Sketched by L. GibbonLith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.ILLIMANI SNOW PEAK, VICUÑA'S PASTURING WITH THE SHEEP ON THE PUNA OF BOLIVIA.
Sketched by L. GibbonLith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.ILLIMANI SNOW PEAK, VICUÑA'S PASTURING WITH THE SHEEP ON THE PUNA OF BOLIVIA.
Sketched by L. Gibbon
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.
ILLIMANI SNOW PEAK, VICUÑA'S PASTURING WITH THE SHEEP ON THE PUNA OF BOLIVIA.
December 2, 1851.—At 4 p. m., we halted at Ventilla post-house. Thermometer, 52°; wet bulb, 42°. The fat postwoman was pickingseeds from a bag of raw cotton. She gave us a specimen, but said she did not know whence it came. From her external appearance, we judged she had not travelled much about the country.
The house stands on a barren plain; not a living thing to be seen growing, except a short tuft of grass here and there. The post-dogs are miserably poor. The baggage-mules look as if they ate round stones and drank bad water. As the dogs and children came to us for supper, we are at a loss to know how it is the old woman keeps so enormously fat. Possibly upon happiness, for she seems perfectly contented.
It has been a matter of surprise how the globe is so well balanced, while the greatest proportion of land appears on the north side of the equator. After a view of the lofty mountains, corpulent bishops, and portly postwomen, it seems more comprehensible.
We are now travelling on the edge of the Titicaca basin. The water on the west side of us flows into the Desaguedero river, and that on the east side into the Beni. The rich copper district lies to the west of us, near the Desaguedero. There is snow on the mountains in all directions, the Illimani appearing high up in the east. Three vicuñas were pasturing with some sheep near our path. At the small town of Calamarca, at 4 p. m., thermometer, 48°; wet bulb, 40°. A rain-storm from southeast, accompanied with thunder and lightning, hauled round by south to the west, when the small drops of rain became frozen, and fell in hailstones, the size of very small peas; after which the whole country in sight was covered with snow.
The scene is a cold and dreary one, made more so by the strange noise of wind instruments and drums in the plaza, as the Indians march through the church after the storm, dancing with war-clubs at the doors, while a cracked bell chimes a deafening summons to prayers. The wind instruments are made of a succession of reeds of different sizes and lengths, upon which they blow a noise, little resembling music to our ear, keeping time with the drummers, the slow-motioned dancers respecting them both. The Indians are dressed in large feathered hats, white cotton shirts, short trousers, decorated about the knees with red, blue, and white ribbons, while one in deep black walks before the procession in the character of drum major. Except a priest, not a creole face was to be seen.
In the morning the procession marched into the patio of the post-house. After they had played and danced some time, the Indian women came out, and being joined by the postillions, formed a ring inside the musicians, and the dance was continued. We seated ourselves, with our tin pots of tea, in the doorway, looking on. After the dance, the womenretired, and the postman, a fine-looking old Aymara Indian, hat in hand, made a speech, in a grave and earnest manner, to which they all listened with silent attention. The speech was responded to by a long blast from the wind instruments and a few heavy taps on the drums. Then the postillions, one by one, made short speeches, and were answered in the same way. The women again appeared, each bringing with her a jar of chicha, which they served out in cups, giving to each individual as much as he could drink, which was no small quantity, for the morning was cold. The music again struck up, and the women again joined in the dance. One of them came out with her sleeping "wawa" slung to her back, which was soon blown up, and commenced a laughable discord; but not a smile could be discovered in any of their faces; neither did the woman stop till the dance was ended, when she swung the child round in front of her, where it found cause to be quiet.
As we could not understand the language or the meaning of the speech, nor the propriety of chicha being introduced into the religious service, we supposed the intention was to serenade the women, but were left in doubt; for they seemed to be so serious, formal, and earnest that it could scarcely be a frolic. At first we were disposed to appropriate it to ourselves, but gave in on the appearance of the chicha.
These Indians are very polite and attentive to us. We find no difficulty in getting what we want, notwithstanding José is as perfectly ignorant of Aymara as ourselves. When we were ready to leave, the old Indian took out of his own pocket, and laid upon the palm of his hand, the amount of our bill for the night. Being paid, he nodded his head, smiled, and uttered something that seemed to us satisfactory.
The town is small and wretched, both in its external and internal appearance. Not a foot of the country in sight around it is cultivated. The principal production seems to be chicha; but the maize it is made of is brought from the Quebradas to the eastward.
To the west of Calamarca, between the Desaguedero river and the Cordilleras, near the town of Benenguala, in former days, were worked a number of silver mines. Seven hundred mouths are open and filled with water, having all been abandoned in the present day, though they are reported to be rich. To the east of Calamarca, in the province of Inquisivi, five silver mines are worked, and one hundred and sixty stand idle. Near the town of Araca four gold mines are worked, and many more exist.
Crossing a dry, rocky country, we came to where the plain was covered with green cedar bushes, about two feet high; the dry, dusty road was made more cheerful by cattle, sheep, and llamas crossing ourpath. They were feeding upon the fresher grass that springs up under the shade of the cedars. The change from the barren, unproductive places on the Puna to that of a vegetable growth is so sudden, that the traveller is, at first sight, struck with wonder and surprise, because evidently no human power has been brought to work here. It is all the result of original, natural laws.
Man seems the most unnatural creature we meet with. He builds his house in a desert, settles himself in a country he cannot cultivate; while other animals are seen in numbers the moment we come in sight of vegetation, nor do they leave it for the barren places unless forced to go by the more intelligent creature.
The southeast winds that we meet here come across the South Atlantic ocean; passing over the lowlands, they strike against these mountains. Rising from the vapors of the sea, they are wet; but after travelling over dry lands, their dampness is distributed on the soil, and there springs up a growth of forest trees and wild flowers, which otherwise would be burnt down by the fiery rays of the sun.
By the time the winds reach these lofty mountains they are comparatively dry. The little dampness remaining in them, meeting with the cold atmosphere of the mountain peaks, freezes and falls in the shape of snow or hail.
Being relieved of their load, they come down on the table lands now, where we meet them after having performed their work, as on the west of the Illimani; there the plain is barren; not a living bush is to be seen. As the winds have no moisture to give to the soil, the soil has no vegetation to give to animal life; therefore, man appears to be struggling against this law, by living all his life to the west of the Illimani, where the winds are on a frolic, dancing over the plain, forming whirlwinds, and shooting up to return from whence they came.
These winds go back to the South Atlantic by an upper current. But, to return to the cedar bushes. We can only account for them by supposing an opening in the Andes range to the southeast of us, through which the winds come, before meeting with mountains high enough to push them above the perpetual snow line. We cannot see far enough to tell, but have to feel our way. Yesterday we had the Illimani to the east of us, and by the reflection of a barren soil, the rays of the sun scorched the skin off our faces. To-day, although the sky is equally as clear, we do not feel it, the atmosphere is more moist, which protects the skin from the influences of the sun.
