At the back of the world

by George Pugh; Jennie Pugh

There were several places on the railway that I became very interested in during the time I was working on it, and one was a little above Turco. Here the mountains form a kind of amphitheatre with the River Rimac running through the centre. On all sides are the peaks covered with snow, rising to about two-thousand feet above your head. Here you see a remarkable feature of the terraced cultivation of the old Incas’ days, before Pizarro and his crew robbed them of their glory and power. Up the steep mountain side, from base to summit, is a perfect network of small embankments or terraces, running this way and that way, until the mountain looks like one great chessboard. This, in itself, is a standing testimony to the industry of the ancient Inca Indians, and proves their good common-sense and forethought in choosing the rich warm soil, in some places the bed of an ancient river, with all its rich deposits, for their gardens and habitations. At certain places you see gigantic figures cut into the mountain side, so large are they that you can only see them from the opposite side of the valley. The figure of the llama in particular is often seen, and the lines and dimensions are wonderfully exact. The llama is about the size of a sheep, but much hardier, and away among the upper districts of the Andes it is used as a beast of burden, the weight it carries is a quintal, or about one hundred pounds. At other places you will see, standing out against the sky, the typical road-side cross of Peru, not the ordinary crucifix, but a cross, draped and adorned with the well-known emblems of the gospel story. The simple-minded Indians, full of superstition, think the outstretched shadows of the cross will not only bring a blessing to then-crops but defend them from the mountain storms.

I saw many an Indian village hidden away, almost out of sight, in the mountain valleys. They are always on the banks of the river, with a church and a graveyard, and green corrals full of lucerne, with flocks of goats and donkeys. Both men and women are of pronounced Indian type, the women with their large, soft, brown eyes and long hair hanging down in two plaits, are very good to, and very fond of their shy brown babies.

I found that the labourers who were working with us were Sambeta Indians, and had been working for many years on the line; several of them could speak broken English, and their old chief, Lu Alpa, with whom I became very friendly, and in whom I was greatly interested, could speak fairly good English. I found that they were sun worshippers, and when our daily work was done, he and I would get together and spend hours asking each other questions. He would want to know about the white man’s land, and I about Peru. It was from his lips that I learnt most of the wonderful and ancient history of his people. They had no books, he said, but the history of his unfortunate country was handed down from father to son, a sacred legacy—learnt off by heart. I spoke to him about his creed, and asked him why his people worshipped the sun, did they not know about God? The old man looked up into my face and smiled a strange mystical smile, after a while he said:

“You white men have a God, but you do not worship Him. You tell other men they must worship your God, but you do not worship Him yourself. You white men call on your God if you want anything, but you only worship this,” and he held up an old gin bottle. “You send men to tell us about your God, and you send men with this too. This is a very bad god,” he said, and shaking his head, he flung the bottle as far away as he could.

I could not answer him, for I felt that there was a great amount of truth in what he said.

The place where we were stationed was about three miles above the highest point the engine could then go to. Our work was to repair all breakdowns of trucks, trolleys and barrows, and to throw light bridges over the gulleys for the navvies to cross. We were now about seventeen thousand feet above the sea. Far below us were the lower strata of the clouds, the peaks above us were covered with pure glistening snow, while here and there, beautiful cascades of falling water from the snow above could be seen dancing and quivering in the sunlight. Here also the ferns, flowers and mountain shrubs offer a world of interest to the botanist. Great bushes of heliotrope laden with sweet-scented bloom, bunches of calceolaria, and the prickly tree cactus. From where our hut stood, over a dozen tunnels could be seen at various points down the side of the mountain, and the track seemed like a huge snake twisting and twirling up the face of it.

One morning about two o’clock, Tu Alpa, the old Indian chief, who had apparently taken a liking to me, came to our hut and roused me out. He said he wanted to take me to see the sun rise from the top of the eastern peak. I got up at once, for we had about two miles to go to the eastern face of the Cordilleras.

It was a cold, damp, murky morning. The grass lay flat on the ground, the trees and bushes were all drooping, heavy with dew, not a bird, beast, or creeping thing was to be seen, the old chief and I seemed to be the only living creatures about. The valley beneath was shut out by the heavy clouds that covered everything about a thousand feet below us, a light mist was hanging like a veil to the sides of the mountains, but overhead the sky was quite clear. We reached our destination about three o’clock. From the position we were in the vast expanse of the prairie opened out before us, around us the mountains reared their proud heads heavenwards, perfect silence reigned as I stood spellbound by the grandeur of the scene around me. In silence the old chief touched my arm and pointed to the east. The sun was just nearing the horizon its refraction casting various and curious aspects over the distant scene. What a glorious sight was unfolded before our eyes. No pen, or tongue could describe that splendid sunrising. Far away, over the distant prairie, a long thin streak of bright orange and gold marked the division between the earth and sky. Soon it began to assume all sorts of fantastic shapes. First it looked like a long gun, mounted on a hill, then, in an instant, it was changed into a tall-spired church in the midst of a field of ripe, golden corn; then, like a giant army set in battle array, and many other wonderful forms did it assume before it got clear of the refraction. Then, like a flash, the distant rays were drawn in, and the round glorious sun itself sprang, as it were, into view. It was indeed a splendid sight, one that I have never forgotten.

After the sun had risen a few degrees, I got up to return to our hut, but the old chief said, “wait a bit.” Then, about half-past four, when the sun’s rays began to be felt on the mountain side, I noticed that the grass and shrubs, which during the night had lain flat and drooping, with their leaves and blades to the west, now began to raise themselves and gradually turn to the east, to the warmth of the risen sun. Insects, and all the creeping things, began to show themselves, all making for the sun’s rays on the grass. The birds in the trees began to twitter, and soon burst forth into sweet songs of praise to the brightness and glory, and the power and warmth of the sun. Then the llamas and other beasts stood out of the shadows and basked in the warm rays, receiving new life, power and strength.

The old Indian got up, and looking me full in the face said: