ACROSS THE BOLIVIAN ANDES IN 1901.
Recollections of a journey from the Peruvian port of Mollendo to the Bolivian interior, which the writer made in the year stated, are here transcribed. No rhetorical merit is claimed, facts only are related, and the compiler of the manuscript only hopes that his efforts may, in part at least, justify a cursory perusal, without exhausting the patience of the readers, or overtaxing their indulgence. These notes are transcribed nearly ten years after the trip was made, and any readers who may have visited Bolivia at a more recent date are requested to make allowance for such modifications or change of conditions of which they can be the only judges.
I have crossed the Andes Chain in other places farther south, in Chile; but on this occasion I will confine my observations to the trip as headed.
Mollendo is one of the worst ports on the Pacific coast, but is of some importance on account of the fact that the railway through Peru to Lake Titicaca starts here. All vessels have to lie at least half a mile from the land on account of the constant heavy swell, and the landing is always attended by a certain amount of danger, so much so that not infrequently passengers have to be "slung" on to the landing stage in baskets made for the purpose. Like most of the South American coast from Valparaiso northwards there is little or no vegetation, and the scenery is not of the kind generally associated with tropical climes, of which one reads so much. Sand dunes and waste meet the eye on all sides, and the traveller for the interior is generally glad when the railway journey commences.
Of the country through which the railway takes one there is not much to be said, but the attention of the traveller is at once called to the marvellous ingenuity of the famous engineer Meiggs, who built the railway. Gradually rising as the coast recedes, the train reaches Arequipa, at an elevation of 7,500 feet, and distant from Mollendo about 200 miles. Arequipa has about 45,000 inhabitants, and, while rather prettily situated in a small valley surrounded by high volcanoes, it does not have anything of particular interest to attract one. Moreover, it suffers frequently from earthquakes, which does not surprise one when you look at the giant volcano "El Misti," towering up to 18,000 feet, at no great distance off. The houses are all built with "vaulted" foundations, the better to resist the "earth-tremblings," but on this occasion I did not experience any shocks.
Leaving Arequipa behind, the ascent continues until the highest point is reached at Crucero Alto, where a notice board indicates that we are now 14,666 feet above sea level. It is before reaching this altitude that the wonderful enterprise of the engineer shows up. The line goes on winding and climbing, twisting back again but always ascending, for hours, until a point is reached where passengers, looking down from the carriage windows, may see right below them, only a few feet down, the actual railway track over which they have passed an hour before. At one place there are actually three tracks visible, one right below the other, just like steps and stairs, and I believe there is nothing quite like it in Argentina. Leaving Crucero Alto the descent is very gradual until Puno is reached, on the shore of Lake Titicaca, but still at an altitude of 12,000 feet or more. I did not actually see the town, which is a short distance from the station, but went straight on board the "Coya," the steamer which was to ferry us across to Chililaya or Puerto Perez, on the Bolivian side of the immense lake.[[F]] The distance in this direction is about 110 miles, and the passage was made in ten hours, during the night, so that I had not on this occasion an opportunity of seeing the surrounding scenery.
On another occasion I saw too much of it, as the steamer missed the canalized strip which extends several miles out from Puno, and we remained hard aground for thirty hours. We had over a hundred Japanese passengers—immigrants going to the rubber country—and all armed with huge revolvers; but as the food lasted out until we were relieved by another small steamer belonging to the railway company they were kept in good humour, and they gave no trouble at all. Before floating again about 100 tons of cargo had to be transhipped to the other steamer, and when we again got into the deep channel it was again transferred to the s.s. "Coya." This latter boat was about 150 feet long; it was quite a comfortable boat, and the food and bedding were decent, when you consider the part of the world you were in. The bill of fare and wine list contained many quaint delicacies, and I shall never forget how the printer of same spelt the word indicating Scotch wine (commonly known as whisky). He was quite phonetic from the Spanish point of view, and the word read "Güiscki," but it tasted all right.
Landing at the Bolivian side of Puerto Perez, the immense plateau which covers all the centre of Bolivia stretches out on all sides landwards, until it meets the inner and higher range of the Cordilleras.
