A few miles beyond Matucanas there is a lateral valley, larger and more pleasant than the principal valley. It is called the Quebrada de Viso, and is watered by a little stream. At the point where this Quebrada forms a junction with the principal valley is situated the Tambo de Viso. It is 9100 feet above the level of the sea.[61] At this tambo the traveller may find a tolerable night's lodging for himself, and fodder for his horse. Here the river is crossed by a bridge, and the road then proceeds along the left bank of the river, after having been on the right bank all the way from Lima. The bridges across these mountain streams are always constructed at points where the river is most contracted by the narrow confines of the ravine. They consist merely of a few poles made of the trunk of the Maguay-tree (Agave Americana), and connected together by transverse ropes; the ropes being overlaid with twisted branches and pieces of hoops. These bridges are not more than three feet broad, and have no balustrades. When the space between the banks of the river is too long for the Maguay stems, strong ropes made of twisted ox-hides are substituted. In crossing these bridges accidents frequently happen, owing to the hoofs of the horses and mules getting entangled in the plaited branches along the pathway. A little way beyond San Mateo I narrowly escaped being precipitated, with my mule, into the rocky chasm forming the bed of the river.
The road between Viso and San Mateo, a distance of about three leagues, is exceedingly difficult and dangerous. The ravine becomes narrowed to a mere cleft, between walls of mountain rising on either side to the height of more than a thousand feet; sometimes perpendicularly, and at other times inclining inwards, so as to form gigantic arches. The path runs along the base of these mountains, washed by the foaming waves of the stream; or it winds up the side of the precipice, over huge fragments of rock, which, being loosened by the rain, afford no secure footing for the heavily laden mules. Frequently these loosened blocks give way, and roll down into the valley. The journey from Viso to San Mateo is associated in my mind with the recollection of a most mortifying accident. A mass of rock, such as I have just described, gave way, and rolling down the precipice, hurled one of my mules into the foaming abyss. My most valuable instruments, a portion of my collections, my papers, and—to me an irreparable loss—a diary carefully and conscientiously kept for the space of fourteen months, were in a moment buried in the river. Two days afterward the current washed the dead mule ashore at Matucanas, but its load was irrecoverably lost.
Every year many beasts of burthen, and even travellers, perish on this road. In the Tambo de Viso I met an officer who, with two of his sons, was coming from the Sierra. He had placed the youngest before him, and the other, a boy of ten years of age, was seated on the mule's crupper. When they were within about half a league from Viso, a huge mass of rock, rolling down from the mountain, struck the elder boy, and hurled him into the river. The afflicted father was anxiously seeking to recover the body of his lost child.
San Mateo is on the right bank of the river, and is the largest village in this valley. It corresponds in situation with Culluay in the Quebrada of Canta; as Matucanas corresponds with the village of Obrajillo. San Mateo is 10,947 feet above the level of the sea.[62] The soil produces abundance of potatoes, Ocas (Oxalis tuberosa) and Ullucas (Tropæolum tuberosum). Maize ripens here perfectly, but the heads are small. The lucerne is also small, but very abundant; it is very much exposed to injury from the frost, and is only good for use during the five rainy months of the year. Five hundred feet higher, that is to say, about 11,500 feet above the sea, is the boundary elevation for the growth of lucerne.
The spirit of hospitality, so generally prevalent among the Sierra Indians, does not seem to animate the Cholos of San Mateo. Their manners are rude and reserved, and they are very distrustful of strangers. As soon as a traveller enters the village, the Alcade and the Rejidores make their appearance, and demand his passport. If he cannot produce it, he may possibly be put upon a donkey, and conducted to the nearest Prefect, or may moreover run the risk of being ill-treated. But, fortunately, it is easy to escape such annoyances. Any scrap of printed or written paper will answer for a passport, as it rarely happens that either the Alcade or the Rejidores can read. On one occasion when my passport was demanded, I discovered I had lost it. Fortunately, I had in my pocket a bit of waste paper, which I had used instead of wadding in loading my gun. I ventured at all hazards to hand it to the Indian Rejidor, who having unfolded it stared very gravely at the words Lucia di Lammermoor, which he saw printed in large characters. It was the bill of the opera I had attended a few evenings before my departure from Lima. After examining the bill very attentively, and then scanning me very narrowly, the Rejidor returned the paper, with the observation that the passport was quite correct.
From San Mateo the road runs for half a league through a gloomy ravine; and then suddenly takes a steep ascent up the side of the mountain, over fragments of stones, lying one above another like flights of steps. The stream dashes from rock to rock, covering the narrow path with foam, and washing away the blocks of stone which, in some of the most dangerous parts, serve as barriers along the edge of the precipice. On this road long trains of mules are frequently met coming from the Sierra. The traveller, at their approach, seeks some little recess into which he may creep, and there stand closely jammed against the mountain until the train passes by. This is attended by great loss of time, owing to the slow and cautious pace at which the mules proceed. On such a rencounter in a narrow mountain path, I was once obliged to wait for several hours, whilst two hundred mules passed by; and at the spot where I and my horse stood, the laden animals had scarcely space sufficient to set down their feet at the very edge of the pathway. In some places it is perfectly impossible either to go on one side or to turn back; and when horses or mules meet at these difficult points, one of the animals is obliged to plunge into the stream, before the other can have room to pass. The numerous curvatures of the road, and the projecting masses of mountain, render it impossible to see advancing objects in sufficient time to avoid collision.
