage of our journey, namely to Oruro, a distance of
about 200 miles. Three of the baggage mules that we brought from Sucre
had been hired only, at the rate of fifteen pesos each, and we had to
decide whether our onward march should be continued with hired animals,
or whether we would chance finding the posta in good working order.
For hired pack mules to Tacna, the end of our journey, we were asked
sixty pesos each, with the condition that we should find forage on the
road; thus, probably the three animals we required would have cost us
altogether about 250 pesos for the trip, whilst, travelling posta, the
same number of animals ought not to cost more than about half that sum:
we therefore decided to risk it, especially as we were assured in Potosí
that the posta to Oruro was in excellent working order. I was very glad
to get away from the town, for the climate did not seem to suit me, as
I had a return of my Nutshucc experiences of ague; and on the 27th of
December, a Sunday morning, having arranged that the posta mules should
be at the tambo by 6 a.m., we should have started early had we not been
delayed by the absence of one of our mozos, who had been indulging too
freely over-night. It seemed that we were fated to suffer delays and
difficulties, for soon after starting I was again attacked with a fit of
ague and vomiting, which came on so severely that on reaching a small
village called Calamarca, scarcely a league out of Potosí, I found myself
quite unable to proceed, and had to dismount at a small and horridly
dirty chicheria, where I was allowed to lie down in a corner on some mats
and rugs. After taking warm water to aid the vomiting, and going through
the regular stages of cold shivers and burning heat, I managed to get
half an hour’s sleep, and rose up sufficiently recovered to be able to
mount my mule again. In consequence of this delay we made but a very poor
day’s work, and only got as far as Tarapaya, distant about five leagues
from Potosí. On our road we met the posta Indians returning with their
mules, and they informed us that they had left our baggage in charge
of the “maestro,” or keeper of the posta at Tarapaya, and they told us
that we should be sure of getting animals there for the next stage to
Yocalla. We were much pleased with the celerity with which the muleteers
of the first stage out had done their part, and thought that it augured
well for our onward progress; but, alas, on arriving at the post-house
we found our baggage placed in an empty room with open doors, and not a
living soul about the place. The village was about half a mile away from
the post-house, so Alfredo went on with the mozos, to buy barley for our
saddle mules, some supper for ourselves, and engage baggage mules for the
next day’s work. The speed shown by the Indian muleteers from Potosí was
now explained, for they feared that had we arrived at Tarapaya before
they had left, and found no animals ready to take us on, we should have
forced them to wait till the following day, and carry our baggage the
next stage to Yocalla and they would thus have had double duty to do,
so they hasted to return that they might pass us on the road and shirk
their work by telling us the flattering tale that other animals were
in readiness for us. As travellers have to pay for the first stage out
of a town before starting, and at double the rate of the other stages,
they are exposed to such tricks as the one played upon us; and as we had
paid the maestro at Potosí, we let the fellows pass us, thinking all was
right. However, I congratulated myself that our baggage was safe, and
had a nap until Alfredo returned with the eatables and fodder, but with
the doleful intelligence that no mules could be got without sending on
to Yocalla, four leagues ahead. I am afraid that we made some rather
hard remarks upon our friends at Potosí, who had so strongly advised us
to travel posta, for had we agreed to pay the price asked by the arriero
who offered us animals for Tacna, we should have been independent of the
tricks of the Indian post-boys; however, we had our supper, and turned
in, hoping that our troubles would be confined to the first day only.
The next day we started Marco, the gaucho, on to Yocalla, to return as
quickly as possible with baggage mules, and waited as patiently as we
could. I felt much better than yesterday, and this being an off-day for
the shakes, I took a good dose of quinine, and hoped that, as we were
getting to a somewhat lower level, the attacks of ague, or soroche, would
cease. The post-house of Tarapaya is about 11,200 feet above sea-level,
and the small village, about half a mile distant, seems to be entirely
deserted, only one or two Indians being visible, and they were very
much disinclined to sell us any provisions; indeed, we had to threaten
to shoot a fowl for ourselves, before we could induce the owner to sell
it to us for a very fair price of two reales and a half, or about 1_s._
It was not till nearly two o’clock in the afternoon that Marco returned
with baggage mules, and we then made haste to saddle up and get on the
road. Alfredo and I started on ahead of the boys; but, as I was not over
strong, we could not ride at any but a walking pace; it was therefore
quite dark before we arrived at Yocalla, near which we crossed the best
masonry bridge in Bolivia—a single arch of about thirty feet span, and
of masonry excellently well put together. The Indians of Yocalla say the
devil built it in a single night; if so, his satanic majesty must be a
very good mason. I wondered whether the explanation of this tale might
not be that the bridge was one of the last works carried out under the
Spanish government’s _régime_, and that possibly the builder might have
been a freemason, in which case the priests would most probably have told
the Indians that it was built by _a_ devil.
The mozos and the baggage mules did not arrive at Yocalla until nearly
ten at night, as they had encountered a very difficult task in driving
the posta mules, which were very wild; at least, this was the explanation
that the boys gave us of their delay; but, as we left Tarapaya before
they did, I am rather inclined to think that they had a good long visit
to a chicheria on the road. Until they arrived with the beds, we passed
a bad time, for the mud berths in the post-house were not the softest
couches, even when we had spread out all our rugs and saddle-cloths; and
we were very glad to see them arrive safely with their cargoes, for we
had got quite downhearted with surmising all manner of accidents that
might have happened. This tedious waiting and uneasiness brought back my
old enemy, the ague, so that I passed a bad night, and on the following
morning could scarcely summon up courage enough to mount my mule and take
to the road again. About eight o’clock, however, we managed to get off,
after a cup of tea, and started for the next posta, called Leñas, about
seven leagues distant.
Our road here lay principally over two long and steep cuestas, the one
nearest to Yocalla rising to nearly 14,000 feet above sea-level, at which
height there is a small lake or pool with a few ducks. On either side of
the road the mountain tops, which were covered with snow, rose probably
1000 or 1500 feet higher than the summit of the pass. The next ascent,
which is nearer to Leñas, rises about 5000 feet higher than the elevation
assigned to the Yocalla cuesta, and on passing over it we met with a
slight hail-storm. We arrived at the Leñas posta about three o’clock in
the afternoon, having travelled slowly on account of my weakness, and we
thought it prudent to be content with our day’s work of seven leagues.
So we decided to rest for the remainder of the day, that our saddle
mules might also refresh themselves thoroughly and be ready for a good
day’s work to-morrow. Leñas is a single house, situated in a small plain
surrounded entirely by rugged rocky eminences, amongst which Alfredo and
the two mozos had great sport hunting “biscachas,” a lively little animal
that makes its home in the holes of the rocks, and is so much like them
in colour, a dark bluish grey, that a very sharp look-out is wanted to
distinguish them. In shape they appear to be a cross between a squirrel
and a rabbit, having the tail and ears of the former, and head and body
of the latter, to which, when cooked, they assimilate greatly in flavour.
Barley was very scarce here, the Indians asking as much as six pesos two
reales, or £1 sterling, per quintal of 100 lbs.; but, by a few threats
of complaint to the corregidor of the district, although we had not the
slightest idea who he might be or where to find him, we got the price
reduced to five pesos, about 16_s._ To a quintal of barley in the straw,
we added an arroba (25 lbs. weight) of the grain, costing twelve reales,
about 5_s._, so that the mules, five in number, both feasted and rested
well. The keep of the animals is the most costly part of the expenses of
a journey in Bolivia, so that there is no doubt but that posting is the
best way to travel, provided that one can be sure before starting that
the posta arrangements are complete and in good working order throughout
the route, and that the traveller has provided himself with a good saddle
mule.
Shortly after arriving at Leñas, I set to work to write up my diary;
and, looking for my aneroid barometer, I found, to my sorrow, that I had
lost it on the road. I recollected that when the hail-storm commenced,
as we were ascending the last cuesta, I put my heavy poncho on, and when
the storm was over the sun came out so strongly that, being unable to
bear the heat and weight of the said poncho, I had to take it off again,
and so must have lifted the aneroid, which hung in its leather case by
a small strap round my neck, over my head at the same time, without
noticing its fall. This might easily have happened at any time, as it was
a very small one, scarcely as large as a good-sized watch, and I would
certainly recommend the use of the larger sizes, although they are much
heavier and more cumbersome. No doubt it was careless in the extreme to
drop an aneroid without noticing its fall; but when one is suffering
from fever, perhaps shaking with cold and scarcely knowing how to sit
on the mule, a small watch-sized article may easily drop unnoticed. The
loss was most annoying to me, as one of the chief pleasures of the road
was at an end, namely, the noting down of the differences of elevation
of the different ravines and cuestas. In order to make every effort to
recover my loss, I sent an Indian on foot and my mozo Juan on a mule,
with orders to return as far as Yocalla, if necessary, as possibly the
postilions who took back the mules belonging to that place, might have
found it, and have taken it along with them. Juan returned about ten at
night, saying he had found the postilions in a hut about half way to
Yocalla, resting for the night, but that he could not get any tidings
from them of the missing aneroid, although he searched their packs and
pockets; so probably some of the llama men that passed us on the road had
found it, and it was lost to me altogether.
We left Leñas on the following morning about eight o’clock, being
furnished with very good posting mules, that were to carry our baggage
to the next posta, Lagunillas, distant seven leagues. The road crossed
the “cabeçeiras,” or head-waters, of the Pilcomayo several times, the
broadest stream being about half-way between Leñas and Lagunillas, and
flowing through a valley that would be very pretty scenery were there
any trees or other vegetation than the brown tufted grass, which is
all the sign of life to be seen at these great elevations, except the
“vicuñas,” which we met for the first time hereabouts. These animals are
about the size of a small fallow deer, which, when seen at a distance,
they very much resemble. They seem to confine their wanderings to
the central plateau of the Andes, for they are not found eastward of
Potosí, or westward of the pass of Tacora. Probably they keep to these
limits because they form the zone in which fewest villages or towns are
found; they cannot be influenced by elevation or climate, for similar
circumstances may be found in many other parts of the country. They
go in droves of different sizes, sometimes not more than four or five
being together, whilst at times droves containing as many scores are met
with. Their fur is of a light dun colour on the back of the animal, the
breast and neck being almost white. The skins are not much valued at
home, although they make beautiful rugs for carriage use, or in place of
quilts as bed coverings, for which purposes they are very suitable for
elderly people, as, while they are warm and soft, they are exceedingly
light. A good rug takes, I was told, about twenty skins; but it is a bad
plan to buy the made-up rugs in Bolivia, as the makers there charge a
very heavy price for putting the skins together, whilst their work is
of such very ordinary character that the skins have to be resewn and
relined after arriving in England. For some rugs that I bought in Tacna I
paid about £7 each; but the bargain was a very bad one, for although the
price was not above that usually asked in Bolivia, I found, on getting
them home to London, that at the principal furriers of the West End much
better vicuña rugs, well sewn and preserved, could be bought for about
one fourth of the price that I paid in Tacna. If the skins were more
valuable, so as to make it worth while killing vicuñas for the sake of
the furs, some excellent sport might be had in the Andes, for they are
nobody’s property, and as free to all comers as are the ducks in the
lagoons. They are, however, so tame, that there would not be much glory
in stalking them, for many times on the road I could have knocked them
over with a bullet from my revolver; and I passed several that had
evidently been wounded by passing travellers, and left to drag out their
life in pain and misery. Wherever practicable, we shot the poor beasts,
and left their carcases for the condors, eagles, and vultures that are
continually soaring over the mule tracks of the Andes on the look-out
for their horrid banquet. Often, when riding over the Andes, a huge dark
shadow comes suddenly over the path, and the traveller, looking upwards,
sees the magnificent condor floating in the bright sunlight and rising to
his resting-place amongst the snow-clad peaks. These birds are seldom to
be seen at rest, but occasionally they may be observed feasting on some
poor mule that has fallen exhausted by the way-side. The eagles may then
be noticed flying round in circles, watching for their turn, which comes
next, whilst the vultures are dotted over the plain, waiting contentedly
until the more lordly birds have satisfied themselves, when they will
fall to and not leave the carcase until nothing but the skeleton remains.
