On February 21, the three days of Carnival began. Although I had often read of the impossibility of doing anything in Peru during that period of jollification, I succeeded in persuading the kind-hearted Prefect to procure us animals that we might ride to Quinua, thirteen miles away, and spend a day or so investigating the battlefield. He tried to dissuade us, but as he knew that it was for this purpose that we had come to Ayacucho, everything was soon ready. The Gobernador of Quinua had been given orders to be on hand, to act as our guide. Accompanied by him and the Secretary of the Department and a small military escort, we left the hotel and took the road to the northwest.
Our little cavalcade was strung out over a block or more by the time we reached the suburbs as the streets were narrow and not in particularly good repair. Suddenly the horses of our guides wheeled and bolted and were with difficulty kept in the road. The cause was a characteristic piece of carelessness on the part of somebody. A horse had recently died and his thrifty owner had at once skinned him to save his hide, leaving the hideous carcass in the very centre of the narrow road. It was necessary to make a considerable detour through the neighboring fields, for none of our animals would go within fifty feet of the disgusting spectacle.
For the first two leagues we followed the regular road to Lima and the north, branching off when we reached the ford over the Pongora River, then passing through several small plantations and near two vineyards, we crossed the river Yucaes on a new suspension bridge and climbed the face of a steep cliff by a zigzag trail. We had good animals and kept them going at a comfortable trot so that we arrived at the little village of Quinua in three and a half hours after leaving Ayacucho.
The plaza of Quinua is surrounded on three sides by houses and ruins, the fourth side being taken up by the church. Like the other houses in the vicinity, these were built of stone and earth and roofed with red tiles. Many of the roofs had been allowed to fall into decay, and the house which was pointed out as the place where the truce was signed after the battle, and where the Spanish General surrendered to General Sucre, had entirely lost its covering.
A hasty lunch was prepared for us at a little mud hut called a tavern, and as soon after as possible we re-mounted and rode north for half a mile up the face of a little hill and found ourselves on the plain where was fought the last great battle of the South American Wars of Independence. A monument, apparently made of some kind of plaster, and naturally in a very bad state of repair, marked the centre of the plain. Near by was a kind of shed or shelter for the horses, and a little to the westward the walls of a memorial chapel that had not yet been completed. North of the plain the heights of Condorkanqui rise abruptly. A new road had recently been constructed over them to the warm valleys beyond, but it was still perfectly possible to see the old trail down which the Spanish troops marched in their attack on the patriots.
The altitude of the field is nearly eleven thousand feet, and romantically inclined writers have sometimes spoken of this as the “battle above the clouds.” As a matter of fact, we had considerable difficulty in taking photographs owing to the low hanging clouds that continually swept down from the summits of Condorkanqui. Fortunately it did not rain all the time.
Few battles have ever been fought on a height that offered such a magnificent view. From all parts of the battlefield, a superb panorama is spread out to the east, south, and west, embracing the entire valley of Ayacucho.
After spending the afternoon on the field, we returned to the little tavern where the evening passed very pleasantly and we were entertained by the Indian villagers who were celebrating the Carnival. They came in throngs bringing us parched corn, popcorn, and chicha, swearing eternal friendship, and expressing their appreciation that we should come such a long distance to see their famous battlefield. The village appeared to be divided into three wards, and the alcalde of each ward was anxious that we should eat and drink just as much of his offering as we had of the others.
They were easily satisfied, however, and appeared to be having a very good time. I never saw Indians enjoy themselves more. As a conclusion to the entertainment, two Indian women were instructed to sing for us. Their performance consisted in a wailing duet, beginning loud and high, ascending with a powerful crescendo to screeching falsetto notes and then gradually descending and diminishing into a wheeze like a very old parlor organ with leaky bellows.
We spent the next morning photographing different parts of the battlefield and trying to get a better idea of the reasons for Sucre’s victory. I was very forcibly impressed by the skill with which he had chosen his position.