In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

One day we rode to the top of the next ridge, the Herradura, which is six thousand feet high. The trail winds up along the face of the slope and is very poor in places; a row of wonderful crags and cathedral-shaped mountains stands like the ruins of a city on the opposite side of the ravine. On the face of one of the cliffs we saw what seems to be a gigantic serpent carved in the red sandstone directly above two massive stones that stand as if forming a gateway. The people say this is the entrance to a secret hiding-place used by the Indians many years ago; or perhaps it might have been a prehistoric shrine. The outline of the supposed snake can be discerned with ease, and the body is marked with transverse black bands. It seems that the natives have never taken the trouble to visit the spot, owing to the difficulty of crossing the wild gorge.

We continued to the crest of the ridge; from this point of vantage it was possible to secure a good view of the country to the east, but as it did not differ from that we had just left, there was no reason for going farther.

The vicinity of Vermejo had been headquarters of a band of brigands that preyed upon travellers and caravans going to and from Santa Cruz. They had had their rendezvous in one of the numerous caves, and for a long time conducted their nefarious occupation with impunity. Eventually, however, their depredations became so bold and wide-spread, that a body of soldiers was sent against them. The bandits, brought to bay among the hills, found it impossible to withstand the onslaught of their assailants, and surrendered. It was said that a great many horses and other property were recovered, and of the men captured a number were taken to Santa Cruz, and others to Cochabamba and executed. After that, thieving stopped for a while, but a new band was beginning operations at the time of our visit.

The amount of traffic along the trail was surprising. Most of the caravans were from Cochabamba; they took merchandise to Santa Cruz and brought back cigars and low-country products.

The language spoken by the Cruzeños is very peculiar; the diminutive ito is changed to ingo, so instead of saying pocito, horita, or chiquito, they say pocingo, horinga, and chiquingo, for instance. There are also other changes that sound either confusing or amusing at first. At any rate, they speak the language of the country, and do not copy that of the Indians. I have frequently wondered how any country, such as Paraguay or Bolivia, for example, could hope to advance when its inhabitants adopt the language and customs of its Indian population, instead of introducing their own mode of living and institutions which should, at least, be on a higher plane. The former procedure might be excusable to a limited degree in isolated cases when, for instance, a missionary goes among savages who have no reason for being interested in the white man, and who do not recognize his authority unless he can propound his doctrine in a way they can readily understand. It may be argued that a large proportion of the inhabitants of Paraguay or Bolivia are half-breeds and therefore naturally adhere to the ways of their Indian ancestry; but that only shows more conclusively than ever the weak, moral fibre of the Spanish half, that so readily succumbs to the Indian half. It is very safe to wager that if such a country were completely isolated from the remainder of the world for a few generations, savagery would again come into its own and obliterate the traces of to-day’s civilization.

In the course of years of almost constant hunting one is compelled to have some very peculiar and unusual experiences. One of these occurred at Malena, Colombia, when the wounded macaw entered our room. Another took place at and near Vermejo. The evening before starting back to Samaipata, we noticed a flock of swifts soaring high above the hut. Boyle and I grabbed our shotguns and each took a quick shot before the birds disappeared; my companion scored a clean hit; apparently I had missed; but the next morning we were astonished to find a dead bird of the same species lying on a rock beside the trail, about two miles distant, and more than one thousand feet above the place we had left. I am convinced that it was the identical bird I had aimed at, and that it had continued flying until it died and fell in the spot where we chanced to find it. The natives do not shoot birds on the wing, because ammunition is too costly to take any chances with; under no circumstances would a charge be wasted on a small swift-winged bird; and also, when I prepared the bird I found a number-ten shot in its head, which is what we used; such small shot is not to be had by natives, as none is used in the country. The coincidence of finding the bird is one that is not likely ever to be repeated.

From Samaipata we turned southward toward Vallegrande. It required two days’ travel to reach that town, over the same monotonous, broken, barren country ranging in elevation from five thousand three hundred feet to eight thousand two hundred and fifty feet. There are a few trees near some of the small watercourses, but as a whole the country is unproductive. At Vallegrande, however, the ground is not so sterile. The town also is more attractive, and the more cheerful environment is reflected in the dispositions of the people. I was particularly glad to find that some of the inhabitants showed traits of character unmistakably alien to the average Bolivian, and it did not require a great effort to trace them directly to the wholesome influence exerted by the American College at Cochabamba. It was forcibly demonstrated that at least some of the students of the Cochabamba Institute introduce into their houses and home towns the admirable precepts of temperance, morality, and sincerity with which they have become imbued.

Travel in the highlands of Bolivia presents a succession of difficulties, chief of which is the scarcity of mules and also the lack of forage.

There is no natural pasturage, so the animals must subsist entirely on oats grown by the Indians in irrigated areas. The cost of keeping animals is prohibitive; instead of the one or two cents a day charged in the settled parts of Colombia, one is compelled to pay fifty cents or more. We should probably have been forced to remain in Vallegrande a long time, had it not been for one Señor Villazón who provided the pack-mules for the rest of the journey to Sucre.

The first day’s ride took us to the village of Pucará. A part of the distance had been over a grass-covered plateau ten thousand feet high, cut in places by deep ravines filled with light woods. The second day we faced the unpleasant prospect of having to cross the Rio Grande. The few natives we met said that the river was probably very high and were inclined to be pessimistic concerning our ability to get across; they also advised us to return to Aiquile, near Mizque, as the stream is narrow and spanned by a bridge at that point; but as this meant retracing our steps the greater part of the way, we could not consider the suggestion.