La Paz, the then capital of Bolivia, on account of the fact that the President, General Pando, lived there, was our next objective point, and we found the old "Diligence Coach," drawn by eight horses, awaiting to convey us the forty-two miles across the plain. This part of the journey is most uninteresting, and the road was only fair. All along it is the same level, stony ground, entirely devoid of trees, and covered completely with large, round stones. These latter the Indians have to gather in heaps, and thus make some open patches for growing their potatoes and grain, which, with their "Chalona," or sheep dried in the sun, are their principal foodstuffs throughout the year. Besides, the surplus produce is conveyed to the larger towns on llamas, and there realised to the best advantage. It is a very interesting sight every Sunday morning to see the "market," and the curio hunter would just be in his element, as not only do the Indians bring in vegetables and fruits, but all sorts of native silver in quaint shapes, and ornaments made by the Indians themselves can be picked up very cheaply. The dresses of the Indian squaws are also very picturesque, and, as far as I can remember, red, green, and bright yellow were the dominating colours. But I am getting away from the main subject.
Right ahead of us there is the gigantic Illimani, silent and majestic, with its perpetually white crown rising 22,000 feet above sea-level. One begins to wonder where La Paz can be, as the plain seems to extend right to the foot of the mountain. Keeping steadily on, however, the coach eventually arrives at the brink of a hitherto unnoticed hollow, and the scene that here awaits the traveller is magnificent in the extreme. To describe the view baffles my limited vocabulary. There you are looking down on the roofs of the houses in La Paz, which lies snugly 1,200 feet below you. It just seems that you could drop a stone on to them, so precipitate are the cliffs; but it is the enormous drop that deceives the eye, because, of the route over which the coach passes, six miles have yet to be traversed before getting into the town. I have seen La Paz from the top of the "Cuesta" both by day and night, and the latter effect, while losing much of its grandeur and magnificence, on account of the darkness, almost surpasses in beauty that of the daylight vision. The whole city is lit up by electricity, and it just seems as if one were gazing down on another firmament, if such a thing can be imagined. I repeat, that to fully appreciate this special scenery words fail me.
Allow me to transgress once more. On the first occasion that I reached the top of the entrance to La Paz it was under rather "sporting" circumstances, which, I think, I may be excused for interpolating here. I had come on horseback and alone from the mining town of Coro Coro, sixty-six miles off, and it is a very hard and tiring journey. The elevation above the sea varies from about 14,000 feet to 12,000 feet at the La Paz end, and therefore great speed is impossible on account of the rarity of the air. Apparently I had journeyed too fast for my horse, as the poor animal died when I was still eighteen miles from La Paz. Here was a nice "kettle of fish." It was all right enough as long as daylight lasted, but when darkness overtook me I was fairly "in the soup." Not knowing the road, and there being nothing to guide me and no one to consult, I simply walked along slowly, hoping to strike up against some Indian settlement, and pass the night somehow or other. I trudged along for goodness knows how long until I eventually did hear some sounds indicating that at any rate I was nearing some encampment or habitation. I could hear what was supposed to be music, and in the dark made my way, as near as I could judge, in the direction of the sound, and in about half an hour my efforts were rewarded, as I had overtaken a band of roving Indians, all in fancy dress, playing funny reed instruments and dancing continuously as they travelled. They could not speak Spanish, but at that time I knew sufficient of their language—"Aymara," as it is called—and soon explained to them my position. I was allowed to accompany them, as I found they also were bound for La Paz, and soon became a lifelong friend of theirs when I produced a small bottle of whisky which I had with me. The experience was of a unique nature for a white man, but I must confess I rather appreciated the novelty than otherwise, and when I reached La Paz about 1 a.m. I felt that I had had quite an adventure, which might easily have had a more sinister termination, had my Indian escort shown the other side of their nature. Well, to come back to our old coach, which I think I left at the top of the La Paz entrance, I resumed my seat and got into the city at mid-day. I put up at an excellent hotel, of which there were several, and at once bethought me of looking for work, as the balance in my bank (otherwise my pocket) did not warrant my looking upon my visit to La Paz as one of pleasure only. At the time I write of there was one solitary Britisher resident in La Paz, and he was a Scotchman like myself. This was before the railway from Oruro was built, and he was proprietor of the coaches that ran, once a week, from La Paz to the south; and I understood had quite a remunerative business. La Paz is a peculiarly situated city, as the reader may imagine from my description of its position. The streets are mostly hilly and steep, with the exception of one or two which run parallel to each other on both sides of the valley, at the foot of, and in the centre of which flows, the La Paz river. This it bridged in about half a dozen places for horse traffic, and while, for most of the year, there is scarcely any water in the river, when the snow melts it is converted into a veritable roaring torrent; and I happened to be present during one of the most serious accidents that had ever occurred from this cause.