But there stands a more convincing proof of this natural law, and of our supposition of an opening in the Andes to the southeast of us. Themountain peaks to the west are covered with snow. The remaining moisture in these winds has not yet been turned into hail and snow, but is still doing its summer work. The moment it strikes those mountains to the west, however, then it will all be grasped by the cold hand of winter.
We have heard the people of this country complain that there is less law in Bolivia than in any other part of the world. We doubt if there ever was a law more plainly written than is here seen on the face of the soil, directing attention to the countries east of the snow.
We observe an alteration in the color of the people on the Puna, who differ again from those of the forests. The Indian who lives on the west side of a snowy-peaked mountain is burnt black; those among the cedar bushes, to the east of the snow, are lighter in complexion. The women are better looking. The sun-burnt man falls in love as soon as he gets to the east side of the snow peaks, although the people of the forests in the Madeira Plata are whiter still. We have seen no curling of hair produced on the Puna by the excessive heat of the sun.
Silver mines of Sicasica—Productions of the Puna or Table lands—An exile returning home—Department of Oruro—Silver, copper, and tin—Climate—A chicha factorer—The expedition out of Titicaca basin and into Madeira Plata—Department of Potosi—Population, climate, and productions—Rio Pilcomayo—Mint—Quicksilver trade—Imperfect mining operations—Smuggling of precious metals—Statistics of silver—Trade with the Argentine Confederation—Port of Cobija—Desert of Atacama—Eastern side of the Andes—Frosty mountain tops and thermal streams—A Washwoman—Cinchona bark ascending to the South Pacific—Department of Cochabamba—Increase of creoles—Incas colony of Quichua Indians—Hail storm—Gardens—Fig trees—City of Cochabamba—Hospitality of the merchants—The President of Bolivia and his cabinet—Commercial proposition—Brazilian minister—President Belzu—Cavalry and infantry—Armor of the Bolivian troops—Public force—Calacala gardens—Market people—Rio Mamoré—Legislative power—Church ceremony—Climate—A bishop's opinion of the consequences of steamboat navigation—Cabinet ministers—Reception of a farmer by the President—Heavy shock of an earthquake—Sudden departure of the Government—Clisa Fair—Trade to the Pacific coast.
After changing our baggage mules at the small Indian town of Ayoayo, we came to a winding stream, a tributary of Desaguedero, on which was a grist-mill, and arrived at Chicta post-house, which stands alone like a toy-house in the middle of this green-carpeted plain. At 5 p. m., December 4, 1851, thermometer, 52°; wet bulb, 42°. A view of sunset over the snow-peaked mountains is most beautiful. The post-house is well kept by a creole with a wife and large family of children.
Three hundred Indians work the silver mines in the neighborhood. In this province, Sicasica, there exist three hundred and twenty abandoned silver mines. The yield of the nine mines at present worked produces some profit, but no fortunes are made by those concerned. Antimony and stonecoal of good quality have been discovered.
During the cold nights here, dew from the damp winds freezes. We observed no dew to the west of the Illimani.
As we move to the southeast the bushes are larger; some of them are three feet high. A moss grows, besides the sprigs of grass, on which the llamas feed, as they slowly move under loads of grain on the way to the grist-mill.
Scarcity of vegetables appears to produce an intimacy among animals.Here the sheep graze in flocks, exclusive of horned cattle or horses, and the vicuña keeps aloof from all; but in less productive places, vicuñas are found eating from the same scanty table with the sheep and llamas. Animals which inhabit the highest atmospheres are obliged to come down among those below them.
The Puna seems the natural elevation for sheep; they thrive best there. The llama don't do so well. The place of the vicuña is between these two mountainous distributions of animal life. Horned cattle and horses are above their station here, and thrive badly. The hog dives down into the very sloppy bottom; his greediness could not be satisfied on the upper plains; he would certainly perish for want of food, and is never found at such altitudes, unless forced up.
There is a sparse population and very little cultivation. The people are supplied with grain and fruits from the ravines on the edge of the Madeira Plata. We changed baggage mules at the town of Sicasica, a flourishing place during the days of wealthy miners, but an uninteresting and lifeless Indian town now.
At the post-house of Oroma, where we spent the night, a party of gentlemen stopped for baggage mules. They were travelling in haste, one being on his way to La Paz to join a wife and children after a banishment of eighteen months. His expressed political opinions happened to differ from those who came into power by force of musketry. His friends had obtained permission for his return, giving security he should not offend in the same way again. He pointed out on the map his wanderings through the wilds of Eastern Bolivia and the province of Matto Grosso in Brazil, and described his sufferings. He had not heard from his family, not knowing, until lately, they were still alive. He laughed and joked about his troubles, as though happy at getting home again.
A priest of the party sat on the baggage listening to our conversation. One inquired if the President of the United States sent those out of the country who expressed political opinions in opposition to his own, and really seemed surprised to learn that sometimes nearly half the nation did not agree with our President in all things, and were not interfered with.
Changing mules at Pandura post-house, we arrived at Caracollo, in the department of Oruro, which contains a population of 8,129 Creoles and 86,943 aborigines. This department has produced a large amount of silver.
The city of Oruro, the capital and largest town in the department, has a population of 5,687. One hundred and twenty years ago, it containeda population of 38,000, without counting Indians. This decrease is accounted for by the state of the mines.
There are twelve hundred and fifteen abandoned silver mines near the town, and not less than two hundred gold mines, most of which contain water. Eleven silver mines are still worked.
In the province of Poopo fifteen silver mines are worked, and three hundred and sixteen stand idle; besides which there are four silver mines worked in the province of Carangas, and two hundred and eighty-five abandoned. On the discovery of a mine, it is reported and registered to be taxed. The miners of silver ores are required by law to sell their metal to the government at a certain price. As merchants are willing to pay higher, the silver of Bolivia often passes out of the country in bars. Gold may be exported by paying a duty of three per cent.
Lead, iron, antimony, sulphur, copper, and tin abound in this department; the tin is found on the surface of the plain.
The climate of Oruro is cold, and the soil very unproductive. Potatoes, quinua, with a little barley, are raised in some places. Llamas, alpacas, vicuñas, guanacos, and the skins of the chinchillos, are used as exchanges on the coast of Peru for rum and wine.
From shallow lakes salt four inches thick is gathered, and exchanged for grains and flower. The pasture is so scarce that few cattle are raised. Jackasses being more economical than horses, pick up a living on the plain as they carry salt to the cattle districts, or journey over the mountains with silver and gold, a distance of one hundred and eighty-three leagues, to the seaport of Cobija, where they meet ships from the United States loaded with flour.
Cobija is a free port of entry, and merchants send this distance for many articles of trade, in preference to paying duty from Arica through the territory of Peru. As the jackass travels very slowly, and the Indian driver generally accommodates his pace to the loaded animal's, the cargo from Cobija requires thirty-five days. It is difficult to find men willing to make the trip over that barren country.
The inhabitants of Corocoro were generally intoxicated on our arrival; neither the postman nor the governor appeared. Two persons, incorrectly supposing they were sober, called for our passports, saying the governor was absent, and they were the authorities next in power. One of them encountered some difficulty in reading the document.
He inquired of José the reason it was not presented at the governor's house? José answered, "It was usual for the authorities to call upon strangers." The man became very angry, and abused José. Being requested to read our papers and take his departure, he said "he did notknow whether we were English or French gringos." We pointed out to him the words "Los Estados Unidos;" when looking up with surprise, he bowed, touched his hat, and bidding us good evening, they quietly and quickly walked off. I mention this fact solely because it was the only case throughout our route where a personal difficulty with the authorities was encountered; having to deal with such a number, it was the only exception to politeness and accommodating manners—possibly occasioned by some foreign importation.
The town is on the decline; it looks so dilapidated, and like the dusty, unproductive country round about, that had it not been for the church steeples and the chicha, we might have passed without having seen it. A cura, travelling with his servant, left his intended road and joined us for company. He had been on a visit to La Paz from Sucre, the capital of Bolivia, with a remittance from the church. As we rode along on the table-lands, he would point out an unusually level piece of ground, and say, "What a beautiful place for a battle between two armies." The man who had carried the remittance to La Paz trotted on foot after us, and travelled every day as fast and as far as the cura with his fine bay mule. We read each other's passports.
Stopping on the plain at a small hut, the only habitation in sight, except a large stone church, we inquired for water; there was none, but a fat woman said she had chicha. The cura purchased a gallon for the same price other people usually pay for a pint. The woman said "she had chewed the maize for it herself;" so we had the manufacturing apparatus before us, established without wheels or water. She kissed the cura's hand, and asked for his blessing. With one hand on her head and the other occupied with the chicha jug, he uttered a short prayer, tossed off the beverage and mounted his mule.
Our course is now east; we leave the table lands and enter a small narrow pass in the Andes. As the sun goes down over the Cordilleras, the hawks go to roost among the rocks. All is still as we ride up to a lonely hut—the post-house of Condorchinoca; while the Indian attends to our mules, his wife cooks supper, and his little child plays with the post dog. The night is clear, calm, and cold.
Ascending the western side of the Andes we come to a spring at the temperature of 68°; the water flows westward. We are now about to leave the Titicaca basin, which contains an area of thirty-nine thousand six hundred square miles. It is a curious basin; all round its edge snow is found, from which numerous streams of water flow and wash away the soil, so as to show that the earth is partly made up of silver.
If, during the rainy season, an unusual quantity of water is pouredinto its southern side, the large stream passing to its bottom flows northward; but generally most water enters on its northern side, so that the water nearly always flows south. Its climate may be a healthy one, but not a hospitable one for man.
In some parts of it sheep and vicuña flourish, and the llama was thought, in this basin, to prove in better condition than elsewhere. Our observations go to show they and the sheep in the neighborhood of the Juaja valley, in Peru, are superior.
The mineral wealth of the Titicaca basin is very great, but its vegetable productions too small for the support of its present population, who are employed extracting metals, and who draw from the Madeira Plata many of the necessaries of life, and rely upon foreign countries for their manufactures.
A clear, deep-blue sky opens the day; but as the tropical sun shines upon the white edges of the basin, he evaporates so many feet of the snow per annum, that the clouds formed daily seem to curtain in the inhabitants from the rest of the world.
The Aymara language and people excite the imagination to a belief that their history is of an anterior date to that of the Quichuas, and more interesting to those who seek, in the depths of time long passed, for a knowledge of the origin of the aboriginal races of men on this part of the earth.
There is a peculiarity found in the Titicaca basin which we noticed, but are unable to solve—the wind blows all the year from the east over the lake, while on the plains it is variable and whirling. Water appears to attract wind, and to keep it in active motion.
Slowly winding our way up the Andes, meeting droves of llamas loaded with flour, we find the strata of rocks pointing to the east at an angle of 45°. Arriving at the top of the great ridge, the strata is perpendicular; and on the east side it inclines to the west, also at an angle of 45°.
We now look over the Madeira Plate, but before entering it we turn to regard, from these lofty peaks, the south of the Titicaca basin.
From the line of the twentieth degree of south latitude, water flowing north belongs to Titicaca, and that running south tends for the great La Plata basin. These are the waters of the river Pilcomayo, which empty into the Paraguay between latitude 25° and 26° south, after passing through more than six hundred miles of longitude.
The Pilcomayo is a rapid stream, with falls and a rocky bed, like the Beni. It appears not navigable for steamboats in the territory of Bolivia. This stream takes its rise in the department of Potosi, which lies betweenOruro and the Argentine confederation, and contains a population of 83,296 creoles of European descent, and 164,609 Aymara Indians.
The city, situated at the base of the far-famed Cerro de Potosi—the rich sister of Cerro de Pasco, in Peru—has a population of 16,711.
In the Cerro de Potosi and neighborhood there are twenty-six silver mines worked, and eighteen hundred standing idle. Besides which, the government accounts show us that, in the provinces of Porco, Chayanta, Chichas, and Lepiz, there exist three thousand and eighty-nine silver mines which have been abandoned, and only sixty-five mines worked now.
In former days the department of Potosi excited the envy of the world. The silver ore was found rising from the top of the peak; the vein being followed below the water-line, when it was given up and a new one sought. The work was carried on in this manner until few new veins remained. The people are now burrowing in at the base of the peak, striving to strike the vein below, where it was left in its richness. This is an expensive business, and some have given up the plan, after an unsuccessful entrance into the very core of the mountain, with heavy losses.
There is a mint at Potosi, where the miner finds a ready market for silver and gold. It received and coined in the year 1849 one million six hundred and twenty-one thousand five hundred and thirty six dollars in silver, and eleven thousand nine hundred and eighty-four dollars in gold.
The government purchases quicksilver to trade with the miner. It is a singular fact that, while the rich quicksilver mines of Huancavelica are so close at hand, Bolivia annually imports two hundred thousand pounds of this important fluid mineral, in iron jars, from England, around Cape Horn, and over the Cordilleras, one hundred and fifty-eight leagues from Cobija.
Owing to the imperfect apparatus used for separating quicksilver from the silver ores, the waste of the imported metal is very great. Five thousand pounds of ore, yielding one hundred and fifty pounds of pure silver, required four hundred and fifty pounds of quicksilver for the amalgamation; of which, I was told, not less than one hundred pounds were lost. A simple cast-iron silver burner, or distilling apparatus, would probably save half this waste, and certainly much labor—both the labor and mercury being the most expensive items in the miner's list of expenditures.
It is supposed that much silver is smuggled out of Bolivia every year. The miner hands one bar to the mint, while another he pays to themerchant for clothing, rum, coca, and so forth, for the use of the Indian laborers, from whom he reaps a profit in the retail business.
It is difficult to get a near estimate of the real annual amount of silver and gold taken from the mines of this country. The following table, taken from the government account, may prove interesting. It is the yield of these two metals given every five years:
However much short of the annual product, this table may show at a glance the decrease under the present system of mining.
The climate of the city of Potosi is cold and unpleasant, being elevated over fourteen thousand feet above the ocean. The vegetable productions in its neighborhood are less than are found on the plains of Oruro. The llamas, alpacas, vicuñas, and guanacos, are large and valuable.
Rock salt is found among the mountains in large veins. Small springs of water shoot up and flow down the La Plata basin, uniting in streams which wash away the earth from silver, gold, copper, tin, and precious stones. These streams run rapidly to the base of the Cordilleras; there meeting expanded plains, they form lakes, which are evaporated and leave a crust of salt. Numerous streams, passing on to join each other, finally cut their way boldly through the Andes, where they become large enough to accommodate schools of fish. Then the Indian is found planting maize and potatoes; sowing wheat, barley, and lucerne; raising horned-cattle, sheep, and horses. He buys salt from the up-countryman, and gives him salted fish in payment, or receiving hard silver dollars for beef, mutton, and flour.
Near these tributaries of the Pilcomayo, at its head, the Indian plants sugar-cane and coffee. His wooden hut is shaded by the trees of the valley, and his doorway decorated with the chirimoya and granadilla plants.
The Pilcomayo is a muddy stream. It creeps along at the base of a ridge of mountains, which stretch towards Brazil, as though seeking anoutlet to the south before it trends to the Paraguay, as the Beni runs to the Madeira.
The department of Potosi imports from the Argentine Republic annually about five thousand mules, eight hundred horses, and five thousand jackasses, and three thousand head of cattle. A mule is worth twenty dollars, a horse fifteen, a donkey six, and beeves ten dollars a head.
Bridle-reins, stirrups, saddle-cloths, soap, and tobacco, also enter, for which silver is paid in exchange.
Chinchilla skins are worth seven dollars the dozen; hides, two dollars each; coffee, from Yungas, twenty-five dollars per quintal of one hundred pounds; sheep's wool, twelve dollars; alpaca wool, thirty dollars; tin, twelve dollars; bar or pure copper, sixteen dollars and fifty cents; Yungas chocolate, twenty-five dollars; and vicuña skins, forty-three and three-quarter cents.
There are imported from the Pacific coast annually six hundred thousand dollars worth of silks, woollen, and cotton goods.
The foreign trade with Potosi is principally carried on through the port of Cobija. The road passes through the great desert of Atacama, which is called "Departmento Litoral."
Among the lofty, barren Cordilleras, the donkey driver finds it difficult to climb the steep roads, or to descend into the deep ravines, where on small flats are found a few vicuñas or chinchillas, and halts to feed his tired animals. Some of these pasture-grounds or "portreros"—as they are called—are inhabited by Indians, who cultivate the ground, and are attentive to persons with droves of mules from Chili on their way to Peru.
A few cattle and sheep are raised, and the Indians lead streams of water over the veins of salt, which help to refresh and fatten their cattle.
In the ravines through which the tributaries of the Rio Loa flow towards the Pacific, some barley, maize, potatoes, and fruit-trees are produced by irrigation; wherever in the barren countries these Indians can get a little water, they are enabled to make a crop of something for use.
In former days, gold mines were worked in Atacama, on the Pacific side of the Cordilleras; silver, iron, and copper, of excellent quality, are found there also.
The guano along the coast was known and used for manuring land by the Incas before the discovery of the country by Europeans.
Bidding farewell to the Pacific side of the Andes, we enter the smallvillage of Challa for the night. The only conspicuous thing in sight was a large steeple, with a small church tacked on to the heel, built of mud and stone. The place looks miserable, yet the Indians appear cheerful, and of a lighter complexion. Some of them speak Quichua. José was told there are no more Aymara Indians to the east of us.
December 9, 1851.—At 7 a. m., we found a heavy frost on the ground. Thermometer, 41°; wet bulb, 36°. This observation is made on the very edge of the Madeira Plata. Water flows to the east of where we are standing.
The country round is thrown up into confused and rough shapes, uninhabited by man or beast. Great rocks stand clear and clean of soil. Not a living bush or green leaf to be seen, nor a bird in the air. The day is calm and warm.
The bright sun shines on the east side of the peaks, and in the shade, on the west side, there is frost. When the sun passes the meridian, the frost disappears until after night, when it is first seen on the east side. While the sun is on his trip to the south, and the rains are falling, the frost may be found deep down in the ravines and valleys; the traveller passes over it in the road, and it lays all day long on the tops of the Andes.
Descending a steep, winding road, we were surprised at the sudden appearance of flowers, patches of grain, Quichua Indians, and the most delightful air we ever breathed. Getting down from our mules, we followed them on foot. A comfortable temperature makes a man want to feel his legs again.
At midday, the thermometer stood at 66° in the shade. A small stream trickling over rocks, coated over with a green slime, had a temperature of 107°. One flowing into it, at a temperature of 70°, had an iron-red coating over the stones. The mingled waters of the two showed a temperature of 104°.
An Indian woman was washing clothes in the more than half boiling water. After rubbing them over a smooth stone, she wrenched the argentine soap off in the cooler stream, and had hung them up to dry in the tropical sun on a small bush, under the shade of which she sat composedly. Her petticoat was conspicuously a new one. As we attentively observed some distinct letters upon the stuff, which were "Lowell," she seemed somewhat surprised, and laughed as though she thought us very inquisitive to be so closely examining a woman's clothing. Her earrings were of gold; a silver cross was suspended by a guard of vicuña wool around her neck. The black wooden ring upon her finger was carved from the hardest and deepest colored wood thatgrows to the east of us. A doubled-up piece of coarse scarlet cloth lay on the top of her head to keep off the rays of the sun, being used at night to cover her shoulders, which are now bare. She envies our straw hats, and says it is mean not to give her one. She wears shoes and stockings only on Sundays, when she goes to church; the former of fine black leather, and the latter, silk. Her language is Quichua. When the wise Incas mastered the Aymara tribe they colonized the country to the east of them, sending the Quichuas through the Aymara territory to surround those who never would be taught a strange language, nor give up their own.
While José enjoys a short flirtation, we get out our map to find that this woman has been washing her garments at the source of the river Mamoré; she is dipping her fingers into the main head of the great Madeira river.
Descending the side of the warm stream, we met a drove of sixty spirited mules, with heavy loads upon their backs. They ran up the road, fretting and staggering under the weight; getting out of breath, they make a full stop, and then clamber up again.