We arrived at Lagunillas about one o’clock, having done the seven leagues
in the five hours, and we found good mules ready for the next stage,
which would take us to Tolapalca, about four leagues distant. Lagunillas
is a small “aldea,” or village, of perhaps a dozen small houses and a
church, built like the houses, of sun-dried adobes, or mud-bricks, and
roofed with rushes. The place is named from two lagoons close by, where
we saw many ducks and large flocks of tern, or “gabiotas,” some of the
ducks being regular “pato royales,” like the black and white ones of the
Mamoré River. I tried a shot at them from my revolver, but the range was
too great, although they seemed so tame that I was almost sure of them.
As the Indians have no guns, the ducks very rarely get disturbed; this
probably accounts for their tameness. After resting a couple of hours,
during which the saddle mules enjoyed a feed of barley and had a roll in
the dust of the corral, we took to the road again, and, leaving the hilly
country, got on to an elevated pampa land, over which we made pretty
rapid travelling, getting to Tolapalca about half-past five, before
night closed in. During the afternoon ride, rain threatened to come down
heavily, but confined itself to the neighbouring hills. The post-house
of Tolapalca is a very desolate place, and must be at a great elevation,
possibly 14,000 feet; here I began to miss my poor lost aneroid. The
rooms are deplorably small and abominably dirty; but, at these elevations
it is impossible to sleep out-of-doors, as the nights are not only very
cold, but the storms of wind, rain, and snow are very frequent, so there
is nothing to be done but to put up with the dirt and discomfort of the
postas. Travelling on the Andes is very different to a journey in India,
where, if the bungalow be not to one’s liking, the absence of dew at
night allows one to sleep either in the verandah or out in the open. In
most parts of South America, a man who slept out of doors whilst any
sort of a roof was within a reasonable distance would be looked upon
as little less than a madman. At Tolapalca, we got some fresh but lean
mutton, and made a very fair chupe for supper, after which we hoped
for a good night’s rest; but alas, my hopes were vain, for, no sooner
had I blown out the candle than I was attacked by an army of Bolivian
Norfolk-Howards, called here “chinches” or “vinchutas.” As I was hours
before, thoroughly wearied out, I at last got a little broken sleep. The
night was very cold, so that I was obliged to keep under my blankets
along with the bugs, and bear it out as best I could. The strange thing
was, that when I struck a light, not a single brute could I discover; yet
immediately I put the light out and courted sleep, my horrid persecutors
recommenced the torment. How I envied my young Bolivian friend and the
two mozos, who all snored away with most dismal regularity, whilst I was
tossing about on my cot and venting smothered “blessings” (?) on the
invaders of my rest.
The next day was the last of the year 1874, and, rising early, we
settled our account at the Tolapalca posta for barley, at five pesos the
quintal, and for posting mules on to the next stage at Vilcapujio. I
endeavoured to have a deduction made from our bill for the entertainment
I had afforded to the vinchutas during the night, but could not get our
Indian hosts to see the matter in the same light as I did. Soon after
starting, rain, changing into a heavy snow-storm, began to fall, and kept
us company all the way to the next posta, a distance of four leagues,
which we accomplished in about two hours and a half. Vilcapujio was the
site of a battle in the War of Independence, and is a fine open pampa,
affording plenty of room for a fight, with hills on either side for good
positions. The post-house is very large, and somewhat cleaner than that
at Tolapalca. Here we got some very fair mutton and potatoes, so that
arriving early we were able to make a better breakfast than was possible
on days when we could not reach the end of a stage until the afternoon,
when, perhaps, another piece of the road would have to be got over before
nightfall. If an English traveller in these parts has been fortunate
enough to secure a mozo, that has a little idea of cooking, his plan is
to show the mozo at starting what kind of a broth, or chupe, he likes,
and then, when materials are available at the different post-houses,
he stands some chance of getting a broth that is both eatable and
nourishing; but the chupes prepared for travellers by the Indians of
the postas are simply abominable. Their colour is an earthy red, and
they taste of nothing but fire, grease, and garlic, the first from the
great quantity of “aji,” or chillies, put in, the second from the dirty
state of the cooking-pots, and the last is inseparable from all Bolivian
cookery.
On leaving Vilcapujio about mid-day, I was much amused by seeing three
Indian women rush out of the adjoining huts, each one bearing a few
burning embers in a broken piece of an earthen pot. These embers they
placed in the mule track, and then, kneeling and crossing themselves,
they retired to their huts, leaving the burning ashes in the pathway. My
mozo’s account of this pantomime was that the women prayed that the mules
might travel as rapidly as the smoke of their fires did, but as the smoke
does not return to the place from whence it started the explanation does
not appear to be a very good one. My idea was that the women might be the
wives of the postilions, and as the smoke never returned, so these wives,
like many fashionable ones of Europe, prayed that the husbands might
vanish as the smoke did; but as there were three wives to two postilions
this theory would not work, so I had to leave the problem unsolved.
Large droves of llamas and alpacas were scattered about over the pampa of
Vilcapujio, and I observed that these animals mixed but little together,
the one or two stray ones in each large drove looking like visitors,
out of place. After leaving the pampa the road becomes more uneven, and
crosses the river Ancacata several times. Ancacata is about four leagues
from Vilcapujio, but the posta way-bills, or “guias,” give the distance
as six leagues. We arrived late in the afternoon, having travelled very
slowly, on account of the strong wind, which blew so piercingly cold
over the pampa that, at times, we were fain to stop the mules and turn
our backs to it. The village of Ancacata is pitched in a narrow valley,
through which the river of the same name runs, the hills on either side,
although barren and stony, having rather an imposing look from being
covered with tufts of short dry grass, of a bright yellow colour, giving
quite a golden tinge to them in the fading sunset.
The houses are all in a tumble-down and ruinous state, the posta being
in the same condition, with scarcely plaster enough on its walls for the
travelling snobs of Bolivia, both natives and foreigners, to scrawl their
valued names and sentiments. One of these defacers of public property
advises passers-by that on a certain day he passed through Ancacata with
his “amiable spouse,” as he defines his wife: happy man! or else given
to falsehood-telling to keep his better half in a state of amiability.
So common is the habit of writing one’s name in public places, that even
the mountain roads of the Andes can show many examples of the abominable
practice. Notwithstanding the ruinous state of the post-house, we passed
a very good night, as we were, I am happy to record, not troubled with
unpleasant companions as we had been at Tolapalca. We congratulated
ourselves greatly on this, as the next day we had a very long ride before
us, having to get over three stages before nightfall, so as to sleep the
following night at Poopo.
The next morning was the first in the new year of 1875, and we rose at
half-past four, leaving Ancacata at six o’clock sharp. The morning was
fine and clear, but very cold, the tops of the hills being all covered
with snow. The road runs down the river for about a couple of leagues,
and then gets out on the pampa lands of Aullagas, bordering on the lake
of Poopo. The country hereabouts is dotted over with cottages and huts of
a much superior character to those of the villages lately passed through,
and the Indians seem more well-to-do than those living on the hills.
In this part of the country a traveller going west first comes across
those very remarkable and interesting relics of antiquity called
“chulpas.” They are dotted all over the central plain of Bolivia, and
a few are also found on the lower parts of the slopes of the mountains
on either side. Whether the chulpa has been a house or a tomb, and who
were its builders, are questions that, as far as I know, remain entirely
unanswered. As for its builders, the only information to be obtained
regarding them from the present inhabitants of Bolivia, whether Indians
or Bolivians of Spanish extraction, is that the chulpa was a “casa de los
Gentiles,” or literally translated, a “house of the Gentiles,” and that
the Gentiles were the inhabitants of the country before the introduction
of the Christian religion by the missionaries who followed in the wake
of the Spanish conquerors of the Incas. The explanation does not seem to
be a feasible one, as the Incas settled in Peru more than in Bolivia,
and have left in the former country many monuments in stonework of
their skill as handicraftsmen, while the chulpa is a rough erection of
“adobes,” or sun-dried mud bricks, and is the only relic of former ages
that Bolivia has to boast of. The makers of the chulpa, must, therefore,
probably be looked for in a race that existed prior to the Incas.
[Illustration: A CHULPA.]
The chulpas are of various heights, ranging from ten to twenty and
occasionally thirty feet high, the difference arising probably from the
more rapid decay of the shorter ones. In shape they are at the ground
line generally about fifteen feet wide by six feet broad, outside
measurements, and as the walls are twelve to fifteen inches in thickness,
the inside forms a long and very narrow parallelogram. The doors all have
a lintel of stone, and are in every case turned to the east, doubtless
in connection with the rising sun, as even when the chulpas are found in
groups (although they are generally placed singly or in pairs) I observed
they were always pitched so that the eastward view for each one of them
was quite uninterrupted. Towards the top the walls gradually approach
each other, but as I could not find one that was quite closed in, it is
impossible to be certain whether the top was flat, or formed by bringing
all the walls together in a point. A remarkable thing about these chulpas
is the excellent quality of the adobes of which they are constructed.
These are evidently only sun-dried mud or common earth, and have very
little straw or fibrous matter in them, yet they must have lasted for
many centuries, and will, as they are protected as far as possible,
both by the authorities and by the traditions of the Indian inhabitants
of the district, probably last for centuries yet to come, and this,
notwithstanding the fierce storms that sweep over the desolate plains of
the altaplanicia of Bolivia, and the extreme alternations of heat and
cold which occur in almost each successive day and night. So wonderful is
the tenacity of the material of which these adobes are composed, that
I question whether kiln-dried bricks would have any chance of equalling
their durability. By some people these chulpas are set down as tombs, but
I have not heard of any bones having been discovered in them, although
gold and silver ornaments, as well as pottery have frequently been found.
One of our mozos told us that there was a tradition that the builders
of these chulpas, whoever they were, at the approach of death caused
themselves to be walled up in them without food, in the belief that
after death they would be transported to new life, in a land which they
called by the name of “Buenos Ayres,” but as this tale was told me by our
Argentino Marco, perhaps it was an invention of his own, and only served
to show the ready wit of a gaucho.
Arriving at the posta of Catariri about 11 a.m., we halted for breakfast,
and, changing our baggage mules, which got over the ground admirably
although they were not promising animals to look at, we took the road
again without much loss of time. From Catariri to Pazna, the next post,
the road lies principally over the pampa of Aullagas, which is capital
arable land, planted largely with barley and potatoes. Nearing Pazna,
we approached more nearly to the lake of Aullagas, or, as it is called
in most maps, the lake of Poopo, and saw a most beautiful mirage. Some
distance in the lake are two small and hilly islands, and these appeared
to be lifted high into the air, whilst on the western side of the lake a
snow-covered mountain was raised quite into the clouds.
At Pazna we stayed only just long enough to change our baggage mules,
and got a couple of very young mules given us that gave much trouble at
first start, as they wished, apparently, to travel any road but the one
we wanted them to take. However, when once we got them on the right road
they made very good progress, so that we finished our day’s run by six
o’clock, having done sixteen leagues, say fifty miles, in about twelve
hours, including our two stoppages, which occupied two out of the twelve;
not bad work! Poopo is a miserable-looking place, built in a ravine, up
which the houses are built on either side, the middle forming the “high
street.” Nearly the whole village seemed to be in ruins, and, as it was
New Year’s Day, all the inhabitants, at least the few to be seen about,
were more or less intoxicated. I have already mentioned the prevalence
of drunkenness in Bolivia, but certainly this vile habit seems to be
even more general in the mining towns that in the purely agricultural
ones. These latter also have better-built houses, and are altogether
more cheerful looking than the former. Perhaps these differences may be
somewhat accounted for by the dismal prospects that the working miners of
Bolivia have before them, for although the mineral extracted is almost
uniformly of great richness, the cost of carrying the article to a market
is so great that little profit is left to the actual miner. There seems
to be but small hope of better times for the mining industry until good
roads are made and a route for exportation completed in an eastward
direction. At Poopo there are a few mines in which tin, or “estaño,”
seems to be the principal mineral found. The altitude of Poopo above
sea-level is given by Hugo Reck at 378 metres, equal to 12,431 feet.
