The day was very rainy. It may have been for this reason, or it may have been because he was disappointed at his unsuccessful attempt at “legitimate graft,” that the Gobernador did not assemble his friends and escort us out of town. In either case we did not blame him. It was rather a relief to escape the oft-repeated expressions of sincere sorrow at departure which one can make two or three times, but which somehow lack spontaneity and sincerity when they must be repeated to a cavalcade of sixteen.
The road was no improvement on that of the day before. A long climb through the rain and sleet, a long descent through the clouds into the valley of the river Pincos, whose tantalizing roar helped us to realize what magnificent scenery we were missing; a little glimpse of green fields, a dilapidated village, an old bridge, and another long steep ascent led us finally to a bleak paramo where we were as uncomfortable as cold winds and drenching rain could make us.
Just before four o’clock we were gladdened by the sight of a good-sized town and hoped that it was Andahuaylas, our destination, but our escort said it was only San Geronimo, a suburb of Andahuaylas. We found it to be a densely populated Indian town of the usual type. Before we had much of an opportunity to take in its points of interest, however, we were surrounded by twenty horsemen, including the sub-Prefect of Andahuaylas, the secretary of the province, and their friends who had ridden to meet us. Much as we appreciated their courtesy and the liquid refreshments they brought with them, we were still more gratified by being asked to dismount and allow the soldiers to put our saddles on two fresh horses. It may have been because the rain had stopped its torrential downpour, or because our tired, jaded animals had made us lose all sense of proportion, or it may possibly have been that those two horses really were the finest animals in Peru; whatever the cause, we both of us agreed that we had never enjoyed any ride so much as that last mile to Andahuaylas, and that we had never ridden such magnificent, fiery steeds that so closely resembled the high mettled war-horse that one usually sees surmounted by General Bolivar either in bronze or in historical paintings.
The good people of Andahuaylas had heard by telegraph of the banquet which had been “tendered us” in Abancay and of the enthusiasm with which the Prefect had welcomed us back from Choqquequirau. They determined not to be outdone. If an additional reason was needed to spur them on to do their utmost, it came in the press despatches that day which stated that Chile was about to throw down the gauntlet to Peru by definitively announcing her permanent occupancy of the provinces of Tacna and Arica. To the minds of the older Peruvian generation who had felt the cruel lash of the Chilean conqueror in 1883 and had witnessed the burning of the Lima Library and the stabling of Chilean horses in Peruvian churches, there seemed little hope of a satisfactory settlement of the dispute and no desire to engage in another war. Their one idea seemed to be that the United States, with its love of fair play, would see to it that Chile did not take advantage of the weakness of Peru to rob her of her southernmost province. As we were the only Americans in sight, and as there was about us a certain reflected glamour of officialdom, we were treated as though we were diplomats, instead of being, as they knew perfectly well, merely a delegate to a Scientific Congress, and his “secretary.” Anyhow, they had done their best to provide a banquet that should eclipse the glories of Abancay; the table was set for forty-five and it may safely be assumed that most of the leading citizens of Andahuaylas were present. Little American flags, made for the occasion, were crossed with Peruvian flags on the walls of the room. Portraits of President Roosevelt and President Leguia, suitably framed, decorated the wall immediately behind us. “Ice cream,” made of snow brought from the Nevada of Chillihua on the backs of llamas, was on the menu. There was enough food and drink to last until 2.30 A.M. Unfortunately I had to leave early for I was simply used up with the amount of “entertainment” that I had had to undergo during the preceding week.
Our hosts came to call rather late the next morning and looked pretty mournful. It was not due entirely to the fact of the pouring rain. Nevertheless the sub-Prefect was most kind, and had us take all our meals at his house, a picturesque old compound whose large patio was surrounded by one and two-storied buildings. The roofs, with their heavy old-fashioned mission tiles, had long ago lost any straight line they ever possessed. To add to their beauty, rain and sun and mosses had given them every variety of color. In a corner of the patio, an Indian man-servant and a little girl were busy grinding meal by rocking one stone upon another in the same fashion as did the builders of Choqquequirau and with stones almost the exact counterparts of those we found there.
In the afternoon, our friends felt a little better, and the rain held up enough for us to be shown the sights of the town. A well-proportioned stone church, designed by the same architect who had built the bridge near Abancay, testified again to the excellent crafts that the Jesuits taught in this country two hundred and fifty years ago. Some of the booths on the plaza were extremely picturesque, the various colored wares offered for sale being protected from the sun by umbrella-shaped shelters rudely made from old sticks covered with faded ponchos or with the dried skins of animals, cured with the hair on.
Some one with a great fondness for Lombardy poplars had lived here years ago and the view of the town which we got from the heights across the river was most attractive. On the side of a mountain to the north were many farms. The fields of corn divided from each other by hedges gave a very pleasing background; the roaring rapids of the little river formed the foreground; while in the middle distance the red-tiled roofs, white walls, poplar trees, and fine old stone church made a charming picture.
The sub-Prefect and his secretary, who had most generously placed his own very comfortable quarters at our disposal, took great pleasure in showing us two new alamedas or avenues which had been laid out recently under his direction. It is pleasant to remember these signs of progress even though we also remember a little old street through which we had to pass after leaving the alameda. The old street, scarcely as wide as the sidewalks of the new, had no conveniences whatsoever for foot-passengers. Owing to the recent downpour, part of it had been converted into a pond, and we had an amusing and not altogether successful time getting across dry-shod.
All our friends promised to be on hand the next morning to accompany us out of town although we assured them that it was quite unnecessary. When they woke up and saw the rain coming down in sheets, they decided we were right. The sub-Prefect came through the downpour to bid us good-by, but was still suffering from dyspepsia and excused himself for not mounting his horse. By his orders, the Gobernador of the neighboring town of Talavera, through which we passed half an hour after leaving Andahuaylas, accompanied us on our way.
Talavera is noted for the manufacture of the finest grade of Vicuña ponchos. Mr. Squier gave it a bad name and was impressed by the evil looks of its inhabitants, but we saw nothing to differentiate it from the other crowded little towns of the interior. Wherever possible, the land is occupied. There is, in fact, very little evidence that there was a much larger population in Peru before the arrival of the Spanish conquerors. Although it is true that some of the irrigating ditches have been destroyed, it does not seem likely that this region could ever have supported a much more numerous population than lives here to-day. Those writers who believe that the Peruvian Indians were reduced “from upwards of thirty millions to three millions within the space of two centuries,” must have forgotten to make allowances for the fondness for exaggeration in the Spanish chronicles. The country is actually as crowded to-day as its resources will allow. In fact, most of the Indians are half starved all the time. It is difficult to believe that twice as many, to say nothing of ten times as many Indians, could find support on these bleak highlands, even when they were forced to practice an extensive cultivation of the soil by Inca laws and usages, which provided for almost every action of their lives.