We halted, and had a talk with the arrieros; they were from Cochabamba, bound to Arica, in Peru, with one hundred and eighty quintals of cinchona bark from the province of Yuracares. They make the trip to Arica in about twelve days over both ranges of mountains.
Calling loudly to their mules, they move slowly up hill. It was hard work for them to get to the South Pacific shore with their bark, while the Indian woman's soapsuds went dancing by us on the dashing stream towards the North Atlantic.
On gaining the base of the mountains, we rode into the pretty town of Tapacari. The lofty church steeples were just visible above the tops of the richly green willow trees. Peaches were half ripe in the gardens, and our tired mules anxiously called out for food as a donkey passed with a load of green lucerne just reaped by the Indian's sickle. At 3 30 p. m., thermometer, 72°; wet bulb, 60°; cumulus clouds.
The people are so much whiter than those we have lately seen, that some of them appear very little like Indians. They are dressed in thin clothing. The women wear ruffles about their necks, and the lower parts of their dresses are fancifully worked by their own hands.
This is the land for chicha; the ravines seem to be flooded with it. People are dashing about on horseback, feasting and making merry near by. The postman, a most polite and attentive old fellow, attended to his business while taking his part in the frolic. He evidently had his share of chicha, which made him show loss of teeth when he laughed.His wife, one of those who help to keep the world balanced, cooked us a very good dinner. She had seven pretty daughters, but as our fresh mules were loaded we pushed on.
The streets of the town are very narrow, paved and clean. The houses are small, and well filled with large families, who are so gay and look so happy, that we leave them with regret.
The ravine is narrow; in the middle of the dry bed of the river flows a small stream. Rain falls in great quantities in due season, and the sides of the hills are washed into deep gullies. The contrast between the barren dry hills and mountains, with the green, gay little valley, is very great. But what attracts our attention are the crowds of children; some are sleeping on their mother's backs, others hang lazily in front; they crawl about the doorways, and I stopped my mule for a naked little fellow paddling turtle fashion over the street.
The Indian men are fine looking; their forms are straight and well developed. The creoles are more numerous and frank in their manners. The effects of climate and provisions upon people are wonderful, and quite astonish the traveller.
We are in the department of Cochabamba, which has a population of 231,188 creoles, and 43,747 Quichua Indians. It will be observed that the proportion between the two races, when compared with the population of the departments above us on the Andes is reversed. The Spaniards have crossed over the mountains, east, to find here a more agreeable climate than in other parts of Bolivia, and delight in fruits and flowers.
In the province of Arque, a short distance to the southeast of us, there are three silver mines worked, and one hundred abandoned, besides several which have been left at the base of these mountains.
After a few claps of thunder among the heights to the north, heavy clouds doubled themselves up over head, and a pelting shower of hail stones, the size of peas, came down. The mules ran about with us as though we were beating them over their heads. The moment a little breeze rose, they turned their tails to it and stood with their noses close to the ground. The rain that accompanied the hail froze to our hat-covers and India rubber ponchos, while the hail rattled as it beat upon us. A hail stone which struck the top of my boot left a pain I felt for an hour after. Lightning flashed about in the very midst of us, while the loud thunder roared through the valleys like the noise from cannon of heavy calibre. Soon the sun shone out, the storm melted away, and all was clear again. It seemed like the winding up of a pleasant winter.
As night overtook us, our path, though level, was difficult to findamong the sand and gravel of the river bed. Near some Indian huts, we hear them singing and playing upon a small guitar. We seldom heard singing on the mountains. José was ahead with the baggage, and, as the bright moon rose above the low hills before us, we discovered we had taken the wrong road. The Indians soon put us right; we were nearly fagged out with the day's work descending the Andes, but enjoyed the calm summer night. Our postillion's horn told us we had arrived at Zizque post-house.
At 8 a. m., thermometer, 70°; wet bulb, 61°. The difference between this temperature and that of yesterday morning at 7 a. m., on the mountains, is for the air 29°, and wet bulb 25°. Cool springs of fresh water rise along the edge of small green meadows; fine cattle feed under the shade of large willows trees. The postman keeps a good horse, and his house is surrounded by fig trees, loaded with fruit. By the side of a small stream snipe fly up. The doves and pigeons coo among the trees and bushes, while the turkey-buzzard soars over the tops of the small hills about us.
The road is narrow but level. On one hand we have the maize ready for the reaper; while, on the other, it is just peeping out of the ground; further on, in one field, the Indians are planting corn, and others are gathering their crop. Barley and wheat produce large heads and rich grains; beans seem to be favorites. Old hens run through the corn-patches with their families, while Spanish cocks square off before us in the road for a fight.
Under a grove of fig trees, which are large, were seated a party of merry Indian girls, sewing, spinning, and drinking chicha with their lovers.
On the 10th December, 1851, we rode into the beautiful city of Cochabamba, having a population of 30,396 people, situated close to the south side of a range of mountains, jutting out from the main trunk of the Andes, in latitude 17° S, and stretching off into the Madeira Plata, over two hundred miles in an east by south direction, separating this valley from that of Yungas.
As the newly appointed prefect was sick in bed with fever and ague, and his family not yet in their own house, we were obliged to seek quarters in the post-house. There was no hotel, and our letters of introduction were to the prefect. We had a horror of a post-house, not usually so habitable in a large city as it is on the road, and thought we had better go back into the country and pitch our tent under the fig trees. But the postillions and mules seemed tired, so we let them lead the way through well paved streets.
The houses are neatly painted, and some of them three stories inheight, with an air of respectability about the place we little expected to find. The streets crowded with people of all sorts and sizes, and nearly all seemed to be busy. The large plaza was decorated with fine old willow trees.
Gaining the post-house we found a miserable woman and child its only inmates. Our baggage was piled up in one corner of the room. The child raised a terrible dust in sweeping the room and driving out the chickens, who laid eggs in the corners, and roosted on the centre table. Our postillions bade us farewell, and our mules were put in a yard close by. The woman cooked some chupe of mutton and potatoes. We were tired, sunburnt, and not a little disgusted with our situation.
On a platform, built of adobe, we spread our blankets. After an unsuccessful attempt to get to sleep upon this bed of sun-dried bricks, I got up and struck a light that I might see some rude, uninvited inmates of the posta, who were making themselves too familiar with us, and found them to be chicken lice, ticks, bed bugs, and fleas. It was difficult to tell which species predominated. There was no rest for the weary that night. Richards rolled and tossed in his sleep as though his bricks were baking. I generally watch José for information upon points which he has had some experience with. Looking out upon the bright starlight night, I found the old man sleeping soundly in the stable yard at the feet of the mules. He had shaken his cold blankets in the cold air and rolled himself in them, where the insects would not go.
After a long time daylight came to my relief; with an application of cold water and a change of clothes, the horrible little man-teazers were gotten rid of.