The posta was in as ruinous a condition as the other houses, and a small
church seemed to be the only building that had a complete roof to it. No
provisions were obtainable, so we had to content ourselves with a tin of
_rognons sauté_ from our travelling stores, and had it not been for this
resource we should have remained supperless after our long day’s ride.
The next morning we left Poopo early, with very good posta mules and
travelled well, the whole of the road to the next station, called
Machacamarca, distant about six leagues, being over pampa land. At
Machacamarca we breakfasted and were preparing to start, when a party,
consisting of three Bolivians and two ladies, rode up from Oruro. The
boss of the party stared hard at me, and then claimed acquaintance as
having met me in Sucre. I did not recollect him, so he told me his name,
and that he was a proprietor of tin mines at Poopo. He confirmed the
rumours that we had heard along the road for the past two or three days,
of a revolution in La Paz, in favour of General Quintin Quevedo, and told
me that he had received a letter from the general, telling him that he
was _en route_ for La Paz, to put himself at the head of the movement.
This news caused me to give up all idea of visiting La Paz, as the roads
between Oruro and that city were in the possession of General Daza and
his officers, who, I feared, would not scruple to take my mules from me,
and leave me without means of travelling. The only plan I could adopt,
was to push on for Oruro with all speed, in hope of being able to arrange
for a continuance of my journey to Tacna before Daza or any of his
men arrived there. We therefore made all possible haste, but were much
delayed by encountering a very heavy storm of wind, hail, and rain, which
drove over the pampa with great violence. Before the storm, the mirage
on the pampa was the finest I have ever seen. The hill at the foot of
which Oruro lies appeared to be separated from us by a lake, and I said
to Alfredo that we should have to go round it. The droves of llamas and
their attendants seemed to be walking in the lake, but as we approached
the water seemed to disappear gradually, at about the distance of a
quarter of a mile only from us. I have never seen such a distinct and
clear effect on any other occasion, and could not but conjecture that the
coming storm had something to do with it.
We arrived at Oruro about 4 p.m., having travelled thirteen leagues
during the day, and put up at the house of the Peruvian consul (Señor
Urquidi) to whom my young travelling-companion was recommended. The
consul received us very kindly, giving us a capital room in his house,
and a good corral for our animals, so that our mules were comparatively
safe for the present.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Oruro—Mineral districts and mining
operations—“Barilla”—Freighting ore by llamas—Future
of mining in Oruro—Attempted revolution in Oruro—Night
attack on the Quartel—Start from Oruro for Tacna—The river
Desaguadero—The ferry called La Barca—Llollia—Escape of the
mules during night—Indian cooking arrangements—Dress and
appearance of Indian men and women—El Cruzero—“Quinoa”—Heavy
storms—Electrified state of the atmosphere—Peculiar strata
observed near El Cruzero—Curahuara de Carangas—Its church,
people, and parish priest—Travelling jewellers—Mining prospects
of the district.
Oruro, situated 12,530 feet above sea-level, is a dreary-looking town,
containing about 8000 inhabitants. The plain on which it stands is
entirely destitute of any kind of vegetation, and the hilly district not
far from the town is especially famous for its mines of tin, copper, and
silver. So numerous are the veins of ore that it may almost be said that
a blind man striking with a pick at the hill-side would be sure to find
mineral of some kind or other, and the “Cornish divining rod” would be
of but little use here, as it would be attracted in so many directions
at the same time that its miraculous powers would probably be quite
useless. The richest veins are, however, those only that pay for working
at present, on account of the great distance that has to be traversed
between Oruro and any seaport. Most of the mercantile houses engaged
in Bolivian trade have agencies in the town, and there are several
Englishmen and Americans engaged in mining, with as good results as can
be expected in the absence of other means of transport for the ore than
llamas and donkeys.
I visited several of the mines, but a description of any one will give
an idea of the work carried on at them. One of the English miners, a Mr.
Penny, who had been resident in Bolivia for more than twenty-five years,
invited me to his property of San José Chica, a flourishing mine about a
mile from Oruro. The two working shafts, connected by galleries and with
numerous headings were worked by the old Spaniards, but some difficulty
is now met with from the influx of water, which cannot be kept under
with the limited pumping-power available, until steam machinery can be
imported into the district. Apart from this drawback, the mine appeared
to be in fair working order, the lode yielding silver and tin ore of
various values, percentages of from six to sixty per cent. being named.
The mineral, as it came up to the top of the shafts, seemed to me to
require only a little picking over, in order to free it from the rocky
stuff adhering to the ore; but the practice is to select the best-looking
lumps only, the remainder, which would doubtless pay well if passed
through proper crushing-machinery and then reduced by smelting, being run
away to spoil as valueless. The Indians soon get very expert in the work
of picking out the best ore, and the selected mass is broken up by hand
into small chips, washed in order to get rid of as much of the earthy
impurities as possible, and packed into small bags of 50 lbs. each.
Many of the ores, when thus dressed, yield sixty to seventy per cent.
of tin, and the mineral is known in the English markets as “barilla,”
being shipped per steamer from Arica in the same condition as it is sent
from the mine, the small bags stowing capitally between larger cargo.
The freight paid for carriage of this ore from Oruro to Tacna by llamas,
the cheapest mode of transport that exists at present on that route, is
from two to three pesos per quintal, say from £7 5_s._ to £10 15_s._ per
ton of 2240 lbs., the distance being said to be from eighty to a hundred
leagues. This would give an average rate of about 8_d._ per ton per mile,
and as each ton carried requires twenty-two llamas, it follows that each
llama earns about one-third of a penny per mile for his owner. It is a
very curious sight to see the llamas loaded up for their journey, and
upon one occasion I saw over 500 being prepared for the road. Having
been driven together as closely as possible, a rope is passed around the
crowded animals, being so placed as to hang on the necks of the outer
ones, thus forming a perfect ring fence. They are then let out one at a
time, a piece of hairy llama hide, or sheepskin with wool on, is placed
on their necks, and a couple of bags tied on, pack fashion. The llama
is then left to its own devices until the whole “recua,” or drove, have
been laden with their burdens, when they are driven on the road, being
led sometimes by one of the finest of the drove, or by a tall black
alpaca, or sometimes by an old hill pony; but, whatever the leader may
be, he always has a bell tied round his neck, the ceaseless clangour from
which seems to keep the drove together, warning them not to delay too
long by the road-side nibbling any stray grass that they can find, and
which appears to be all the forage they get. At the close of the day, as
soon as night falls, the llamas are again driven closely together, their
burdens taken off and stacked up in the form of a rough shed, under which
the arriero shelters himself for the night. The burdens being removed,
the animals are free to roam around and forage for themselves, having to
trust to chance whether there be any water and grass near. At break of
day they are all gathered together again, and the journey is resumed, it
being perfectly wonderful to see what little trouble the men have to get
their droves together each morning.
The cost of freighting the ore by llamas to the seaport is not excessive,
but the time occupied on the journey is very great, the principal house
in Oruro assuring me that it often took twelve months before they could
obtain a return from their investments in “barilla.” When the Amazonian
route is opened up by the completion of the Railway of the Madeira
Rapids, a road from Totora to the port on the Chimoré River will be made,
the existing road between Oruro and Cochabamba will be improved, and the
whole of the mineral products of the central Andean valley of Bolivia
will find its way to European markets over the shortest, easiest, and
most natural route, even before the finances of the country shall have
sufficiently improved to enable an interior system of railways to be
commenced. There is no great difference in distance between Oruro and
Tacna, and Oruro and the port on the Chimoré, but a journey with animals
by the latter route offers far less risk, as pasturage is everywhere
plentiful, and there is no danger of the animals dying from the effects
of the soroche, so fatal on the pass of Tacora, the highest point of
the Andes, passed on the roads from Oruro to the Pacific coast. If ever
the happy day that shall see the opening of the Madeira and Mamoré
Railway dawns for Bolivia, then few speculations appear to me to be more
promising than that of mining near Oruro. The want of fuel for smelting
purposes will not, when good roads are made, be felt so much at Oruro
as at Potosí, for Oruro is within a reasonable distance of the eastern
slopes of the Andes, which are well wooded.
As I expected, the revolution had entirely broken up the posta service
between Oruro and Tacna, as well as that upon the La Paz road, so I had
to suffer a week’s detention at Oruro, whilst looking out to purchase
baggage mules. Animals of every kind were very scarce, but I was
fortunate enough to secure a couple, though at very high prices; and our
host, finding that we could not purchase any others, lent my companion
Alfredo a baggage mule, and so we were at length provided for our journey
on to Tacna.
During our stay in Oruro, the townspeople were much excited as to
which side to take in the revolution. The prefect raised a small band
of recruits and took them out to join General Daza, who was supposed
to be encamped about a day’s march on the La Paz road. In his absence
some conspirators of Quevedistic tendencies formed secret bands, and
endeavoured to get up a “pronunciamento” for their favourite, General
Quintine Quevedo. The night of January the 8th was chosen by the
Quevedists for an attack upon the “quartel,” or barracks, which were held
for the government by a “comandante” and about a hundred men. We had all
turned in early, but about two o’clock in the morning our host called
us up, saying that the revolution had commenced in the town. Alfredo
and I dressed as quickly as possible, so that we might be prepared for
any eventualities. At first the firing was rather rapid, but after
about half an hour’s smart fusilade, it dropped off to single shots, as
though one party were gradually retiring to the outskirts of the town.
The shouting ceased by three o’clock, and all being quiet, we turned in
again till daylight, when we found that a party of Quevedistas, supposed
to be about five and twenty in number, having attacked the quartel, had
been repulsed. Two of the defenders of the quartel were killed, and the
comandante-general, who appeared to have conducted himself with great
bravery, was hit twice in the arm and also in the side, the latter
wound being a very dangerous one. The whole proceeding seemed to have
been a very senseless one on the part of the Quevedistas, unless, as is
very probable, they had a secret understanding with the soldiers in the
quartel; if they had, the bravery of the comandante must have cowed his
men, so that they feared to assist the attacking party, who were able to
retreat without loss. The following morning the authorities were very
active, and three or four men were taken into custody on suspicion,
but it did not appear to be known for certain who were the leaders
of the attack. Rumour said that the plan was, if the quartel had been
taken, that requisitions or robberies would have been committed upon the
principal mercantile houses, especially upon those that were thought
to be favourable to the present government. As our host was agent for
Messrs. Campbell & Co. of Tacna, who were thought to be “Gobiernistas,”
all the mules in his corral, our own amongst the number, had been
marked out for requisition, and, I fancy, not even my own well-known
Quevedistic proclivities would have saved them. A forced contribution of
10,000 pesos was also to have been raised from the firm, whilst the other
mercantile houses were put on the list for sums varying from a couple to
five thousand pesos. However, fortunately for us, the combination did not
succeed, and as we had everything in readiness for our onward journey we
hoped to get away safely on the following morning. Late the same evening
an arriero came in from Tacna with a recua of about fifty mules, and
as the animals and their trappings were in good condition they formed
quite an imposing sight. From this arriero I was able to hire a couple
of “aparejos” in good order, to replace two of mine, which were not
complete. He charged me eight pesos for the hire of each one, and this
turned out to be a cheaper method of equipping one’s self than purchasing
new aparejos and selling them at the end of the journey.
The following night passed quietly without any more attempts at
revolution. Patrols were kept up in the streets, and although the
Quevedistas threatened another row, none took place. The next day,
January 9th, at 5 a.m., I called our mozos, and we began to arrange
our baggage for a start. As our new mules were saddle animals, and
consequently unaccustomed to cargo work, we had a good deal of trouble
to get ready; but by about eight o’clock we managed to make a start,
intending to travel that day as far as La Barca, a distance of twelve
leagues. However, before we were out of Oruro we had more trouble with
the animals, as they apparently wished to go every road but the right
one. One mule, a fine grey animal that would have made a perfect match
for my young companion’s “macho,” with which it would have made a fine
pair for a coach, was particularly lively, and nearly succeeded in
jumping to the top of an almost perpendicular bank, over four feet in
height, and this with over a couple of hundred-weight on his pack-saddle.
So we went on with many troubles, until getting on the road outside the
town the animals behaved themselves better.
The road out of Oruro first crosses the junction of two ranges of hills,
in both of which are several mines, the right-hand range behind the town
being worked by an apparently very well managed mining enterprise, said
to belong to the house of Blondell & Co. The road then is over pampa
land, and nothing but pampa of the dullest and flattest kind conceivable.
Here a macho, that we were allowing to run loose, took it into its head
to bolt back for Oruro, and Alfredo and I had to scamper after him for
about a league, until we headed him, and turned him back on the right
road. We arrived at the river Desaguadero about four in the afternoon,
and to the ferry called La Barca about six o’clock. Here we found a troop
of donkeys crossing, but made them wait whilst we were ferried over,
much to the disgust of their owners, but the Indians hereabout are quite
insolent enough, and it is necessary to put them in their proper place
now and then.
The Desaguadero is a riverine canal, which unites the lake of Titicaca
with that of Poopo, or Choro. The canal has to be crossed on a pontoon
or raft, kept in its course by a hide rope stretched from bank to bank,
a distance of about 300 yards. The tolls collected are one reale, say
4¾_d._, per mule, half a reale for a donkey, and five llamas are passed
for one reale. The pontoon is made of three large barrels lashed together
in a row, and having three pointed caissoons on the front. A twisted hide
rope, fully three inches and a half in diameter, and most wonderfully
made, is stretched across the river, being anchored to heavy stones
on either side. The pointed caissoons are placed up stream, and the
proper direction being given to the rudder, the current lent some slight
assistance to the two men who worked the launch across the river by
handwork. The launch might have a better flooring, and the landing-stages
might with little expense be greatly improved; but still, on the whole,
the ferry is very serviceable to travellers, and, as the traffic is
considerable, it must be a fortune to the old lady who is the proprietor,
and who resides at the house on the western side of the river. The
Desaguadero is the outlet for the surplus waters of lake Titicaca, the
largest fresh-water lake of the South American continent, and has a
course of about 200 miles in length before emptying itself into the lake
of Poopo. At La Barca it is about fifty or sixty yards wide, and has but
a slight current, is very muddy, and is said to be about twenty-four feet
in depth at the crossing, but did not seem to me to be so deep. Without
considerable dredging it would not be available for steamers, as it is
very narrow and changes its course continually, leaving shallow places
and “playas” (sandbanks) at every turn. The level of lake Titicaca is
given in Keith Johnston’s maps as 12,846 feet above sea-level, whilst the
lake of Poopo is probably about 12,400 feet. This gives an incline of
about two feet per mile between the two lakes, a fall which is probably
pretty evenly distributed over the entire course of the river.
Having crossed the river, we entered the house belonging to the
proprietress of the ferry, and engaged a large room where my companion
and I could have our cots at one end, whilst our mozos slept on
hides laid on the floor at the other. We here made ourselves pretty
comfortable, and having bought some mutton, had a good chupe made for
supper, after which we turned in for a good night’s rest in hope of
making good progress on the morrow. At La Barca prices were moderate,
barley for the mules being two pesos the quintal, whilst the total charge
for the mutton for our supper and the use of the room for the night was
only a peso, so that, if there be no great accommodation for travellers
at the Desaguadero Hotel and ferry, at least one cannot complain of
the charges. Sunday, January the 10th, was to see us to the nearest
village, called Llollia, pronounced “Yocclia,” an Indian settlement,
about twelve leagues from La Barca. We rose at five, but it was nearly
eight o’clock before we got the mules all saddled and cargoes up. The
road all day lay entirely over pampas which, in most places, were very
muddy and covered with the rain which had fallen during the preceding
night, and which lay in many places three and four inches in depth. This
made the travelling very heavy work; but, notwithstanding, we did the
twelve leagues by four o’clock in the afternoon. The tops of the ranges
of hills in sight were covered with snow, and during the greater part of
the day a very cold wind blew, with heavy driving rain, but fortunately
at our backs. Llollia is a small Indian aldea, or collection of ranchos,
built of mud, plastered with a little lime on the inside, and with very
small, coffin-shaped doors, which gave one a good idea of what living in
a “chulpa” must have been like. The Indians here are Aymarás, and are
very cunning,—one fellow came out to meet us long before we neared the
village, and tried his best to make us believe that a room he offered
us was the only one to be had. On arrival we went to see his hut, and
found it was more than three parts full of barley, so we looked round
amongst the other ranchos, and soon got offers right and left, securing a
tolerably-sized room for ourselves and a corral for the mules.
The next day was a wretched lost one. On waking at 5 a.m., I took my
accustomed dose of quinine, and, dressing leisurely, went out to the
corral, expecting to find the boys saddling the mules; but neither mules
nor mozos were visible, and the unpleasant fact forced itself on my
unwilling belief that the mules had bolted during the night, and that
the mule-boys were after them on foot. This was confirmed, in mixed
Aymará and Spanish, by the old woman of the house to which the corral
was attached. About seven o’clock, Marco returned with five of them,
the other four having apparently taken the direction of La Barca. Juan
had gone after these on foot; so, having dispatched Marco on one of the
animals, all Alfredo and I could do was to wait patiently, take care of
the four left in our charge, and nurse our discontents as well as we
could. We had bought a small sheep for a couple of pesos on arriving at
Llollia last night, so we made ourselves a breakfast of roast mutton,
which we toasted in one of the ground fireplaces of the country, and
waited the day out. These fireplaces are worthy of note. A hole is dug in
the ground about eighteen inches in depth and two feet in diameter, and
over this a framework of clay is made, with holes of different sizes, to
receive the various cooking-pots. Roasting must be done on spits passed
through the holes; so the meat comes out very much smoked, unless great
care is taken to have only embers in the bottom of the oven. For rough
cooking, the affair answers its purpose well, and one would be inclined
to think that a good idea for camp ovens might be taken from it, if a
curved sheet of cast or wrought iron were used instead of the clay frame,
as good clay would in many places be difficult, perhaps impossible,
to obtain, and would take too long to manufacture. The plan of digging
a hole in the ground for a camp oven is, of course, not a new one; but
it would seem that the curved top would be much simpler and lighter for
transport than the camp ovens that are in general use.
[Illustration: QUICHUAN OVEN (LLOLLIA).
Section through oven.
Section through Oven and Air Intake.]
The Indians of Llollia and the district are of the Aymará race, and are
strong and well built generally. In their own way they are certainly
industrious, for it is very unusual to meet either a man or a woman who
is not spinning, whether indoors or out of doors, seated or walking. They
are all owners of large flocks of sheep, whilst many of them also have
droves of llamas and alpacas, the last of which are said to yield large
profits from the sale of the famous alpaca wool. Both men and women wear
nothing but dark blue homespun clothing, with stockings of the natural
colour of the wool. The men wear their hair long, twisted round the top
of their heads in small and narrow plaits, which have very much the
semblance of plaited horse-tails. They are scarcely ever seen without the
universal poncho over their shoulders. The women wear a countless number
of woollen petticoats, which are puckered up round about their waists
in a most elaborate manner, and, reaching about half-way down the calf
of the leg, display a pair of ankles and feet which, to all appearance,
might be made of bronze or copper. A square of woollen cloth, or shawl,
is worn tied round the neck, secured in front by a couple of spoon-shaped
skewers; whilst, generally at their backs, a baby is seen stowed away in
the folds of the shawl—for babies are almost as numerous in the hovels on
the tops of the Andes as they are in some of the back slums or courts of
St. Giles. Their head-dresses are also peculiar, being something mediæval
in shape and look. A frame of straw is made up in form of a lozenge,
with a hole in the centre to fit the head, and this is covered with dark
blue or red cloth; a curtain hanging down on all sides about six inches
deep, making a capital sort of sunshade. One would not think that the
women required any protection from the sun’s rays, for their faces are
like their hands and ankles, of a deep brown colour, from the accumulated
dust of years; whilst a red glow, that the cold winds give them, aids the
semblance of their skins to well-seasoned mahogany. Washing of any sort
is unknown on the higher Andes, where the strong cold winds makes even
a traveller feel inclined to follow the universal custom, and let well
alone.
[Illustration: QUICHUAN WOMAN OF LLOLLIA.]
Towards the close of the day, much to our joy, the animals turned up,
the boys having had to return all the way to La Barca, where the four
mules had been captured and placed in the corral. It was fortunate for
us that they did not attempt to swim across the river Desaguadero, as
it was evident that they had made up their minds to return to Oruro.
Perhaps they thought they would be ferried over although they arrived
without riders, for our boys were told that at daybreak they were all
found waiting on the shore close by the ferry-boat. Thus all we lost was
an entire day—bad enough, but to have lost the animals would have been
much worse; so we consoled ourselves and prepared to continue the journey
early to-morrow, making as long a day of it as we could. At first I
thought that some of the Indians had done us the trick of letting out the
mules, so as to get paid for fetching them back, or as vengeance for our
not having bought barley of them; but I convinced myself that the mules
got over the mud walls of the corral, they being very low.
On the following day, January 12th, our work was from Llollia to El
Cruzero, fourteen leagues, and although we roused up at five o’clock, it
took a couple of hours to get the cargoes up and ready for the start.
Notwithstanding a heavy hail-storm and rain yesterday evening and during
the night, the road was not bad for travelling, as the pampas were more
elevated and sandier than those nearer Oruro. Hereabouts there are many
ranchos scattered over the pampa, and good crops of barley, potatoes,
and quinoa were growing. This “quinoa” is a small grain about the size
of millet or rape seed, and is eaten by the Aymará Indians in the same
way as gram or rice is eaten by the Indians of Hindostan. When boiled
or soaked it throws out a gelatinous substance that causes it to form a
mass, in which state it is used by the Indians as their principal article
of food. By Bolivians of higher grade, it is only used to thicken the
chupe, or soup, and in that way is very agreeable. There were also many
flocks of sheep, llamas, and alpacas, as well as many vicuñas, which in
these parts are very tame.
From Capillitas, a station about seven leagues from Llollia onwards,
the country is much rougher, and the road takes up a very picturesque
quebrada, the strata of some of the rocks standing up perpendicular. Here
one of the mules that had a very light burden, consisting of bedding
only, managed to kick off her cargo, and set to work with teeth and hoofs
to tear up as much as she could of it, succeeding in ruining a bag and
sundry other articles before we could rescue them from her.
Towards four in the afternoon came on the usual storm of hail, rain, and
wind, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning, some of which were most
unpleasantly near us. To know what a hail-storm really means, one must
cross the Andes, for some of these afternoon storms were the heaviest
I have ever met with either at sea or land. In fact, so large were the
hailstones in many instances, that I congratulated myself on being the
lucky possessor of two hats, one of which, a large-brimmed thick vicuña
felt, I could put on over a soft wide-awake, and then, tying a large
scarf over all, so as to cover up my ears and the back of my neck, I
could ride out any storm. I recollect many occasions on which the stones
came down with such force, being driven by the high wind, that we were
fain to turn our backs to the fury of the squall, otherwise I really
think the mules would have been stunned had we forced them to receive the
hail on their faces.
During the evening the air seemed to be most highly charged with
electricity, and after nightfall the flashes of lightning were intensely
vivid, the contrast causing the night to look blacker than usual.
Whilst riding slowly along I was for some time puzzled by noticing two
luminous points moving backwards and forwards right in front of me, and
seemingly accompanying me with great regularity. Reaching out my hand
towards these lights, I was astonished to find that they were on the
two points of my mules’ ears, which, as they wagged to and fro in mule
fashion, gleamed like the points of damp lucifer matches. Upon directing
my companions’ and the mozos’ attention to the other animals, we found a
similar condition to exist with each one, although it was more distinct
in some cases than in others. Every one has heard that sparks can be
produced from a cat’s back, when the fur is rubbed the wrong way, but I
never heard that mules or other animals had the same power of evolving
electricity; but probably the wet state of the hair on their ears,
and the highly charged condition of the atmosphere, accounted for the
phenomenon.