After having passed this difficult tract, which is called by the natives Cacray, we reach the summit of the acclivity down which the mountain stream descends. Here the valley presents quite the Sierra character. It is no longer confined within steep and rugged mountain walls, but runs in undulating contours along the bases of the hills, and gently ascends eastward towards the principal chain of the Cordillera. The road is sometimes on the right and sometimes on the left bank of the river. Two leagues beyond San Mateo lies Chicla, a miserable Indian village, which, according to Maclean's calculation, is 12,712 feet above sea level. In some of the more sheltered parts barley is planted; but it does not ripen, and is merely used as fodder (Alcazer). Chicla is the last place in this valley where the soil is in any degree capable of cultivation. Half a league further on, there are a few scattered Indian huts, called the village of Acchahuari. One of these huts is a tambo, which can never be forgotten by any unfortunate traveller who may have taken up his abode in it. Necessity several times compelled me to seek a night's lodging in this horrible tambo; but I never could remain in it till morning; and even amidst snow or rain I have been glad to get out, and take up my resting-place on the outside of the door. The hostess is a dirty old Indian woman, assisted by her daughter; and the hut is filthy beyond description. For supper, the old woman cooks a vile mess called Chupe, consisting of potatoes and water, mixed with Spanish pepper; but it is so dirtily prepared, that nothing but the most deadly hunger would induce any one to taste it. The beds consist of sheep-skins spread on the damp floor; and one bedchamber serves for the hostess, her daughter, her grandchildren, and the travellers; an immense woollen counterpane or blanket being spread over the whole party. But woe to the unwary traveller who trusts himself in this dormitory! He soon finds himself surrounded by enemies from whose attacks it is impossible to escape; for the hut is infested with vermin. Even should he withdraw into a corner, and make a pillow of his saddle, the annoyance pursues him. Add to all this a stifling smoke, and all sorts of mephitic exhalations, and troops of guinea-pigs who run about during the whole night, and gambol over the faces and bodies of the sleepers,—and it may readily be conceived how anxiously the traveller looks for the dawn of morning, when he may escape from the horrors of this miserable tambo. Acchahuari is 13,056 feet above the sea level. The climate is very ungenial. During the winter months, rain and snow fall without intermission; and even during the summer, heavy drifts of snow are not unfrequent. From April to July, the medium temperature during the night is 4° R.
After passing Cacray the diminished atmospheric pressure begins to produce an effect on coast horses which have not been accustomed to travel in the Sierra. They are attacked with a malady called the veta, which shows itself by difficulty of breathing and trembling. The animals are frequently so overpowered that they are unable either to move or stand, and if they are not immediately unsaddled and allowed to rest they perish. The arrieros consider bleeding a cure for this malady. They sometimes slit the horse's nostrils, a remedy which is probably efficacious, as it enables the animal to inhale the air freely. Chopped garlic put into the nostrils is supposed to be a preventive of the veta. Mules are less liable to the malady probably because they ascend the acclivities more slowly than horses. The disease does not attack the native horses of the Sierra, for which reason they are better than the coast horses for mountain travelling. Mules, however, are preferable to either. It is wonderful with what tact and penetration the mule chooses his footing. When he doubts the firmness of the ground he passes his muzzle over it, or turns up the loose parts with his hoof before he ventures to step forward. When he finds himself getting into soft and marshy ground he stands stock still, and refuses to obey either stirrup or whip. If by accident he sinks into a morass, he makes a halt, and waits very contentedly until he receives assistance. But in spite of all this sagacity the traveller will not do well to resign himself wholly to the guidance of his mule. In ordinary cases these animals allow themselves to be guided, and sometimes they appear to think it more safe to trust to the bridle than to themselves. One of my mules frequently gave me curious proofs of this sort of calculation. When, in very difficult parts of the road, I dismounted, in order to walk and lead him by the bridle, I found it impossible to get the animal to move either by force or persuasion. He spread out his legs, fixed his hoofs firmly into the ground, and obstinately resisted all my endeavors to make him move. But as soon as I remounted he willingly obeyed every movement of the bridle. With this mule I could ride through marshes, which I could never do with any other. He appeared to reflect that, as I only dismounted when the road was unsafe, his life was in no less danger than mine.
About a league beyond Acchahuari the valley is bounded by the principal chain of the Cordillera. The ascent may be gained by two different roads. One, the steeper of the two, runs southward, across the Piedra Parada; the other, on which the ascent is somewhat easier, takes an easterly direction, over Antarangra. We will first trace the latter course, which is the most frequented. At the extremity of the valley, and twenty-eight leagues from the capital, is situated the last village, Cashapalca, 13,236 feet above the sea. Its inhabitants are chiefly employed in mining. Formerly, vast quantities of silver were obtained here. But most of the mines are now either under water or exhausted, and the village, with its mine works, has dwindled into insignificance. Beyond Cashapalca there is a tract of marshy ground, which being passed, a narrow winding road of about two leagues leads up the acclivity. The soil is clayey, and thinly bestrewed with alpine grass, intermingled with syngenesious and cruciferous plants. Two plants which are called by the natives mala yerba and garban zillos, and are a deadly poison to mules and horses, grow in great abundance here. The numerous skeletons of beasts of burthen seen along the road bear evidence of the fatal effects of those plants. Higher up the ascent the vegetation becomes more and more scanty, until at length it entirely disappears, and nothing is visible but the barren rock of the Sierra highlands.
The last division of acclivity is called by the natives the Antarangra (copper rock). On it there is a small heap of stones, which I shall describe by and by, and a cross made of the stems of the Baccharis. From this point the traveller catches a distant glimpse of the heaven-towering summit of the Cordillera.