Dawn came at last, and shortly afterward the Coya slowly wended her way through the reed-grown marshes bordering the lake and tied up at the pier at Guaqui, on the Bolivian side. Indians in reed rafts with sails made of rushes dashed past and disappeared among the cattails, and water-fowl of several species—mostly ducks, coots, and grebes—paddled out into the ruffled water left in the wake of the boat.
It is unfortunate that this passage of the lake is made at night. Nearly every one visiting the vast body of water for the first time is eager to see as much of it as possible, both on account of its being the highest great lake in the world (twelve thousand five hundred feet above sea-level) and by reason of its associations with the nation of the Incas.
Guaqui is a garrison town. There were numerous soldiers in evidence on the streets, and a troop of lancers, under the command of a German officer, were giving a skilful display of their prowess on the lake front. Their mounts were not much to look at and the uniforms of the men were rather shabby, but both were well drilled.
The train for La Paz left at noon. It moved at a good rate of speed across the high, level upland. The scenery is impressive. We were always in sight of snow-covered peaks, although there was little snow on the plateau itself. Indian huts built of stone, some very ancient, are scattered about abundantly, but it requires some experience in locating them before they can be readily distinguished from their immediate surroundings. There were numerous fields of wheat and oats, and llamas without number nibbled the scant vegetation on the slope. In a few isolated spots small herds of cattle, horses, and pigs were visible. Indians came to the coach-windows to sell fruits when the train stopped; they were doubtless brought from the deep, sheltered fissures that have been cut into the range by snow-water from high peaks.
Within a short time we had reached the ruins of an enormous city called Tiahuanaco, which is said to date back many centuries before the Incan era. When discovered it was buried in the sand level with the surface of the plateau, but archæologists have excavated many of the larger buildings and brought to light ancient treasures of rare beauty. Later, in La Paz, we met a man named Poznaski who had done a great deal of work in this region. He had a remarkable collection of hundreds of skulls, pieces of pottery, gold ornaments, and well-preserved cloth. Among the ceramics was a “death’s head” of exquisite workmanship, life size, and painted in gorgeous colors. He considered it the finest bit of pottery ever discovered in Bolivia and stated that a North American museum was negotiating for its purchase at a price that ran into five figures. This, however, did not seem probable. As we neared La Paz, the great mountains of Illimani, Murarata, and Huana Potosi loomed constantly more lofty and forbidding before us. They are the patriarchs of the Bolivian Andes, and are twenty-two thousand five hundred and eighty-one, twenty-one thousand, and twenty thousand two hundred and eighty-nine feet high respectively. The summits of all three have been reached by venturesome exploration-parties, but the task of climbing the steep, slippery slopes perpetually covered with deep snow and swept by frigid gales is a trying one that is not often attempted. Huana Potosi, the more distant of the group has a flat top, contrasting conspicuously with the sharp, pointed summits of the other two. The Indians tell a legend that explains this peculiar formation. In the days of long ago, when the world was young, vapors enveloped all the earth; suddenly the sun-god appeared and, beaming down from heaven, caused the mists to become dissipated and vanish. Illimani awoke to life and from his dizzy height beheld the queenly Huana Potosi smiling up at him. At the same time, however, Murarata emerged from the clouds and beholding the beautiful Huana Potosi fell violently in love with her. Illimani became insanely jealous and in a blind fury hurled forth fire, smoke, and stones of great size at his rival’s head; the latter promptly replied in kind and fought valiantly. For days the earth quaked and trembled with the thunderous roar of the death-struggle, while heavy clouds covered the terrifying spectacle with a mantle of darkness. After a seemingly endless time the combat stopped; daylight returned, revealing an appalling state of affairs. Finding it impossible to vanquish the rival suitor, Illimani had beheaded his fair lady-love to prevent her from falling into the other’s hands. The many streams of water rushing down the steep sides of Illimani are but the tears of grief and remorse over his hasty action; thus he is doomed to mourn and weep until the end of time. The legend has doubtless been handed down through many generations and obviously refers to one of the many volcanic disturbances that must have occurred when the Andes were young.
Shortly before sundown we came suddenly to the brink of a crater-like rent in the plateau and, on the bottom of the huge gash, thirteen hundred feet below, we could see the compactly built mass of edifices and green gardens of La Paz. The situation of the city is unique. One has no intimation of its nearness while speeding over the high, cold plano alto (which has an elevation of thirteen thousand three hundred feet) until the very edge of the fissure is reached. The sides are precipitous, but numerous footpaths make their way up or down the steep declivity. The far slopes of the Andes are checkered with cultivated fields; a roaring stream, the Choqueyapu, tears its way through the floor of the amphitheatre, and the series of snow-covered summits form a magnificent background for the unusual spectacle.
The steam-locomotive was taken off and an electric one substituted, and then the train slowly backed down along the face of the incline to the station below.
The impression of La Paz, gained from the first brief view above, is soon dispersed upon nearer and more intimate acquaintance. The streets are narrow, crooked, paved with small stones from the river-bed, and very steep. Walking any length of time entails a great amount of exertion on account of the high altitude; fortunately, carriages are not lacking, and a tramway also provides a ready means of locomotion, or I am afraid few travellers would ever see very much of the inner life of the city. With the exception of a few churches and government buildings that are worthy of note on account of their size and architecture, the buildings are low and of a primitive type, whitewashed and covered with tiles or thatched.
Ordinarily the streets are all but deserted, but on Sundays and fête-days a motley crowd throngs the winding thoroughfares. There are full-blooded Indians of the Aymará race, clothed in picturesque though not beautiful garments; half-breeds or Cholos are far more gayly clad in very full skirts and shawls of bright colors, round, flat-brimmed straw or felt hats, and imported shoes with high heels and tops that reach almost to the knees; the number of townspeople, creoles and foreigners, seems negligible compared to the throngs of Indians and Cholos; in fact, some authorities state that there are one hundred of the latter to one of the former. On market-days long lines of llamas, burros, and mules thread their way through the crowded streets, bearing fire-wood, charcoal, meat, and vegetables for the sustenance of the city.
About the most interesting place in La Paz to us, and at the same time the most repellent, was the Museo Nacional. It contained several dark, cavernous rooms crowded with a wealth of specimens, mostly in the form of ceramics, minerals, and mummies. They were piled promiscuously everywhere in the most slovenly and disgusting manner. Naturally, this treatment did not tend toward their preservation; rats had undermined the mounds of human remains, gnawed holes into the bodies, and made their nests in the interior; pottery had crashed from unstable shelves, and bird and mammal skins were badly moth-eaten. I trust that a more efficient management may rescue these treasures.