We did not get to El Cruzero, which consists of a few wretched hovels and
a small church at the side of a brook, until nearly nine at night, some
of us being drenched to the skin, and every one complaining bitterly of
the cold. Here we had considerable difficulty in inducing the Indians
to open their doors to us and provide us with a shelter for the night.
We knocked for some time, at the door of the only hovel in which we
could see a glimmer of light through the cracks of the door, and were
at length gruffly told to go on our way to the next village, three and
a half leagues distant. This we did not approve of, and so we tried
the stratagem of shouting to the Indians, that we were part of General
Quevedo’s advance-guard, and that if we were not admitted in a friendly
manner we should return on the morrow with the general, who would visit
them with heavy punishment. The name of Quevedo seemed to be a power to
conjure by, for after the Indians had jabbered together excitedly, the
door opened and a couple appeared, who with a lantern, and many apologies
for delay, showed us to an adjoining hovel, which was about large enough
to swing a cat round in, as the saying goes. However, we got our baggage
inside, and arranged to sleep on top of it, as there was no room for
setting up our cots. We tried to light a fire in the doorway, to warm
our benumbed bodies and cook a supper, but the smoke filled the hovel,
so that we were obliged to put out the fire and content ourselves with
biscuits, sardines, and a night-cap of cingani. There was no good corral
available, so we had to put the mules in the yard of the church close by,
the mozos sleeping in the gateway to take care they did not escape during
the night. This was thought to be great sacrilege by the Indians, but
necessity knows no law, and Quevedo’s name had again to help us through
the difficulty.
On the following day we determined to give the mules a short journey
only, as far as Curahuara de Carangas, the village to which the Indians
had on the preceding night recommended us to go. Fortunately the day was
fine, so, having dried our ponchos and rugs as well as we could, and
making an early breakfast, we settled up for the barley supplied us,
and gave the Indians a couple of dollars for sweeping up the litter made
by the animals in the church-yard, thus quite reconciling them to the
sacrilege they charged us with last night.
The road from Cruzero onwards is good riding, being mostly sandy, over
an undulating pampa. On the way I noticed a very peculiar formation of
strata. A plain was completely walled in on either side by upheavals
of, in some places, rock, in others earth; the dip on either side
corresponding exactly, and being pitched at about an angle of 60° with
the horizon.
These inclined walls varied in height in different places, in some having
been worn away to the surface of the plain, in others rising, to perhaps
fifty feet in height, but their almost parallel lines could be seen along
the plain as far as the eye could reach. The thickness of these inverted
strata might have been about twenty feet, whilst the width of the land
between them was probably about half a mile. The effect on the landscape
was very striking, and it is exceedingly difficult to set up any theory
that may give a reasonable suggestion as to the forces of nature which
caused this immense rift in what was once a level portion of the earth’s
crust.
We arrived at Curahuara de Carangas about mid-day, and put up at one
of the principal houses. The pueblo is small, forming one square, or
“plaza” only, with a church on one of the sides. This church is said to
be upwards of 200 years old, and is a very primitive building of adobe
bricks and rush-covered roof, with a tower separated from the main
building, as is frequently the case with old churches throughout South
America. The town is not at quite such a high elevation as Potosí, being
only about 12,900 feet above sea-level; but, as it is built on a slope
rising from a vast plain, the climate is frightfully bleak.
The population is probably not more than 800 or 1000 souls, all told,
but nevertheless the cura, or parish priest, seems to make a fine living
out of them; at least, so we thought when we found him bargaining with a
couple of travelling jewellers, who arrived on the same day as ourselves.
The cura, who was a stout hearty man of some fifty years of age, was,
though a priest, the head of a family, consisting of a buxom Quichuana
and half a dozen sons and daughters. When we called he had just suited
his morganatic wife and daughters with rings all round, and was debating
whether he had sufficient cash or chefalonia and plata piña with which to
purchase a very large diamond ring, which the “joyeros,” or jewellers,
were tempting him to purchase as an episcopal jewel. The diamond was of
rather a yellowish colour, about the size of a small sugar almond. The
price asked was 6000 pesos, but doubtless the sellers would willingly
have taken about fifteen hundred; but the priest could not raise a
sufficient amount just at the moment, as his faithful flock were not in
very good spirits, owing to the slackness in mining operations and the
rumours of revolution.
These travelling jewellers are frequently met with in Bolivia, and, as
they carry a very considerable stock of their wares, they never travel
alone, but always in couples at least. They generally have one or two
large diamonds on sale, and sometimes make a very good bargain with a
rich priest or a successful miner. In payment they are open to take any
other valuables, for they are keen hands at a bargain, being generally
of the Israelitish persuasion; and a quantity of “chefalonia,” or old
silver plate, such as candlesticks, cups or basons, or a few pounds’
weight of “plata piña” (pure silver in the moulds, as turned out from the
smelting works at the mines), are always as acceptable to them as hard
dollars. These joyeros come from either Lima or Valparaiso, and it is
said that whenever they sell a _gros lot_, such as a valuable diamond,
they always leave the town and neighbourhood as quickly as possible,
for fear the purchaser should repent of his bargain; and it is the best
policy, whenever a traveller is asked an opinion of a large diamond or
other jewel, to give a favourable one, for so many false jewels have been
sold in Bolivia that the susceptible feelings of the owner of a rare and
precious stone may be easily offended.
About nine leagues from the town there are mines of silver, and the
inhabitants expect that the district will some day be equal to the famous
Caracoles mines of the coast; but their sanguine hopes are not, in my
opinion, ever likely to be realized, as their situation is far away from
any possible railway route, even supposing the projected line between
Tacna and La Paz should be carried out. The difficulties of transport,
fuel, and forage will therefore be always so great as to preclude the
idea of successful mining. Provisions of every kind were very dear, and
fresh meat seldom to be had, nor even fowls nor eggs. Barley for the
mules cost six pesos the quintal in the straw, but was to cost yet more
further on the road to Tacna.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Pichagas—The peak of Sahama—Chocos—Capture of a sheep for
fresh meat—Ostriches—Sepulturas—Mortality amongst animals—Mule
attacked with belly pains—El Cerro del Volcan—Las Siete
Vueltas—Bright-coloured hills—Peru entered—Tacora—Mules
attacked with soroche—El Rio de Azufre—Aqueduct to Tacna from
river Maury—The Pass of Chulancani—Apacheta of bones—Aspect
of the Pacific slope of the Andes—Projected railway between
Tacna and La Paz—The Portada—El Ingenio—Palca—New road in
construction—Arrival at Tacna—The hotel Bola de Oro—Tacna and
its trade—Attempt to sell the mules in Tacna—Railway from Tacna
to Arica—Effects of the great hurricane wave of 1869—Arica—By
steamer from Arica to Callao—Callao—Its magnificent
harbour—Lima—The cathedral—Plaza de Armas—Old bridge, built in
1608—Firemen—By steamer from Lima to Panamá—Payta—Panamá—Severe
fires—The prison—Rail to Aspinwall—Aspinwall—Home by mail
steamer.
The following day, January 14th, we called up the mozos about two o’clock
in the morning, and by about five we had had our coffee, mules were
saddled, packs all up, and a start made. The morning was fine and clear
as usual, for the storms come on generally in the afternoon. The road out
of the village is northward, and soon gets into a rather wide quebrada
with a river, which we crossed and recrossed several times. A small
plain, with good grass, plenty of water, a few ranchos, and the largest
herd of alpacas that we had yet seen, is called Pichagas. A little
distance from this, a short but sharp cuesta—in the ascent of which one
of our pack mules fell just on the edge of the precipice—takes up from
the ravine to a rocky plateau, which I guessed to be about 800 feet
higher than the plain of Curahuara. Arriving at the top of the cuesta,
zigzagged out of the side of the ravine, a rocky plateau extends as far
as the eye can reach. From thence the ravine looks like a great rent in
the earth, the sides being so straight and evenly matched that it is
evident some stupendous force of nature must have burst the solid rocks
asunder, for the enormous rift cannot have been caused by the action of
the small stream that runs in the bottom of the ravine, or “cañon,” as it
would be called in the northern continent.
On the plateau, the rock is over hard, flat, rocky ground, until it
approaches the foot of the noble peak of Sahama. This mountain is always
snow-covered at its summit, which Hugo Reck gives as 6546 metres, or
21,470 feet above sea-level. Sahama is but sluggishly active, as nothing
but a small amount of smoke has ever been observed to ascend from it.
Its outline is exceedingly regular and graceful in form, and as it rises
nearly 8000 feet above the plateau from which it springs, it affords a
sight that for impressive grandeur is scarcely to be equalled elsewhere
in nature. The almost equally beautiful peaks called Las Tetillas are
also visible more to the northward, from this plain, and, together with
Sahama, form a prospect which alone would repay a lover of mountain
scenery for his journey across the Andes.
Hereabouts were many vicuñas, so tame that they allowed one to approach
well within pistol-shot. These animals remind one of the deer in many
of the parks and forests of our own country, their fawn-coloured backs
and white bellies, long necks and slender legs completely carrying out
the illusion. In the afternoon we had the usual storm of hail, thunder,
and lightning, during which we arrived at Chocos, a solitary house
and pulperiâ, well-provided with every necessary except fresh meat.
Fortunately we had provided ourselves with this on the road, for, seeing
a good flock of sheep, Marco caught one with his lasso, gaucho fashion.
This seems to be the proper thing for travellers to do _en voyage_ over
the Andes, to help themselves when in want of fresh meat, for the owners
of sheep or poultry, for instance, will never sell them willingly except
in the market towns; but no sooner had we caught our mutton, than a
woman, before invisible, appeared mysteriously from goodness knows where,
probably from behind some large boulder, of which there were a vast
number scattered over the plain. She did not appear much put out at our
summary proceedings, and what little anger she did show was doubtless put
on just for appearance’ sake, being easily pacified by the present of a
couple of melgarejos, with short beards, which are the fashion in this
part of the country. The sheep raised at such high altitudes are very
small, smaller even than Welsh mutton; but the meat is sweet and makes a
capital chupe, and a whole sheep for about 3s. cannot be dear whatever
its size. Our prize was easily carried by Marco across the pommel of
his saddle, and, arriving at Chocos, was soon killed, skinned, cut up,
and cooked into a good supper for all hands, including our friends the
joyeros, who joined us again, and shared our meal, which consisted of
the inevitable chupe, a fry of chops, some bottled beer, and an excellent
cup of chocolate; the total expense, with the charge for the room and
the use of the corral for the animals, being just 10_s._ between us all.
Barley was, however, very dear, being seven pesos, or about 22_s._, the
quintal, and seems to be getting dearer and dearer every stage, until at
last we almost expect to have to feed our mules with the money itself.
During the night a hail-storm raged with great fury, but being under
a good strong roof we did not mind it. Our mules must, however, have
suffered greatly in their open corral, and it is astonishing how fresh
they always turn out in the morning whatever may have been the weather
during the night; indeed, it seems that, so long as they get plenty of
fodder, rain, hail, snow, or frost have very little effect upon them.
Our next stage should have been from Chocos to Cosepilla, a run of
twelve leagues; but on arriving at Sepulturas we heard that there was
no barley to be had at Cosepilla, so we decided to remain the night at
Sepulturas. The road travelled during the day had nothing particularly
worthy of mention, nearly the whole of the distance being over pampa
land, with only one cuesta of consequence which might easily have been
avoided. During the day we passed several recuas of mules and donkeys,
these having for some days past been very few in number. We also saw an
ostrich (“avestruz”), the only one that we saw during the journey to
Tacna. It was of dark grey colour and of fair size, and was within easy
rifle-shot, but lolloped rapidly away. Further south the ostriches are
more plentiful, but there appear to be very few on the Bolivian Andes,
whilst the “guanaco,” so numerous in Chili, Argentine, and Patagonia,
does not seem to come so far north. Vicuña were in great numbers: in
one herd, scarcely 200 yards away from the track, I counted twenty-six;
others of ten and twelve were very frequent.