It had rained very copiously for some days, and the river had risen enormously—in fact higher than ever before recorded—and many were the predictions as to how the bridges would stand the weight of water. The usual sightseers were about, and, unfortunately, a large number of them paid the penalty with their lives. They had been duly warned that a certain bridge was dangerous and threatened to give way, but this evidently excited their curiosity all the more; at any rate, a crowd tried to cross, with the result that the bridge tumbled into the raging stream, carrying with it over 200 people, and many of them were drowned—the exact number was never known.
Quite an important city is La Paz, and a large number of wealthy mine-owners reside there, drawing their incomes from rich tin mines in the neighbourhood. There are also numerous stores from which the wants of the distant population that reside in the rubber country are supplied. The larger proportion of the inhabitants are Indians, and I cannot help remarking that the Bolivian Indians, men and women, are about the ugliest type of human creatures I have yet seen. Besides, they are very illiterate, and it is estimated that, of the total population of Bolivia, only about 30 per cent. can read or write. In the south, Aymara is chiefly spoken; but further north, Quechua is the commoner language. I saw several bull fights in the bullring of which the town boasts, but they were so very disgusting that I refrain from nauseating my readers with details.
The Cathedral was only half completed when I was there, and I understand is still in the same condition. I was forgetting to mention that there was no British Minister or Consul in La Paz, and the story goes that, at some previous period, a Bolivian President compelled the British official representative to ride round the plaza seated on a donkey, but with his face to the tail; the consequence being that the Prime Minister of Great Britain figuratively wiped Bolivia off the map. Anything which we required from the Diplomatic Service had to be obtained through the medium of the British Minister resident in Lima, in Peru. This may now be altered, but I am not aware of the fact. I remained several months in La Paz in the employment of a Bolivian magnate, but the remuneration not being commensurate with my ambitions, I eventually arranged to accompany the proprietor of a very large rubber forest on a trip to his properties on the higher reaches of the River Amazon, and hence my privilege of being able to offer you a perusal of my experiences across the inner ranges of the Cordillera mountains. His daughter also accompanied him, and, although the journey is a most uncomfortable one in more ways than one, she stood the fatigue of many days' riding on mule-back, over trails which did not deserve the name of roads, just about as well as any of the rest of us.
For a trip of this kind many provisions have to be made, as very little indeed can be procured on the journey in the way of good food or lodging. We accordingly had to carry our beds and bedding, and in fact everything we could think of in the form of clothes, food, firearms, and, of course, the necessary accompaniment in liquid form. Most of our baggage and what we might not require at a moment's notice we sent on ahead with a day's anticipation, and eventually on the 20th May, 1901, our caravan departed from the then capital of Bolivia, at 8 a.m. Our conveyance, to start with, consisted of a coach drawn by four mules, and it took much longer to climb the steep "Cuesta" than it had taken us to descend on previous occasions already mentioned. However, our animals were good and in about an hour and a-half we reached the top of the hill, and I took what proved to be my last view of La Paz City.
The journey for the first forty miles is over the same ground as I have already referred to, in the direction of Lake Titicaca, and there is nothing more to be said about it, beyond that we changed animals at a place called Ocomisto, this being simply a few Indian huts where there is always a supply of grain and water for the animals, and the ordinary country fare for the passing traveller. There was a long journey ahead of us, so we only remained during the time that was occupied in outspanning the tired mules and inspanning the fresh lot. At 1 o'clock we reached Machacamarca, another "tambo" or resting-place, and were very disgusted to find that our pack animals, which we had dispatched the day before, had got no farther than this point. Our desired destination for the night was the Indian town of Achicachi, twelve leagues off, but as it was now quite out of the question to think of travelling our baggage animals so far before night should overtake us, we had to change our plans and therefore directed our coach towards Guarina, another Indian town on the shores of Lake Titicaca, but much nearer than Achicachi, and we eventually arrived there at 5 p.m., having covered, more or less, fifty miles since morning. The journey seemed longer, as the country is so much alike all along the route; but as the roads were fair, travelling was quite comfortable.