After breakfast I walked through the city. The streets are laid off at right angles. On the south side of the main plaza stands a large cathedral, and opposite to it the palace occupies the whole side of the block. It is remarkable for its handsome appearance, being much superior to the palace in Lima. The ladies are also beautiful. In the centre of the plaza is a fountain fed by water from a snow peak on the ridge in sight. From the appearance of the houses and stores, there certainly must be wealth here for an inland town.
Strolling along looking at the people, I came to a corner where there was an unusually neat-looking store, and in the doorway stood an intelligent-looking gentleman, who seemed a stranger to this country. He was a German. The house belonged to a Frenchman, of whom I had heard. As soon as they found out I came to make an examination of the rivers, men were called to fetch our baggage and mules, and we were at once comfortably quartered. The French gentleman had beenmany years in Bolivia, was married to a Cochabambina, and surrounded by a beautiful young flock, who heartily laughed at our dislike to fleas.
The stream between the mountains and the town is a tributary of the Mamoré. It flows around the town, and after creeping along the ridge some distance to the southward and eastward, it passes round the mountains, and enters northward into the Madeira.
The President of Bolivia, with his cabinet, were here on a visit, and would leave shortly, under a large escort of regular troops. As there was not much time to lose, I immediately employed myself in the preparation of a commercial proposition to the government. A Brazilian minister had concluded a treaty of limits and navigation between his country and Peru. He was now awaiting the action of this government in Sucre, the capital, for the purpose of securing the use of the navigable rivers of Bolivia for the Brazils alone. I decided to ask the right and privilege to navigate the rivers flowing through the territory of Bolivia by steamboats or other vessels.
On Sunday morning, agreeably to appointment, two influential merchants of the city accompanied me to the palace.
The soldiers drilling in the plaza were young, spirited-looking, well-disciplined men, though small in stature. They were stout built, and nearly all half-breeds, except the officers, who were white. There was but one negro among them; he was the drummajor, and the largest man in the regiment. The officers lounged about the doors of the palace in full uniform, buttoned up to the throat, and looked as uncomfortable as the soldiers in their thick Sunday mustering clothes.
Entering a large patio, and ascending a stone stairway, we came to a balcony, where two officers in costly uniform rose and saluted. Entering a large hall, well carpeted and furnished at one end with curtains of the national color—red, yellow, and green—which hung over the sides of a large arm chair, in front of which was a small table, a tall, graceful officer of middle age rose from his seat in fall uniform, a velvet cap embroidered with gold pulled down over his eyebrows. This gentleman was his Excellency Captain General Manuel Isidoro Belzu, President of the republic of Bolivia. After shaking hands and being offered a seat on the sofa, I said to him: "That the President of the United States, desiring a more active exchange of the productions between the two Americas, I had the hope that a more direct route between the United States and Bolivia might be found than by the way of Cape Horn." To which the President replied: "He had heard of my arrival in La Paz, and was pleased to see me. My country," said he, "is in its infancy. I would be the more pleased to join hands withthe United States, because we are all Americans. You may depend upon me for aid and assistance in your enterprise." Upon the entrance of some persons in uniform, we rose to take our leave. Before doing so, however, I was introduced to the Minister of War, who was an older looking soldier than the President himself.
Upon inquiring how the President came by some wounds in his face, I was told that in September, 1850, Belzu was invited to take a walk in the alameda of Sucre. A friend persuaded him to continue on outside the usual promenade, where they met some persons riding on horseback, upon the report of whose pistols Belzu fell, three balls having entered his head. The ruffians escaped from the country; the friend was shot in the plaza of the capitol before Belzu was well enough to interfere in his behalf. The plan was well laid, and so sure were the intended murderers that his days were ended, they rode off, leaving him on the ground, shouting "viva Ballivian," an ex-president, who at that time was known to be lingering along the boundary line between Bolivia and the Argentine republic.
This attempt to assassinate Belzu made him the more popular. The country is taught that his escape was Providential, and he had been spared for the good of the people.
As we recrossed the plaza one thousand horsemen were waiting orders. The horses small, but spirited, were in good order. The men, too, are larger and a more daring-looking set of fellows than those of the infantry we saw; each man wore a small scarlet cloak, and upon close examination I found every one of them had brass armor breast-plates; such as we read were worn by the ancients.
We visited the several ministers of the government, of whom there are three, according to the last constitution. Their families are with some of them, and government clerks travel about the country with the President. A part of the standing army marches in advance, and a part in the rear, as the administration winds along the narrow road through the Andes. The artillery does not travel, the roads being too narrow and rough for the cannon to pass on wheels. It may be taken from Oruro to Cuzco through the Titicaca basin, for there the country is level, and a railroad might be built without much expense for bridges or cutting through hills.
The arms used by this army are the old tower flint muskets, kept in bad order. The cavalry have a short carbine slung to the saddle, and carry a lance kept very bright and sharp, to which is attached a small swallow-tailed red flag. They manœuvre by the sound of the bugle; when in motion the noise made by enormous spurs and bridle-bitssounds not unlike that of a tin pedler's wagon. The horses are not well gaited, and some of the men bad riders; they all lean back, as though riding down hill all the time. There was not much discipline among the cavalry, unless smoking paper cigars and drinking chicha are regulations for cavalry drill. The women fancy the horsemen; crowds of them collect to look on. Some of them bring chicha, and with the most daring manner slip in between the horses a jug or light for a cigar. The population of Cochabamba is composed of about one man to five women, or more when the government comes. There are an unusual number of weddings, for the beauties of Cochabamba are thought to surpass those of other towns in the country.
The public force of Bolivia is composed of a standing army, an organized national guard, or militia, and a police. The standing army consists of three thousand men, with one officer to every six soldiers. Indians are not enlisted, they being considered the agriculturists of the country.
Bolivia has a population of about one million five hundred thousand; more than one-half are Indians, so that there is one soldier in the standing army for less than every two hundred and fifty Creoles. The cost of maintaining this army is not less than one million of dollars per annum, drawn from the labor of the aborigines. This is a heavy tax, when we consider that the value of the exports, exclusive of silver and gold, are not over five hundred thousand dollars a year.
The organized militia, about twenty thousand strong, are ready to defend their country, and when called out, fight bravely. Those who are natives of the Andes have an advantage over the soldiers of the lower countries, in being able to exert themselves in a then natural atmosphere. When men who live in the lowlands travel to the height of fifteen thousand feet above sea level, they give out for want of breath, and lay harmless upon the ground, while the Bolivian soldier smokes his paper cigar with comfort, and laughs at the imprudence of his enemy.
We visited the family of a countryman, the widow and two handsome children of a gentleman very much respected by the people of this country. His son, a fine-looking little fellow of ten years of age, had the manners of a Spaniard, and spoke his mother's language; but the quick flash of his black eye, and his desire to join our expedition, plainly bespoke his relationship to Uncle Sam. His sister, the elder of the two, promises to be the beauty of Cochabamba.