We arrived at Sepulturas about one o’clock in the afternoon, and gave the
mules a good long rest, intending to make a long journey of about sixteen
leagues (nearly fifty miles) on the morrow. The posada here is pretty
fair, though not so good as the one at Chocos. A regular tariff of prices
for chupes, etc., is posted up, but bears the comforting announcement
that the good things offered to the traveller will be “proporcionado con
el mayor gusto cuando posible,” or “supplied with the greatest pleasure
when possible;” the two last saving words being doubtless intended to
cover a multitude of deficiencies, and to lead up to the old posada
answer of “No hay, señor.”
Next morning we rose soon after midnight, but my mozo was suffering from
a slight attack of ague, so we were delayed until nearly five o’clock
before we could get on the road. The air was fine and frosty, and
freshened us up famously. Before leaving this place we note why it bears
the unpleasant and very suggestive name of Sepulturas, or “the Tombs.”
For some reason, at present unexplained, it seems to be peculiarly fatal
to animals, and has become a perfect charnel-field. The number of dead
mules and donkeys, together with the whitened bones of former corpses,
scattered over the plain was something extraordinary, giving such a
melancholy look to the place that it seems strange indeed that travellers
should make it a halting-place; and how any one could be found to live
there, and keep up the posada, was one of those things that pass an
ordinary person’s comprehension. Probably this excessive mortality is
caused by the “soroche,” or “mountain sickness,” which is doubtless
strongest in its effects at this point of the journey over the Andes.
Some people blame the water of the locality more than the altitude, but I
did not hear that the human travellers passing through or the inhabitants
of the posada suffered equally with animals, as would have been the case
if the drinking water had been poisonous. However, be the cause what it
may, I should advise any wanderer over the route from Oruro to Tacna,
or _vice versâ_, to arrange if possible not to break his journey at
Sepulturas, the mere sight of the place being enough to give him very
melancholy recollections, and had it not been for the report we heard of
the lack of fodder for the animals at Cosepillas, we should have ridden
on there instead of passing the night in the “Tombs.”
Fortunately for us, none of our animals showed signs of sickness before
leaving, but we had not been long on the road when one of the baggage
mules was attacked with belly pains, and stood still, groaning and
shaking violently. I was in great fear for her, as she was the weakest of
the batch; but our gaucho Marco was equal to the occasion, and had the
packs off her in a moment, whilst he covered her loins with a rug, and
fomented her belly with urine—a treatment that recovered her quickly and
completely.
Four leagues from Sepulturas is Cosepilla, a large and well-built tambo,
to which we ought to have come last night, as, notwithstanding what was
told us at Sepulturas, there was barley to be had, but at ten pesos
per quintal. From this place a very high peak, which we were told was
named El Cerro del Volcan, was a very beautiful sight, being entirely
snow-covered, and of almost equal beauty with the volcano of Sajáma.
There were no signs of eruption, which is said to take place only in
the dry season. The road all day was good, though very stony, with only
a couple of cuestas, one of which, called “Las Siete Vueltas,” or “The
Seven Turns,” is a noticeable feature of the journey. The pampas are
traversed by numerous small streams that bring down beautiful clear iced
water from the snow-covered peaks, some of which display on their steep
sides, where the snow cannot lie, a variety of colours that give a most
peculiar appearance to the landscape.
The best description that I can give of this, is that the hills look as
though they had been draped with immense striped blankets; the bands of
colour, which are disposed vertically, consisting of bright red, yellow,
and slatey blue. The vertical position of these stripes does not answer
to the inclination of the strata, which is probably similar to the
peculiar rocky formation noticed near El Cruzero, the different coloured
earths lying one upon the other. Some convulsion of nature, or the
wearing away of time, has cut through the strata in an angular direction;
and at the point where each one of the strata comes to the surface, the
detritus or broken earth has fallen straight down the hill-side, thus
giving the appearance to which I have alluded.
We arrived at Tacora, our next halting-place, about five o’clock, having
travelled for twelve hours without any stoppages, and having crossed the
frontier and entered on Peruvian territory. Here there is a very fair
tambo with the usual supply of un-eatables. No barley to be had for the
animals, but dried “alfa” was obtainable at eight and a half pesos the
quintal, equal to about £29 per ton—a stiffish price for “dried lucerne.”
[Illustration: PASS OF TACORA.]
The following day, Sunday, January 17th, we left the post-house of
Tacora about 7.30 a.m., the morning being frosty and cold, as is usual
on these elevated table-lands. The first league travelled was over a
pampa, terminated by a cuesta particularly dreaded for the soroche; and
certainly the number of carcases and skeletons of mules and donkeys on
either side of the path was truly appalling. I felt something unusual
myself, and notwithstanding that it is said to be dangerous to take
liquor when suffering from this sickness, I took a little brandy and
bitters, and, attacking the contents of my saddle-bags, ate my breakfast
of hard-boiled eggs and biscuits, soon feeling considerably better. The
mules also showed, by lagging behind, some symptoms of this dreaded
soroche; but our mozos took some cloves of garlic from their “alforjas,”
and, bruising them, rubbed them into the animal’s nostrils. To the one
most affected they squirted “aguadiente” into his ears, with which
treatment the animals appeared to revive; but we got on slowly, the boys
telling us that it would not do to urge the mules beyond a walking pace.
Passing the cuesta and arriving again on flat lands, we crossed a river
called El Rio de Azufre, the water of which has a most unpleasant taste
and smell, the latter reminding one of the odour exhaled by rotting
seaweed. The banks of this stream were encrusted with a yellow deposit,
whilst the bed also was covered with a bright yellow slime. This stream
is the last that runs eastward, and soon after crossing it the track
comes to the highest point over which the road to Tacna passes. Before
descending, one notices to the northward, deeply indented on the side
of the peak of Tacora, the aqueduct which conveys the water of the
river Maury, an affluent of the Desaguadero, to the town of Tacna. This
pass, which is called Chulancani, is surmounted by a huge cairn, or
“apacheta,” composed principally of the bones of the mules and donkeys
that have fallen victims to the soroche. To this heap every passing
arriero adds either a stone or a whitened bone, picked up from the
way-side, and devoutedly crossing himself, prays to the Holy Virgin or
to his patron saint for a safe passage to his home. Close by the cairn,
which stands probably at an elevation of rather more than 15,000 feet
above sea-level, grows a rough and gnarled tree of the kind called
“kenña” in the district, and forming a remarkable feature of the route.
After crossing the summit of the pass the descent to the Pacific coast
is commenced, and the steep nature of the western slope of the Andes
becomes conspicuous at once. Indeed the whole aspect of the country
changes, for there are no more pampas or table-lands in sight, and no
grass or other signs of vegetation. Owing to the almost total absence of
rainfall, nothing green or growing is to be seen on the western slopes
of the Andes, except in the bottom of the ravines, where, by skill
and hard labour, some industrious “ranchero” has been able to effect
a little irrigation. Owing to the broken and ravined character of the
hill-side but a short view is to be obtained, from which one would almost
be inclined to fancy that the mountains had split asunder; the part
towards the Pacific having, as it sank down, broken up into inextricable
confusion, whilst the bulk, remaining unshaken towards the interior of
the continent, preserved its original formation of valley, plain, and
hill.
But notwithstanding the rough nature of the descent to the Pacific,
engineers bold enough to project a railway down it have been found,
and we observed several bench marks indicating the course of the
once-intended line from Tacna to La Paz. The obstacles to be overcome
between Tacna and the summit pass, will, in my opinion, render this
undertaking most difficult, if not impossible; but once the Cuesta
of Tacora is passed, and the pampas entered on, the line would be
comparatively easy, although, if the La Paz road is like the Oruro one,
there would be some difficult cuestas to descend before gaining the lower
plateau of the Desaguadero.
[Illustration: LA PORTADA.]
About five leagues from the Tacora post-house the track follows a
very steep and stony descent to the Portada, where there is a mining
establishment belonging to Messrs. Blondell of Oruro and Tacna. The mines
were not being worked, but one could not but notice the neat look of the
buildings, which were mostly roofed with corrugated zinc, as also were
the “pulperias” adjoining, of which there are four very good-looking
concerns with well-stored shops and good rooms for travellers; but I
wondered how so many of them could find a living for their proprietors.
Alfa at eight pesos the quintal was to be had, but no “cebada,” and on
this side of the Andes, alfa, or “lucerne,” dried or fresh, with an
occasional feed of American oats, seems to be the principal fodder for
the animals.
Entering another ravine, called Angostura, which forms the direct descent
to Tacna, and is a very stony and bad road, descending probably one foot
in every yard or thereabouts, we passed several pulperias or ranchos
where the numerous arrieros stop. One of these, sometimes recommended to
travellers, and called El Ingenio, must be avoided, as it is in ruins.
We had arranged to close the day’s journey at Palca, where we arrived
about 4 p.m., and found very fair lodgings, chupes and coffee, whilst
alfa, now descending in price, was to be had at six pesos the quintal. At
this posada we met a French Abbé who was going to Bolivia with intent to
earn a livelihood as a professor of French, either in La Paz or Sucre,
and as I could converse with him a little in his own language, we passed
a pleasant evening, and he continued his solitary journey about two in
the morning. He had only one mozo with him, and as he could barely make
himself understood in Spanish, he must have had rather a bad time on the
road. He seemed to have no idea of the hardships before him, but as I was
very near the conclusion of my journey, and he was just commencing his,
I was glad to be able to fit him up with sundry rugs, and a waterproof
sheet, of which he would stand in great need during the afternoon storms
off the higher Andes.
[Illustration: ANGOSTURA.]
Leaving Palca at half-past seven, we rode down the quebrada at a slow
pace, on account of the very rough and stony nature of the ground and the
tired state of some of the mules, which were evidently beginning to feel
the effects of the long journey. The bottom of the ravine, from Palca
down to the plains of Tacna, is generally well cultivated, producing alfa
and maize (“mais”) in good quantity, by dint of much irrigation from
the small stream which flows down the ravine, aided by the water brought
over the summit from the river Maury. About three leagues distant from
Palca, we got on to the finished part of the new road, which was then in
course of construction from Tacna towards Bolivia. Some hundreds of men
were at work, and their rough encampments on either side of the ravine
gave it quite a busy look. The road was being very well made, and was,
I understood, being worked as nearly as possible to the lines laid down
by the railway engineers; so that if at any time the railway scheme
becomes financially practicable, the road will be partly available for
the railway cuttings and embankments. But even if the more ambitious
enterprise should never be attempted, the new road will be a great
improvement on the old track, and proves that Peru is straining every
nerve to keep her monopoly of Bolivian trade.
About two in the afternoon we rode out of the hills, and entered on the
plains on which the town of Tacna and its environs stand. Passing through
Pachia, the principal suburb, the gardens of which are all wonderfully
cultivated considering the fearfully dry nature of the soil and the
distance from which water has to be brought, we arrived at the city about
4 p.m., very dusty and tired, and put up at the hotel “Bola de Oro,” or
“Golden Ball,” a very fair establishment, and decidedly the best that I
had met with in all my journey from the Atlantic to the Pacific, for even
the town of Pará, Brazil’s principal city on the Amazon, cannot boast so
good an hotel as the Bola de Oro of Tacna.
From the material of which the houses are composed, the town and
its environs have a strange and somewhat dull and heavy appearance,
notwithstanding that the houses are mostly built as lightly as possible,
in order the better to withstand the frequently occurring earthquakes.
The walls are generally lath, plastered over with mud, or adobes, one
brick in thickness; and the roofs are also of mud, tempered so well that
even the intense heat of the sun does not cause it to crack. These roofs
are made in a very peculiar shape, and generally the houses have quite
the appearance of toy houses; but at night, when the windows are opened
and the interiors well lit up, they look very cheerful and lively. The
streets are broad and kept very clean, with gaslights in the principal
ones. The plazas are neat, though small, and there is a prettily arranged
garden with an elegant cast-iron fountain in the principal square,
where the “society” of Tacna meet in the cool of the evening to enjoy a
promenade, enlivened by the strains of a military band.
The commerce of Tacna is undoubtedly of very important character; but
one sees at a glance that the only _raison d’être_ of the city is its
being situated on the one exit practicable at present for Bolivia to the
Pacific coast. There are no Peruvian towns in communication with Tacna.