Guarina is purely an Indian fishing village, and the only white people are the Bolivian half-caste authorities. As I have already stated, there are no hotels or even lodging-houses in these Indian towns, and ordinary travellers have just to hunt about until they find a place suitable to put beds for the night. However, as my friend was a "personage" in Bolivia, in other words, a man of position and power in political circles, we of course fared considerably better than we should otherwise have done had he not been with us; and we were invited to put up in the house of one of these men in authority. He did his best for us in their frugal way of living, and gave us a meal consisting of "Chairo," which is soup as black as coal, and made from frozen potatoes which are called "chuno." These are about the size of walnuts, hard and black, and have to be well soaked before cooking, and then they are not a savoury bite. The next plate consisted of "Chalona," already described as lean sheep dried in the sun, and which, generally speaking, is very repugnant in appearance, smell, and taste. Never mind, we were hungry and partook of whatever was brought along, until the "inner man" cried content! The meal, I may add, was washed down with a cheap "wine" distilled from cheaper raisins, but it was something wet, and for the time sufficed.
Our pack animals arrived at Guarina about 7 p.m., and we very soon had our things unpacked and occupied our beds, knowing that a pretty early start would be made in the morning. The night passed uneventfully, and at daybreak we got under way, bound for Achicachi, about five leagues off. There is still a road for vehicles to this town, and keeping along the shores of Lake Titicaca, we reached this larger Indian town about 9 a.m. The population was about 5,000 Indians, but it is a very uninteresting, bleak spot, and we only remained long enough to have a square meal, which we were again fortunate enough to have provided for us by the reigning magistrate. That over, we then dispatched our coach on its return journey to La Paz, and thought of our other means of transport for the forward journey. Good mules we had sent ahead, and were now awaiting us saddled and ready, and we at last got started on this the more arduous part of our journey inland. Our destination for the night was Gualata, a small holding belonging to my fellow-traveller, and we reached it at about 1 o'clock, having climbed probably 2,000 feet higher up the mountains. Cultivation of cereals and potatoes is carried on on a limited scale, owing to the altitude, and taking it all round, the house, although comfortable enough, was situated in about as bleak and bare a spot as it is pretty well possible to imagine.
Nevertheless, it was peopled by about sixty Indians, who turned out in true Indian style in their beautifully coloured robes and making horrible discordant noises which were intended for music—all, of course, to show their appreciation of their "patron." Here, of course, we got all we required, and as there were any amount of fowls to be had, our bill-of-fare improved in accordance. There was nothing to do specially, and we did not feel inclined to move about much at this elevation above the sea, so we were quite pleased when bed-time came round, and without any ceremony each retired to their respective couches on the floor. Owing to excessive cold, however, sleep was out of the question, and it was a relief when day dawned on May 22nd. After refreshing ourselves with a cup of tea we set out for Sorata, distant about six leagues. Travelling was now much slower as the roads were very bad, and in some places very steep and covered with loose stones. This made the foothold bad for the mules, but we trusted to the useful animals entirely, letting them go along on a loose rein to choose their own footing, which they did very successfully. We passed the Indian village of Illabaya, perched on the side of a hill, and all plotted out in small squares for the cultivation of vegetables, etc., of which we bought a supply for our own use. The highest point we passed was over 14,000 feet, and then began the gradual descent into the pretty little town of Sorata, 6,000 feet lower down. The path was not of the best, and the pace was very slow; but the scenery was quite refreshing compared with what we had already passed through.
Sorata is indeed very pretty and quaint, and although comparatively out of the world, a traveller can spend a short time there pleasantly, and personally speaking, the few days we remained were very enjoyable, thanks once more to my friend's influence. For a change we did not sleep on the floor, and by way of recreation I scented out a billiard table, not a good one, it is true, and the balls were rather elliptical; but as I had once personated the "Mikado," à la Gilbert & Sullivan, the conditions were not so disconcerting as they would doubtless have been to a less famous personage! Sorata, being the nearest town to the Bolivian rubber districts which export their products to the Pacific coast, is naturally of more consequence on that account, as all materials and merchandise for the interior must pass through the hands of the Sorata merchants, while the rubber exported to the coast also finds its way through the medium of Sorata agents.
There is the usual plaza in the centre of the town, where the youth and beauty disport themselves in the way peculiar to these mountainous regions, which consists of walking round and round at a good pace to keep up the circulation, as the weather is nearly always cold in Sorata. Illampu, the competitor of Illimani and Aconcagua, and which claims to be the highest peak in South America, rises up magnificently right above and round the town, and visitors for the first time must really wonder how they are to find a road to cross these gigantic mountains, as the town appears to be so completely shut in.
