[76] The Indians apply the designation Misti, meaning Mestizo, to all persons except Indians or Negroes, whether they be Europeans or White Creoles.
[77] The distance from one station to another varies from six to twelve miles.
[78] Repartimientos (literally, distributions) were the compulsory sale of articles by the provincial authorities.
CHAPTER XIV.
Road to the Primeval Forests—Barbacoas, or Indian Suspension Bridges—Vegetation—Hollow Passes—Zoology—the Montaña—Plantations—Inhabitants—Trade in Peruvian Bark—Wandering Indians—Wild Indians or Indios Bravos—Languages, Manners, and Customs of the Indios Bravos—Dress—Warlike Weapons and Hunting Arms—Dwellings—Religion—Physical formation of the Wild Indian Tribes—Animals of the Aboriginal Forests—Mammalia—Hunting the Ounce—Birds—Amphibia—Poisonous Serpents—Huaco—Insects—Plants.
Leaving Ceja de la Montaña, we will trace the route to the Aboriginal forests, which extend eastwardly from the bases of the Andes. The whole plain is overspread by a thick veil of mist, which does not disperse until about noon, and then an undulating dark green canopy clouds the vapory atmosphere. A European, whose heart throbs at the bare idea of one of those vast virgin forests, gazes anxiously forward on the boundless distance, and finds the pace of his cautious mule too tardy for his impatient hopes and wishes. He beholds in perspective the goal of his long journey. Nature, in all her virginal freshness and grandeur, opens to his astonished eyes, and he feels a sensation of delight he never before experienced. Regardless of present toil and danger, he sees only the pleasure to come. But he is soon drawn back to cool reality, and is forcibly reminded of the truth, that every enjoyment must be earned by labor. The road is broken, narrow, and steep; over the woody sides of the hill it is easily passable; but as soon as it begins to descend, it presents all those difficulties which have been interestingly described by the early travellers in Peru. The scanty population of the surrounding districts, the native listlessness of the Indians, and their indifference to the conveniences of life, are obstacles to the making of roads which might be passable without difficulty and danger. However, where nature from the state of the country has compelled man to establish a communication, it is executed in the most rude and unsatisfactory manner. A most decided proof of this is apparent in the bridges called barbacoas, which are constructed where the way is through a derumbo, or a small narrow mountain-pass, or where there is an obstruction caused by a rock which cannot be passed circuitously. The barbacoas are constructed in the following manner. Stakes from three to three and a half feet long are driven into the ground, or into the crevices of rocks. Over the ends of these stakes are fastened strong branches of trees, the interstices are filled up with mud, and the whole is covered by a sort of matting composed of plaited branches and reeds. If the ground admits of it, which is seldom the case, a pile of stones is built up beneath the barbacoa, extending to at least one half its breadth. When it is considered that there is, probably, on the one side of this bridge, a rock inclining at a very acute angle, or an almost perpendicular declivity of a hill of loose earth, and that on the other side there yawns a deep abyss against which there is not the least protection, the traveller may well be pardoned if he shudders as he passes over the creaking and shaking barbacoa. These fragile bridges are often so much worn, that the feet of the mules slip through the layers of mud and reeds, and whilst making efforts to disengage themselves, the animals fall over the edge of the barbacoa, and are hurled into the chasm below, dragging down the crazy structure along with them. In consequence of these accidents, the way is often for weeks, or even months, impassable.
In the construction of these rude bridges, I observed that the Indians, in their simplicity, always faithfully copy their great instructress, nature. The majority of the plants growing in these regions belong, if I may use the expression, to an aërial vegetation. The small, gnarled, low-branched trees, have often scarcely one half of their roots in the earth: the other half spreads over the surface of the soil; then winding round the roots or branches of some neighboring plant, fastens on it, and intimately uniting with it, forms a kind of suspension bridge, over which the intertwining of numerous luxuriant climbing plants makes a strong, impenetrable network. All the trees and shrubs are covered with innumerable parasites, which, in the higher regions, are met with in their smaller forms, as lichens, mosses, &c.; but lower down, in the course of the various transformations they undergo, they appear in larger development.
The whole vegetable kingdom here is stamped by a peculiar character. It presents immense fulness and luxuriance: it spreads widely, with but little upward development, rising on the average only a few feet above the earth. Trees, shrubs, and tendrils, in endless complication of color, entwine together, sometimes fostering, sometimes crushing each other. Out of the remains of the dead arises a new generation, with an increase of vital impulse. It seems as though the ice-crowned Andes looked down with envy on the luxuriant vegetation of the forests, and sought to blight it by sending down cold, nightly winds. The low temperature of the night counteracts that extreme development which the humidity of the soil and the great heat of the day promote. But what the vegetation loses in upward growth it gains in superficial extension, and thereby it secures more protection against the ever-alternating temperature.