The long lines of donkeys and mules seen continually entering or leaving
the town, are all either destined for, or coming from, the neighbouring
republic of Bolivia, and the few merchants with whom I conversed seemed
to have the idea that the realization of the Madeira and Mamoré Railway
would materially affect their trade.
After having rested a night in a bed that was a real luxury after our
long ride and rough quarters, and having had a look round the town,
we arranged that we would leave for Arica in time to catch the first
steamer for Callao, leaving on the 23rd of the month. We then presented
our letters of introduction, one that I had to a German merchant being
very serviceable, for, like all Germans with whom it has been my good
fortune to meet abroad, this gentleman was exceedingly kind and disposed
to serve one in any way possible. The streets of Tacna are well supplied
with shops and stores of every kind. Drapers, hatters, shoemakers, and
others all make a great display of their wares, which, like most of
their _confrères_ in our European towns, they are always selling at a
great sacrifice. The latest French fashions soon make their appearance
in Tacna, and “La Bella Boliviana,” the “Bon Marché,” and other
establishments, have always a good display of the most tempting materials
of dress, which they sell at reasonable prices, considering the long
route they have had to be brought over, either by Panamá or the Straits
of Magellan.
As there is nothing in the neighbourhood of Tacna worthy a visit, the
four days I had to wait would have hung very heavily on my hands had it
not been for the occupation I found in trying to sell my mules, which,
having landed me safely as far as they could take me, were now of no
further service. But buyers, thinking that I must sell at any price on
account of my leaving for Europe, thought it, as usual, one of their
many opportunities for making a good bargain out of travellers from the
interior, and would not offer anything like reasonable prices. Thus, for
five mules, costing nearly 1100 pesos, of which four were in excellent
condition considering the long journey and hard work they had gone
through, the best offer I could get was 600 pesos, or little more than
half the cost; and I was advised by my merchant friends of the place
that this offer was not a very low one, and probably only made because
of the very excellent character of two machos, these being so strong
and sound as to be valuable as “pianeras,” or pianoforte carriers. I
offered to sell the lot for 1000 pesos, and to give in with the bargain
my travelling cot, a revolver, a couple of excellent “tapa cargas,” and
all the “aparejos,” or pack saddles and gear. These sundries would all be
very useful to intending travellers, and were well worth at least another
100 pesos. However, I could not find a buyer at my price, and therefore
determined to sell the mule that was in worst condition, and send the
others back to Bolivia for sale there, as our two mozos had to return,
and would require at least three animals for their journey. Sometimes it
happens that travellers bringing servants down from Bolivia are lucky
enough to meet others returning, who will engage the mozos, and thus save
the first hirer further expense; but the revolution going on had stopped
all business between Tacna and the interior. The result of the course
adopted was, that instead of losing about 500 or 600 pesos (nearly £100),
I only lost about 100, or £15, which was the cost of fodder for the
animals and rations to the mozos on their return journey to Sucre. True,
I ran the risk of losing the animals altogether in the revolution that
was then going on; but fortune favoured me, and they got back to Sucre
safely, as I had calculated that they would; for I knew the boys would
naturally be very averse to being pressed into the service of either the
government or the revolutionists, and would give both parties a wide
berth should they come across either of them on their way back. There is
no doubt that the best and only way to avoid loss in realizing the cost
of the animals necessary for crossing the Andes, is to buy the best class
of mules, and, if the journey ends at Tacna, send them back to Bolivia,
where they are always worth their cost; and one can generally manage to
draw the value of the mules returning, from one of the mercantile houses
of Tacna, less a small commission for selling the mules in Bolivia.
We left Tacna, on the morning of the 23rd, by the ten o’clock train,
arriving at Arica about mid-day, the distance being about forty miles,
and the fare three pesos for first class, and four reales for each
package of luggage. The line runs over a sandy plain like that on which
Tacna is situated. At times a small cutting had been made; but there were
none more than some six to eight feet deep, and very few banks, and only
two or three bridges. The rail used is a flat-footed one, of perhaps
sixty-five pounds per yard, and the road is very well maintained, being
well ballasted and boxed up. Nearing Arica the road runs close along by
the sea, and we saw several remains of the effects of the great hurricane
wave of 1869. The hull of a steamer of perhaps 600 or 800 tons, was
quite a quarter of a mile inshore, where it had been deposited by the
retiring wave; and there was a great deal of damaged and now valueless
machinery scattered along the line of railway and sea-coast.
The Peruvian coast offers very little facility to shipping, and most of
its ports, except Callao, are scarcely more than open roadsteads. Arica
has been built at a small bay which has a few rocky islands to defend it
from the south winds. The town, never very large, is now much reduced
in size, the greater part of the inhabitants living in huts built up of
tarpaulins, boards, etc., placed well up the side of the hill, apparently
to be out of the way of another earthquake wave. The custom-house has
been rebuilt with brick walls and zinc roof; a small church also has zinc
roofing—an article which enters largely into the composition of all the
houses, and gives the place a very temporary and make-shift look. There
is a neat pier, erected on six-inch wrought-iron piles, which enables
passengers to embark clear of the surf. The steamship _Lima_ being in
port, we took tickets at the mail-agent’s office, paying 353 soles each
for passage to Southampton, and thirty soles each fare over the Panamá
Railway, and at once went on board, leaving Arica about five in the
afternoon. The _Lima_ is a very long and narrow screw boat, with state
cabins on deck, and she rolled considerably from having her main decks
crowded with bullocks, and her upper deck littered up with merchandize
of all sorts. Indeed, her upper deck was in the utmost confusion,
caused by a peculiar practice which exists on nearly all the Pacific
Steam Navigation Company’s boats. This is, that dealers in all kinds of
provisions are allowed to take passages principally between Valparaiso
and Callao, and exhibit their wares on the deck, so that the ship is
completely cumbered with their goods, and the crew have little chance of
managing the ship properly. The practice may remunerate the company, as
each dealer pays according to the space of the deck that he occupies, but
passengers are greatly inconvenienced and endangered thereby.
The next day, Sunday, we passed Islay, Mollendo, the shipping port for
the railway to Arequipa and Puno, and Quilpa, stopping only to land and
receive passengers. On Monday we spent the greater part of the day at
Lomas, shipping sugar, rum, and bullocks. This place consists of about
half a dozen huts only, and the coast is as arid and wretched-looking as
the whole line of the Pacific coast really is. It is said, however, that
there is good cultivable land, with haciendas for sugar and pôtreros, or
grazing grounds for cattle, a few leagues inland. The Tuesday was passed
principally at Pisco, a dull and miserable-looking place, worthy of note
only for its capital aguadiente, or white rum, said to be made from
grapes, but probably made from sugar-cane. It is, however, a very pure
spirit, and an opportunity of tasting it genuine should not be neglected.
A great many Chinese are settled at Pisco, and there is a railway to the
town of Yca, about fifty miles southward. During the run up from Arica,
every morning had been foggy, necessitating a very slow rate of speed,
and a continual sounding of the fog-horn, and on Wednesday morning, the
27th, we anchored in Callao Bay, about seven o’clock in the morning.
Callao Bay is a remarkably fine piece of water, of large extent, and so
well defended from all winds, that the water is always like a mill-pond.
It has, however, like all the other ports of the Pacific coast, suffered
from earthquake waves, though in a far less degree than many others. Much
shipping, two monitors, and other Peruvian men-of-war were in harbour,
also two other men-of-war, one English and one American, and the whole
scene betokened the near presence of a large city. We dressed hastily
to go on shore to the office of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company,
in order to secure a good berth on the steamer which we had to change
to for Panamá, the _Lima_, etc., being on the berth between Callao and
Valparaiso, while the _Oroya_ and others run the Callao and Panamá trip.
Finding the office did not open until ten o’clock, we remained on shore
to breakfast at a very good restaurant in the Hotel de Comercio, near
the “Plaza Principal.” This necessary duty duly performed to our high
satisfaction, both as regards quality and price, we chose our berths
at the office, and returned to the _Lima_ to shift our baggage to the
_Oroya_, a fine paddle steamer, whose captain, a worthy old American,
who had been at sea for more than fifty years, kept her in better order
than, perhaps, any other mail steamer that floats. Everything in the
shape of paint, brass, and plain wood, was most delightfully clean and
well scoured, whilst the cabins were a real treat to see. Certainly the
contrast from the confused decks of the _Lima_ to the order and neatness
of the _Oroya_ was very striking. Returning on shore again, we passed the
floating dock, in which was the steamship _Payta_, also of the Pacific
Steam Navigation Company’s fleet, and which had a short while previously
been run on a rock at the port of Santa, near Truxillo. The government
foundries, with several private establishments of a similar nature, also
attract attention; and, indeed, the whole aspect of the bay showed that
a large amount of work was going on. Callao itself is like most other
Peruvian towns, not at all striking, the houses having the same toylike
and temporary look that one notices on arriving at Tacna.
There being nothing to detain us in Callao, and the _Oroya_ not leaving
until the following day, we determined to pay Lima a visit, and taking
tickets at four reales each, a twenty minutes’ ride brought us to the
capital of Peru. It is situated at the foot of the hills which, all along
the Peruvian coast, run sometimes close to the sea, and at others recede
somewhat inland, leaving a sandy plain from their slopes seawards. On
one of these plains Lima is built. Entering the city, the European-like
look of the shops is the first thing that claims attention; and were it
not for the flat roofs, and the unfinished look of the houses, the tops
of which are not even graced with a cornice, one might easily imagine
one’s self to be in a large European town. We put up at the Hotel Maury,
the _table d’hôte_ dinner at which did not come up to that given at the
Golden Ball of Tacna.
Of churches there are many, the principal ones being, the famous
Cathedral in the Plaza, with its two towers, where the Brothers
Gutierrez were hung by the townspeople after their brutal murder of
President Balta; and the church of Panamá, with a wonderful façade of
images, curved pillars, etc. The Plaza de Armas, is pretty though small.
Here the military bands play every evening; and as chairs can be hired,
the time passes away pleasantly. Over a river that flows through Lima is
a very old bridge, solidly and well built, and bearing an inscription
with the date of 1608, “regnante Felipo III.” The alaméda close by
is very little cared for, and appeared to be falling into ruins, the
society of Lima apparently caring more for a stroll along the well-paved
Calle de Comercio, than for public gardens. In the evening an alarm of
fire brought out three companies of “bombarderos,” a sort of volunteer
fire brigade. They looked very gallant and gay in their well-appointed
uniforms, which did not appear to have seen much service. The hat they
wore was of curious shape, made of black shining material, and in form a
cross between a very large solah topee and a coalheaver’s bonnet; it did
not seem so suitable as the helmet our own firemen wear, but the corps
being a volunteer one, probably something must be sacrificed to effect. I
noticed some of them return to their rooms in the hotel after the alarm
had subsided. They were evidently men of good position in society, and
went to their work with kid gloves on; but possibly, as the alarm was a
false one, they did not require to take them off. I should think that a
bad fire in Lima would be a most serious matter, for the houses are of a
flimsy nature, and have a great deal of wood in their composition.
The next day, the 28th of January, we left Lima at 8 a.m., and had an
hour or so in Callao to get a few newspapers and books for use on the
voyage to Panamá. The _Oroya_ started about mid-day, but once outside the
harbour we got into a thick fog, which is said to hang about these coasts
at this time of the year. This fog accompanied us all the day, and the
early part of the next, when we passed H.M.S. _Repulse_, flying Admiral
Cochrane’s flag, and on the 30th we arrived at Payta at mid-day. This
is a small town in the usual Peruvian tumble-down style, and not worth
landing to see. We had to take in some sugar as cargo, and were detained
till evening. The next three days passed without anything worthy of note,
save, perhaps, that though the weather was fine, the ocean was anything
but “Pacific,” the breezes being strong from the north and west.
On the 3rd of February, the seventh day out from Callao, we arrived off
Panamá about mid-day. The approach is exceedingly pretty, as the steamer
passes several islands clothed with bush to the water’s edge, and forming
a pleasant contrast to the arid coasts of Peru. On one of these islands,
Taboga, the Pacific Steam Navigation Company have a station and pier, and
there is a good-sized village with fields of maize and plantains, looking
fresh and green. The ocean steamers stop at an island about a mile and a
half from the town, and from thence a smaller steamer conveys passengers,
mails, and specie up to Panamá. From this island the town looks pretty,
but on arriving one sees that it is old and somewhat dirty. The wharves
are large, but have been patched up and enlarged from time to time.