However, on 27th May we started to ascend the track forming the way to the interior, and got a fine send-off by the inhabitants, the more important of whom turned out to bid us adieu and wish us luck over a case or two of beer. The climb before us was a constant one for 18 miles, and to-day we were to pass the highest point of our entire trip. This we reached about midday, at just under 16,000 feet. We were above the perpetual snow-line for a short time, and it was piercingly cold, besides we had to go slowly on account of the thin air, but we kept steadily on and reached an old mining establishment called "El Injenio" at 5 p.m., having done 24 miles in all since morning. There is a long, steep descent to the old mining camp by a narrow winding track cut out of the mountain side, and as the drop on one side to the little stream down below was about 40 to 50 feet, and there was no protecting fence of any kind, we decided to get off our mules, and accordingly completed the worst part of the way on foot, and of course this made travelling very much slower.
Apparently, gold-washing had not been carried on for a very long time, as although the main building still has a roof, the whole place has a very deserted look about it; but, nevertheless, it still affords a covering for weary travellers like ourselves, and we soon began to select the most comfortable looking corners for our beds. There was an old Indian there who earns a meagre existence by selling forage to passing travellers for their beasts of burden; and he was also utilised by us for getting a fire ready and boiling water for a welcome cup of warm tea.
One thousand feet above our heads, as it seemed, we could see Llane, another of these quaint, Indian hamlets, but the appearance of the exceedingly precipitate track up to it did not excite us in any desire to make the ascent. After partaking of some food, we got under our blankets in the usual way at sunset to once more sleep the sleep of the contented traveller. By 6.15 next morning we were again in the saddle and under way—the road was now even narrower than before, about two feet wide only—winding round and round the mountain side, ascending all the time, and in some parts far too steep for comfortable riding. From now onwards the journey was over tracks, not roads, and many of the ascents and descents were so steep that it was quite out of the question to attempt to negotiate them on muleback. We, accordingly, with philosophic patience had just to accept the inevitable, and get off and lead our animals over these now really dangerous parts. Some of the precipices down to the river bed were now much deeper, and had we slid over, we might have experienced considerable inconvenience at the bottom, and a greater difficulty in getting up again. The roads became worse and worse, and really they could be given no other name than "goat-tracks," but the mule is a wonderful beast, and let him have his head (on no account attempt to guide him), there is not much fear of any serious trouble. Our sleeping place for the night was to be at an old ruin of a house at a bare, but more level, opening in the mountains, called Tolapampa, and before reaching this we had to negotiate much the worst pass on the whole route. This is called the "tornillo" (screw), and it is a real corkscrew path, cut out of the mountain side at an angle of about 50 deg., and about 450 feet of a climb.
Riding was of course impossible, and we scrambled more than walked until we safely got over the top, very tired and puffed out. The mules with their cargo followed our example, and it was wonderful to see how they kept their feet; as one false step might have sent them to the bottom, carrying everything behind them too, and on more than one occasion this has happened, the animals falling, generally being killed outright in the fall. Pushing on as fast as possible, it was not till 4 o'clock p.m. that our residence for the night loomed in view, and it did not inspire one that it could supply much in the way of home comforts. Sure, the old hovel had walls and a roof, but beyond that there were no windows, and where the door ought to have been there was only a hole in the wall, but nothing to close it with to keep out the intense cold.
We, of course, knew when we started that we would have to rough it, so there was no use grumbling now, and therefore set about at once to get something to make a fire with. With great good fortune we, after a great deal of searching and gathering, obtained some old rubbish that burned. I say with good luck, because this is a treeless region yet, at an elevation of 10,000 feet, and fuel is naturally always at a premium. For cooking it did not matter so much, as we had a spirit lamp, but it was to warm our bodies and keep up our spirits that made the fire so desirable. Darkness was on us before we finished our evening meal, and we looked forward to the night with no very pleasant forebodings—and it did turn out a tiresome night—it rained all the time and the cold was extreme—so much so, that we eventually sat up most of the time, hoping by daylight to move on to a more charitable atmosphere.