At daylight in the morning we passed the river Mamoré; it is called here Rio Grande. The Indians waded across knee-deep. The width ofthe bed of the river was about one hundred and fifty yards, with bottom of stones and gravel. The water is drawn off at this season of the year for irrigating the beautiful gardens of Calacala, opposite the city, and close under the mountains. As the sun rose we met Indians going to market with the vegetables of Calacala. The ride on horseback through roads shaded by willows is delightful at this hour of the morning. My companion's horses were the finest in gait and action I saw in South America. The Indians were reaping lucerne to load their donkeys. The jackasses are large; attention is paid to the breeding of them with an eye to size. They are more required by farmers than mules or horses. Oxen are used for ploughing, and donkeys for marketing.
Flowers are in full bloom; strawberries are nearly ripe. Christmas is not far off; peach, orange, and fig-trees are loaded with fruit. This is the time of the morning to count the weddings, as the parties pass us on horseback.
The Indians cultivate with a hoe; they work the ground very carefully and neatly, manuring and keeping the plants of the strawberries clear of weeds. The patches of onions, cabbages, and maize are very fine. In a peach orchard we see a grape-vine overrunning a tree, and loaded with fruit. There was a time when fifteen thousand bottles of wine per annum were made at one hacienda, near the base of this ridge to the southeast, but its manufactory has been abandoned in favor of chicha.
As we turn back we hear thunder to the east, and a heavy black cloud covers up the bright morning sun. Before us in the road was a loaded jackass, slowly walking before an Indian woman with a heavy weight on her back, while she carried a sucking child in her arms; behind her a poor old blind horse bore two stout, well-built, lazy-looking mestizos, with more Indian than Spanish in their composition. Their long legs hung down so straight that they looked like natural appurtenances of the animal they rode. Around their shoulders they each had wrapped a comfortable poncho.
After spending some time at a hacienda we reached the river again on our return, and were surprised to find the stream swollen so much that the Indians could not cross with their loads. Close by us were a number of Creoles on horseback discussing the chances for horsemen to cross. One man, mounted upon a tall horse, risked it; entering the stream, he waded, turning the horse's head diagonally up stream, and passed safely.
I was delighted when I saw our two lazy companions kicking their heels into the sides of their little blind pony, and urging it where thehorse evidently had sense enough to know he should not venture. However, the riders had their way, but steered down stream instead of up. When they got into the deepest, the rushing waters rose on the horse's quarter, and the animal went down stern first, carrying ponchos and company under. When their heads appeared above water, the shouts of laughter from not less than one hundred Indians, made the valley ring. The men were so frightened they clung to the horse as soon as he could get up to breathe, and down they all went again. Finally, they aided each other, and so found their way back, leaving the horse to take care of himself. In two hours the water ran off, and we crossed without a ducking.
The valley of Cochabamba supplies many parts of Bolivia with flour; wheat, maize, and barley are transported to the miners of Potosi and Oruro, and to the coffee or chocolate planters of Yungas. This has been called the granary of Bolivia; although it is at the base of the Andes, yet it is higher than the garden of Yungas. Following the course of the Mamoré, from Tapacari into the bottom of the Madeira Plate, the descent is long and gradual.
The apple, the pear, and the quince, are produced in the valley of Cochabamba; coffee and chocolate in Yungas. These are not plants that flourish by the side of each other. Yungas is thickly wooded. Here the hills and some of the plains are too dry to produce any vegetation without the help of man.
The winds seem to draw up into the Yungas valley more than here, while the crops suffer for the want of rain, and the heavens over Cochabamba are perfectly clear. We have seen heavy clouds driven along the northern side of the range, and heavy rains pouring down just on the edge of the ridge, far enough on the south side to flood the tributaries of the river which flow past the city. The clouds come in contact with the Andes' sides, and seem to be turned and twisted up, so that sheets of water fall to the earth, and produce a growth of forest trees. The winds drive well up into Yungas, loaded with moisture, and meeting the great Illimani and Sorata, form an immense quantity of snow and ice.
The moisture of this valley is carried up through the ravines of Tapacari, and strike the table-lands on the Andes, where we met the cedar bushes.
The rainy period fluctuates in some seasons a month. At Cochabamba it usually commences about the first week in December, but sometimes there are few showers until the first part of January; yet it seems, from our observations, that the heavy rains have set in in sight ofthe city; while here, the 15th of December, it has not commenced to rain.
In the garden of the minister of haciendas, we were shown the morus multicaulis, which had been lately imported. In comparison with those we have seen growing in North America, they appeared to be in a congenial climate and soil. The minister was fond of gardening, and was at work early in the morning, giving the Indians instructions before he went to a cabinet meeting. While the husband travelled about with the government, his wife remained at home raising silk. She appeared with a basket of cocoons. Most of the cabinet families were from Sucre. The ladies of that city are celebrated through the country for elegant manners. It is impossible to resist the temptation to notice the beauty of the fair sex in this part of the country.
Lemons, limes, and oranges are raised in Calacala, but not in perfection; pumpkins and peppers seem to flourish better. Seven cuttings of lucerne are made here in the year. The cattle and horses are kept in fine order upon it. Donkeys are fastened by a fore-foot to a stake driven in the ground; cattle are tied by the horns and fed. They are seldom turned out in the field to pasture. The Indians plant a row of quinua round maize, sweet potatoes, or other patches. The animals will not eat it, and are even afraid to touch it. This is the only fence we have seen in the country, except those built of adobe, which are generally so high that the view of the garden is entirely obstructed from the road. The quinua plant grows from four to six feet high, and looks like a coarse weed. The grain is small, like turnip seed, and very nutritious. It is an important crop in this country, particularly on the table-lands. When boiled like rice, and eaten with milk, it is very savory.
The flowers raised in the gardens are generally those imported from other countries; the tube rose and others are cultivated in perfection. There are no pretty flowers indigenous to this part of the country, except the Indian girls.
The alameda is frequented in the evening; there are plenty of seats, but for the want of water the plants and walks are in disorder. The level walk is about eight hundred yards long from a large brick arched entrance to the bank of the river. The arches were decorated with representations of battles and great men. We noticed a white figure very much besmeared with mud thrown at it. Over the head of the figure, letters carved in stone expressed the name ofBALIVIAN. He had been thus pelted by the soldiers of his successor, each man as he passed showing his love of country by flinging a handful of mud at the image of the late President.
The legislative power is vested in a Congress composed of two houses—one of representatives; the other of senators—all elected by the people for the term of four years. There is one senator for the department of Litoral; three for each of the larger departments; one for the Beni, and two for Tarija—twenty-two senators at present. No man can be elected a senator who has less than a thousand dollars a year income, or who has suffered imprisonment by law. The value placed upon a representative is fifteen hundred dollars income.