Two severe fires, that occurred in the city within eighteen months, had
destroyed many large houses; the central hotel and adjoining buildings
in the plaza being in ruins. The insurance companies, Imperial and Sun,
of London, lost large sums of money; the agent in Panamá, a Monsieur
de Roux, telling me he had sent in claims for more than a million
dollars, and now the companies wisely decline any further risks. The
cathedral is a plain old-fashioned edifice, the towers of which are
spotted with pearl-oyster shells, probably to put one in mind of the
pest of small-pox, which is at times very bad in the town, although on
the whole it seems to have a very fair climate, and not to deserve the
bad reputation that is universally attributed to it. The Grand Central
Hotel, at which we stayed, is well managed, and the prices charged are
reasonable. Before leaving Panamá we paid a visit to the prison, where
the criminals are kept in large rooms, having barred windows opening to
the ground, through which the prisoners are allowed to converse freely
with all comers. They may also divert themselves with the manufacture
of small curiosities, the best being engraved cocoa-nuts and gourds, on
which they carve very pretty designs, and for which they ask about a
dollar apiece.
The royal mail steamer _Tasmanian_ being announced to leave Aspinwall at
5 p.m. on the 5th, we decided to go there by the early morning train,
leaving Panamá at 7 a.m. in order to have a few hours to look round the
town of Aspinwall, or Colon, as it is called in the country. The transit
by railway across the Isthmus of Panamá is so well known by travellers
that very little description is now needed. The notorious incivility
of the employés and the discomfort of the carriages, coupled with the
exorbitant tariff of £6 for about fifty miles distance, render this part
of the journey so unpleasant in every way that no one would use this
railway were there any other means available of passing the Isthmus;
but as the Panamá Railway Company have at present a monopoly of the
inter-oceanic traffic, they probably think that civility and reasonable
treatment of passengers is quite an unnecessary item of management, their
trade not being likely to be driven away until they have had a lifetime
of their profits.
The country on the Pacific side of the hills that run through the
Isthmus, and on the upper parts of the Chagres River which flows into
the Atlantic, is pretty enough, there being several small villages
through which the line passes, at each of which the clearings made in
the bush show the usual luxuriant tropical growth of maize, plantains,
and other products; but the flat country nearer Aspinwall is one vast
swamp. The completion of the line through this is one of the most notable
feats of engineering, and the passage over it recalls vividly to the
mind the dismal story of the numerous deaths that occurred during the
construction, the number being so great that it is said, the laying of
each sleeper cost a life. Aspinwall is also built amongst the swamps, and
were it not that the miasma rising round the town is blown inland by the
fresh sea breezes, it would certainly be a most unhealthy place.
The city is small and uninteresting, and the less one stays in it the
better. We found the _Tasmanian_ in the agonies of coaling, and who shall
describe the grim state of dust and dirt that afflicts mail steamers when
this unfortunately necessary operation is being carried on. Although
all doors and windows between the saloons and the hold are carefully
closed, the dust permeates everywhere; whilst the noises, foul odours,
and still fouler language, that rise from the crowd of negroes following
one another in quick succession up and down the planks leading from
the vessel to the shore, are so unbearable, that to remain on deck is
absolutely impossible; a stroll even along the hot and uninteresting
streets of Aspinwall therefore becomes preferable to going on board
before the hour of departure. The longest day has, however, its ending,
and what with buying a few shells and other simple curiosities in the
market-place, inspecting the statue of Columbus, and breakfasting at one
of the very second-rate restaurants, we managed to pass away the time
until the coaling of the _Tasmanian_ was completed, and the bell rang to
warn passengers to go on board.
The voyage home from Aspinwall commenced on the evening of the 5th; on
the 10th we were at Jamaica, on the 14th at St. Thomas’, and on the 1st
of March I landed at Plymouth, well pleased to be home again in Old
England after so long and varied a journey by river, land, and sea.
APPENDIX.
TABLE OF APPROXIMATE HEIGHTS.
Name of place. Height above Productions.
sea-level.
Feet.
San Antonio, lowest rapid 250 }
Guajará Mirim, upper rapid 510 } Sugar, maize, yams, plantains,
Exaltacion 710 } mandioca, tobacco, cocoa.
Trinidad 800 }
Coni 950 }
Santa Cruz 1,615 } Ditto, and coffee and coca.
Cristal Maio 1,920 }
El Chaco 3,250 }
Cuesta del Lina Tambo 6,150 }
Inca Corral 7,715 }
Los Jocotales 8,000 } Barley and potatoes.
Cuesta de Malaga 12,550 }
Cochi-janchi 10,950 }
Cochabamba 8,450 } Ditto, and wheat and fruits.
Pass near Totora 11,500 } Barley and potatoes.
Totora 10,000 }
Misque 7,000 } Wheat, barley, etc.,
Aiquile 7,850 } also fruits.
Chinguri 6,850 }
Quiroga 7,000 } Sugar, maize, etc.
Rio Grande 5,925 }
Palca 6,800 }
Jaboncillo, top of cuesta 8,615 }
Masa Cruz, ditto 8,550 }
Canto Molino 7,200 } Barley and potatoes.
Huata, foot of cuesta 8,200 }
” top of cuesta 10,100 }
Sucre 9,200 }
Nutshucc 8,000 } Maize, fruits, etc.
Rio Pilcomayo 7,000 }
Pampa Tambo 9,850 }
Quebrada Honda, top 12,000 }
” ” bottom 11,200 }
Potosí 13,500 }
Cerro de Potosí, summit 15,500 }
Tarapaya 11,200 } Barley and potatoes,
Yocalla 11,450 } up to about 12,500 feet.
Cuesta de Leñas, top 14,400 }
Pampa de Aullagas 12,400 }
Poopo 12,430 }
Oruro 12,530 }
Curahuara de Carangas 12,890 }
Sajáma, summit 21,470 }
EXPORTS FROM THE PORT OF ARICA DURING THE YEARS 1872-4, THE BULK OF THE
ARTICLES BEING THE PRODUCE OF THE REPUBLIC OF BOLIVIA.
--------------------------------------------------+--------+------------
| Soft | Soft
_Minerals and precious metals._ |dollars.| dollars.
| |
Barilla, copper 178,748 cwts. of 100 lbs. @ | 18 | 3,217,464
” tin 29,923 ” ” | 16 | 478,768
Copper, in bars 1,078 ” ” | 38 | 40,964
Tin, in bars 29,255 ” ” | 30 | 877,650
Silver, pure 424,600 marks of 7·4 oz. ” | 12½ | 5,307,500
” old plate 2,083 ” ” | 10 | 20,830
” money 5,265 cases ” | 90 | 473,850
” hard dollars ” | | 1,414,880
” soft dollars ” | | 265,149
Gold, dust and grain 11,945 oz. ” | 20 | 238,900
Ditto, coin 6,010 ” ” | 20 | 120,200
_General Merchandise._ | |
Chocolate, manufactured 67 cwts. of 100 lbs. ” | 65 | 4,355
Cocoa, in nibs 50 ” ” | 36 | 1,800
Coca 531 ” ” | 60 | 31,860
Cochineal 750 lbs. ” | ¾ | 562
Coffee 943 cwts. of 100 lbs. ” | 38 | 35,834
Cotton 1,856 ” ” | 36 | 66,816
Elixir of coca 9 dozen ” | 15 | 135
Guaraná 40 cwts. of 100 lbs. ” | 15 | 600
Maté 153 ” ” | 50 | 7,650
Olives 77 ” ” | 18 | 1,386
Peruvian bark 28,835 ” ” | 80 | 2,306,800
Ratania root 20 ” ” | 60 | 1,200
Spirits Italia 139 dozen ” | 18 | 2,502
Tobacco 226 cwts. of 100 lbs. ” | 40 | 9,040
Hides, ox 15,136 ” | 5 | 75,680
Skins, Chinchilla 7,179 dozen ” | 25 | 179,475
” Biscacha 16 ” ” | 10 | 160
” Vicuña 4,586 ” | 1 | 4,586
” Goat 2,532 ” | ¾ | 1,899
” Sheep 150 dozen ” | 10 | 1,500
Wool, Alpaca 17,807 cwts. of 100 lbs. ” | 61 | 1,086,227
” Vicuña 21 ” ” | 80 | 1,680
” Guanaco 1½ ” ” | 70 | 105
” Sheep 1,153 ” ” | 29 | 33,437
+-----------
$16,311,444
-----------
At 6½ per £ = £2,509,453
-----------
Average value of twelve months’ export £836,484
TABLE SHOWING THE TEMPERATURE, RAINFALL, AND DEPTH OF FLOOD-WATER BELOW
THE FALLS OF SAN ANTONIO ON THE MADEIRA RIVER, FROM OBSERVATIONS TAKEN BY
THE AUTHOR IN 1873.
----------+----------------------+----------+------------
| Average Temperature. | Rainfall | Flood-water
Month. +---------+------------+in inches.| in feet.
| Lowest. | Highest. | |
----------+---------+------------+----------+------------
January | 75° | 83° | 15·85 | 34
February | 73° | 82° | 10·97 | 42
March | 74° | 82° | 14·59 | 46
April | 73° | 83° | 11·01 | 42
May | 73° | 83° | 5·96 | 35
June | 70° | 85° | 2·56 | 27
July | 71° | 87° | 0·32 | 21
August | 71° | 88° | 1·07 | 15
September | 72° | 88° | 5·70 | 7
October | 73° | 88° | 1·94 | 9
November | 73° | 84° | 11·32 | 9
December | 74° | 86° | 10·03 | 27
----------+---------+------------+----------+------------
ESTIMATE OF TIME AND EXPENSE OF A JOURNEY FROM LIVERPOOL TO PARÁ, THENCE
ACROSS THE CONTINENT, AND RETURN TO ENGLAND.
-------------------------+-----+------------------+---------------------
Stages. |Days.| Conveyance. | Approximate Expense.
-------------------------+-----+------------------+---------------------
Liverpool to Pará | 12 |Steamer, Red Cross| Passage £25
| | Line or Booth’s | Personals 5
| | |
Pará to San Antonio | 13 |Steamer, Amazon | Passage 15
| | Steam Ship | Personals 5
| | Company, Limited|
| | |
San Antonio to Exaltacion| 50 |Canoe | Pay of 14 hands
Exaltacion to Trinidad | 10 | ” | say 2 months 85
Trinidad to Coni | 18 | ” | Keep of same 85
| | | Personals 30
| | | Say ⅕ of above 40
| | | ” ⅖ ” 80
| | |
Coni to Cochabamba | 7 |Mule | Hire of 4 mules
Cochabamba to Sucre | 7 | ” | and 1 arriero 12
Sucre to Potosí | 2 | ” | Personals 3
Potosí to Oruro | 7 | ” | Loss on purchase
Oruro to Tacna | 9 | ” | and sale of
| | | 4 mules say 50
| | | Personals 50
| | |
Tacna to Arica | 1 |Railway | Say 1
| | |
| | | soles
Arica to Panamá | 10 |Steamer | Royal Mail 353
Panamá to Aspinwall | 1 |Railway | Railway 30
Aspinwall to Southampton | 23 |Steamer | say— 80
| | | Personals, say 50
+-----+ | ----
Total days | 170 | | Total £616
-------------------------+-----+------------------+---------------------
NOTE.—The foregoing is a very liberal estimate, particularly in the items
of pay and keep of crew from San Antonio to Coni, but it is well to be
liberal to the Indians both in pay and keep, as a traveller thereby
ensures the health and contentment of his men. Also the item of loss on
sale of mules is the outside amount that could be spent, but by good
management it should be saved altogether. The cost of my journey from San
Antonio to Southampton was as nearly as possible £400; adding £50, from
Liverpool to San Antonio, would make the round trip to cost £450, and I
believe it can be made for this amount.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET
AND CHARING CROSS.
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