I think I should not miss this opportunity of relating an experience of mine when I journeyed over the same route on another occasion. Then I was only accompanied by two Indians—no white people—and was travelling towards Sorata. I remember very well we reached Tolapampa, already described, in the afternoon, it having rained constantly all day. I was suffering from malaria very acutely, and the high levels at which we had been travelling also affected me grievously. I arrived at Tolapampa soaked to the skin, shivering cold, and really more dead than alive. To aggravate matters we could not light a fire—everything was wet—and I can assure you it was anything but a bright outlook for us. Another gang of about ten Indians also turned up, and we did look a sorry lot. However, these natives, seeing that I was so weak (I had had malaria almost constantly during the previous six months), did all they could to get me to "buck up," and kept moving me backwards and forwards to warm myself, which operation I well remember was a very tedious one. They also tried to get me to eat of their cold frugal fare; but that was beyond me; and after they decided it was time to rest for the night, I scrambled in amongst them—Indians all round me—so as to benefit from the heat of their bodies. It was neither a very pleasant nor a very clean position that I occupied, and I can hardly realise how I had the courage to do what I did; but the facts remain the same, and at any rate I got some rest.
It poured all night, and when at daybreak I suggested to my men that it was time to start, they positively refused to move until the rain ceased. I brought all my persuasive powers to bear, but it was of no avail, and as I had decided to go on alone, all I got out of them was a promise they would follow me at 10 o'clock. It was very disappointing, but I was determined to get forward at all cost. I therefore started on my lonely journey at eight o'clock, with the rain, and at times sleet, coming down in bucketfuls; I could hardly see in front of me at times, and it was destined to be a trip of which I shall always retain very vivid recollections. On this occasion, owing to the excessive rains, all the little mountain streams, which under normal circumstances are of no inconvenience to travellers, had been converted into veritable roaring torrents, causing me on more than one occasion to think twice before attempting a crossing. To condense matters as much as possible, let me remark that it rained all day; travelling was not only difficult but positively dangerous, and I, being so ill, could hardly keep my seat on my mule. All this made travelling so slow that I was still a long way from "El Injenio," my objective point for the night, when darkness overtook me. I had the narrow, dangerous paths to go along which I have already described, and I therefore did not trust to getting over them on muleback, but took the safer and, in my opinion, more sensible plan of leading my animal. This was tedious work, but it was to become worse very soon. I arrived at one of those swollen mountain streams, the appearance of which in the darkness fairly frightened me. My mule would not look at it, and for a while I did not know exactly what to do. I could judge that it was four or five feet deep, and rushing past at a great rate. Neither mule nor I could ever have hoped to keep our feet if we had attempted crossing, as it was about thirty feet wide. I left my mule and commenced to reconnoitre along the side, when I came to what had been a bridge, but which was partly washed away, leaving a gap of about four feet in the middle, as far as I could judge in the uncertain light, and over which it was impossible for a mule to go. Leaving my mule, I made a good jump, and, fortunately, got over all right, but, after all, I did not know in the least where I was, and, before attempting to return to my animal, I started to go forward in the hope of at least striking some sheltered spot where I might pass the night. Meantime, however, I heard a crash, and, as it turned out, away had gone the remainder of the bridge, leaving me on one side, and now completely isolated from my mule and saddle-bags. There was no use fretting, so I continued moving on—it was now dark—feeling my way, and keeping very carefully away from the river. I had not proceeded very far before my progress was all too suddenly arrested. I did not until the next morning know what actually did take place, but the facts are as follows: In groping my way along I had actually been walking on the very edge of a sort of precipice, and apparently had simply stepped over the side. At any rate, I rolled to the bottom, which, luckily for me, was only about fifteen feet; but it was quite a bump, and I wondered where I had actually landed. As it was so black, and I did not know anything of my surroundings, I simply made up my mind to remain where I had fallen until morning. I ought to tell you that, although I had plenty of matches, they were all wet with the rain, so that they would not light, and I had to remain in darkness all night. My saddle-bags were with the mule, and I did not even know now where the animal might be. I was soaking wet, shivering with ague, nothing to eat, plenty of cigarettes and matches, but unable to smoke or even make a light, so my disagreeable plight can to some extent be imagined. Moreover, there were about six inches of water all round me, so that I could not attempt to sleep. The cold was intense, and I can safely say that I never spent such a long, disagreeable, and dreary night in all my previous experience, and I hope never to be compelled to do so again. There are bears in this district also, but I am thankful to say that I was not molested in any way.
