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.
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 asthe 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 mansionsbuilt 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 slungfrom 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 thevoyageuris 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 wherewe 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 roomappropriated 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 13s.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 areintolerable. 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 2s.3d.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 somerecommend the addition of a mouthful of snow or ice to the “chew.”
EL CERRO DE POTOSÍ.
EL CERRO DE POTOSÍ.
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 4s.10d., 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 interestingin 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 successorsseem 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 basecoinage. 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 4s.2d.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 coinsmay 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.
YESCA AND MECHA HOLDER (POTOSÍ).
YESCA AND MECHA HOLDER (POTOSÍ).
YESCA AND MECHA HOLDER (POTOSÍ).
There does not seem muchimmediatefuture 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 newones 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 inPotosí 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 theirpart, 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 usanimals 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 1s.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 workscarried out under the Spanish government’srégime, 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 byadevil.
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 nextascent, 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 16s.To a quintal of barley in the straw, we added an arroba (25 lbs. weight) of the grain, costing twelve reales, about 5s., so that the mules, five in number, both feasted and rested well. The keep of the animals is the most costlypart 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 onfoot 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 circumstancesmay 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 atthem 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, nosooner 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 thatarriving 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 onesof 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 tokeep 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 informationto 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.