By the last constitution, Congress is directed to meet at the capital every two years, on the 6th of August, and to remain in session seventy days.
The President has the power to change the place of meeting at regular or extra sessions to any part of the country, when in his opinion there is danger from internal or external wars.
One representative is elected by thirty thousand creoles, and one for the fraction of twenty thousand, counted by departments, whose governors or prefects are appointed by the President.
A President is elected for the term of five years, and cannot be re-elected until another term of five years has expired. We believe there never has been an election of President by the people. The last President came into office by overthrowing the government.
The power of the government of Bolivia rests upon its armed force. The voting population is thinly scattered over an extensive country, and the army is large. Intelligent people of this country much dislike the mother country—Spain. They blame her rulers for the manner in which the creole portion of South America were treated while she held the country. To keep them ignorant and get their silver was the sole policy of that government.
I was surprised to be invited to the house of a family in great distress. The husband and father was thought to be dying. Without understanding why I was asked, I went. The house was situated on the corner of a street opposite to a church. It was crowded with ladies and gentlemen. The patio was filled with frame-work, made of reed, some ten feet high, to which fire-works were fastened. The street in front was crowded, and the centre of it carpeted the length of the house. The ladies on the balconies, as far as we could see along the street, were dressed in white, and had gathered quantities of flowers in baskets. The gentlemen were dressed in deep black, as if going to church. We were introduced to the lady of the house, who seemed to be greatly distressed, but was engaged paying attention to the people like at a ball. Her daughters were dressed with flowers, and with so much care as tolead us astray. The father was evidently dying in the next room, the doctors being said to have given him up.
The sound of music drew us all to the balconies to see a grand procession. A large wooden image of a female was carried on a platform; a company of regular soldiers followed with music; then came priests and attendants, with lighted candles, and a long train of young padres, all under a shower of flowers from the balcony. When the wooden image appeared opposite the house, the men under the front part of the platform let her down on the carpet; the priests knelt by her side. The bells of the city churches struck, and the population took off their hats and knelt in prayer for the dying man. After singing a hymn they marched away to the music. The carpets were removed from the street, and, as night came on, the fire-works commenced. Wires leading from the sick man's bed-room to the altar of the church, carried messengers of fire backwards and forwards, while brilliant fire works attached to the great frames were set off along the street. The noise made about the poor man was deafening. The crowd of people returned home, stopping on their way for ice-cream sold in little shops alongside of the plaza. In a few days after the doctors reported the sick man out of danger. The cost of these proceedings was two hundred dollars.
The climate of Cochabamba is very apt to deceive persons from the Andes. The people here are very careful about their dress, and never expose themselves by drinking water or sitting in a draft of wind when heated; severe colds taken in this way, with sore throats, frequently cause death.
We observe the same phenomenon as in the Titicaca basin. A vertical sun shines upon the valley, and at mid-day its effects are very powerful; while all around, on the tops of the highlands, hang curtains of clouds reaching half way down the mountains. The air underneath and on the snow, near the city, becomes very cold, and suddenly a puff of wind comes down, bringing along the clouds, and the population are shivering. In an instant they clap on their woollen ponchos and close their doors.
We have had processions through the streets for some days. Padres, with bands of music and wooden images, praying for rain, as the crops are suffering in some parts of the valley. Numbers of Indians join as they pass along. The praying continued till rain fell, and then the Indians believed the priests had the power of persuading the Almighty to send them relief.
We met the bishop of Cochabamba in society. He inquired anxiously whether "the people of the United States wanted to navigate the riversof Bolivia?" He was told that "they desired to trade with the Bolivians." After he left, a lady said he was opposed to the opening of the navigable streams of the country to the commerce of the United States, and had informed the people that it would be the cause of declaring religious liberty.
The cabinet ministers returned visits, and expressed themselves highly in favor of the enterprise. The minister of state said my proposition should be attended to as soon as they arrived at the capital, and he should be pleased to hear from me, should I wish to address him on the subject.
The President enclosed a short note to the principal families in the city, saying he regretted his public duties kept him so much confined that he had not time to call upon them, but if they had any orders for Potosi or Sucre, he would be happy to attend to them.
The government troops were drawn up in the plaza on Sunday, December 21, 1851, and after being inspected, the cavalry was ordered off in advance of the president, who has appointed Monday morning for his own departure.
A fine-looking man, who had been colonel under Balivian, and left the country when Belzu came into power, had recently returned to Cochabamba. As he took no particular or active part in politics, and was successfully farming in the valley, his friends persuaded him to go and pay his respects to the President before he left. So he walked in with some other persons. As he dined with us after his visit, we offer the account he gave of it to a number of gentlemen, with the spirit and merriment of a good actor on the stage. "I have come, sir," said the colonel, bowing, "to pay my respects to the President of Bolivia." Belzu in a rage. "You are the scoundrel who raised volunteers and fought against me!" Colonel bowing again respectfully: "Yes, sir; and in doing so I did what every officer is expected to do—obeyed the authorities of my country." Belzu in greater rage. "Get out of my sight, sir; if ever I hear of your taking part against me again, you will be shot in the centre of the plaza." The Bolivians all laughed, and like himself seemed to think it a very amusing visit. I noticed closely the effect produced upon the faces of the party as they listened; not one of them looked grave. They seemed to listen as though they expected some joke of the sort, or with admiration of a noble looking fellow for daring to speak out so freely of what had taken place. He left us after dinner, and in the evening we saw him standing in the plaza telling a number of his friends the same story. Many leading men who belonged to the Balivian party kept very close while the President remained here. The election of president is a fighting affair usually.
At fifteen minutes past twelve, at midnight, we had one heavy shock of an earthquake. I heard the door shake and my bed move as though some person had taken hold of one of the posts and given it a violent jerk. The people in the next room hurried out, and the whole population was up in a moment. The scraping of matches and grasping of candles was terrible. The dogs howled in the most mournful way all over the city; horses rushed round the corral as though frightened half to death. The atmosphere was filled with a strong odor of sulphur. The night was clear and starlight, the thermometer standing at 72°. The population trembled in silence expecting the great Andes would again shake; but the night continued calm.
Throughout our route we have observed a great work of displacement going on. The earth seems to be fashioning itself into shape. The mountains are being carried off to the lowlands by the floods, and the dry lands seem to be growing at the expense of the sea.
In the morning we mounted our horses, and a number of persons prepared to accompany the President entered the street. We were told he had long since gone with the whole army at 4 o'clock.
Many of the Indian girls and boys have followed the army. Families find great difficulty in keeping servants from going off. It is amusing to see troops of women following after the cavalry, sometimes three on one horse, or two on a donkey, with kitchen utensils and bed-room furniture, serving in the place of riding gear, but without any idea that they are going to the frozen peaks of Potosi.