Towards morning the rain slackened, and when daylight came I never felt more thankful in my life. I climbed out of my nest, and there, only about a hundred yards away, was my faithful mule standing exactly as I had left him. I waited until the water in the stream had gone down sufficiently, and crossing on foot, with the water about two feet deep, I mounted my mule, and then recrossed on muleback. I knew from the number of hours I had travelled on the previous day I could not be far from Injenio, and I was right, as in less than an hour I saw my destination right ahead of me. I was in a pitiful condition, and could hardly stand up. The old Indian recognised me and got me dry wraps after a fashion, and I got under his dry blankets. I could not eat, but I drank a large quantity of "Aguardiente," which at least put some life into me. In the meantime I did not know what had become of my pack animals and Indians, but I was not in a state to worry about them, and didn't. Instead, I kept my bed for about thirty hours, until I was revived somewhat. Then, luckily, my men turned up, and I was able to continue my journey to Sorata.
Well, we left Tolapampa about 6 a.m., and for the best part of the day the route was over country very similar to that passed on the previous day; but we were descending rapidly now, and the temperature became perceptibly much warmer, in fact, by the afternoon we had indications that soon we should arrive in the "montes," where we would have vegetation in abundance, and consequently we would at least have some shade during the heat of the day. The road, nevertheless, continued to be very rough and broken, and we had frequently to dismount and lead our animals for long distances at a time. The long pass of Margurani was unusually tiring, as it was down hill most of the time, and over loose rocks and stones, which were very hard on our poor feet. Pararani, a small stopping-place, was reached about 2 p.m., and as both we and the animals had just about had enough of it, we decided to remain for the night.
We were now right in tropical surroundings, and the beautiful palms and ferns, not to mention the magnificent butterflies of all colours, were a grateful contrast to the scenery we had been accustomed to since we left Sorata. We were now only about two thousand feet above sea level, and the weather was very hot indeed, mosquitoes and other worrying insects were very plentiful; but, bad as they can be, they seemed trivial troubles compared with what we had come through. At this "puesto" we were better treated, as we obtained vegetables, bananas, and oranges, and with our tinned stuffs made quite a decent repast. The place was owned by a Spaniard, and he, along with his wife, cultivates a little piece of ground, and supplied passing travellers with general rations for both man and beast. The place was clean in comparison with what we had been accustomed to, and we seemed to sigh a mutual sigh of content at our good luck in reaching this "oasis." We rested all afternoon, and got to bed early, and, although there were rats about, I slept "like a log," I was so fearfully tired.
In the morning, however, I awoke refreshed, and with our usual punctuality got away at 6 o'clock, feeling that at last we were nearing our journey's end, as we now directed our animals' heads towards Copacabana, the nearest of the rubber forests belonging to my friend. This was only three or four leagues off, and the going was somewhat improved also, so our progress was a good deal faster than usual. During the greater part of the present journey, the weather, so far, had been fairly good, that is, taking into consideration the high regions through which we had come, but we were not fated to be so successful on this our last day. In fact, we had not gone far, when a really characteristic tropical shower baptized us properly, and continued during the whole of the rest of the day, the result being, as may be imagined, that we arrived at "Copacabana" like the proverbial "drookit mice." As the path was beneath the trees all the way, we got the full benefit of the rain dripping from the branches overhanging, which was just like a shower bath all the time. However, I got into dry clothes, and, I think, felt when I got into the Estancia house, that after all the "roughing," the trip was, in part, compensated for by the new experiences I had gone through, making my way over these very mountainous regions at such a very high elevation.
However, I remained for over a year in the rubber districts, and had an opportunity of seeing how the work is carried on and of judging of the enormous profit which must result to the lucky owners. Unfortunately, the climate is of the very worst, and the malaria being of a very malignant nature, is very hard on white people. I had my full share of this "terciana," as it is called, and sometimes wonder how I really managed to work my way to the outside world again.
In conclusion, let me express a modest hope that the perusal of my humble effort to put personal adventures on paper may at least convey to the reader some idea of what has to be experienced if one chooses to be a wanderer like myself in remote places, and that he or she may to a certain extent enjoy the result nominally, without going through the hard work involved in the actual performance.
FOOTNOTES:
Allow me to remind the reader that Lake Titicaca is the highest water in the world which is navigated by steam.
