Pisco is the next port of importance, and it is situated near a rich and fertile irrigated valley where sugar-cane grows abundantly. It is the port also for the interior towns of Ayacucho and Huancavelica, where numerous rich mines are found. Just a few miles out at sea are the Chincha Islands, from which Peru obtained such a large revenue for the guano found there. These deposits, once considered inexhaustible, because in places they were eighty feet or more in depth, have been almost exhausted. The great wealth received from them and nitrate has been dissipated.
At Mollendo, the last Peruvian port, there is a railway that runs to La Paz, the capital of the inland republic of Bolivia. It is a surf-lashed port where vessels are sometimes unable to land their passengers and freight. In fact the landing is through a “sort of Niagara Gorge gateway of rock, which gives to the mere landing some of the noise and a good deal of the excitement of a rescue at sea.” It takes three days’ travel to reach La Paz from Mollendo, as the train only runs by day. The first stage of the trip, as far as Arequipa, is over an almost trackless desert, where the wind piles the sand up in movable half-moon heaps. The sand-storms of the centuries have covered everything with these whitish particles, and the dusted peaks and hillocks stand out without relief of any kind. The second day brings the traveller to Lake Titicaca, the sacred lake of the Incas, which is crossed by boat, and a side trip will take the traveller to Cuzco, the capital of the Inca confederacy. Lake Titicaca is the highest and one of the most wonderful lakes in the world. It is larger than all the lakes of Switzerland together, and lies in a hollow two and one-half miles above the waters of the ocean. Lying in a peaceful valley, in a scene of desolate grandeur, where the trees are stunted and only a few of the hardiest plants survive, lies La Paz. The City of Peace, its name indicates, but this city has been the scene of turmoil and strife entirely foreign to its name ever since the Spaniards invaded these solitudes. Bolivia is another Tibet—one of the highest inhabited plateaus in the world, as well as one of the richest mineral sections.
In no part of the world, perhaps, is there such an abundance of life in sea and air as along the coast of Peru. Soon after leaving Callao the tedium of the voyage is relieved by the flight of millions upon millions of birds. There are gulls, ducks, cormorants, divers of all kinds and great pelicans with huge pouches under their bills. The sea is as animated as the air, and schools of fish, innumerable in numbers, may be seen darting through the water with their fins showing above its surface. Danger besets them from above and from beneath. The divers poise on wing every few minutes and then drop suddenly into the sea like a flash. For a few seconds they disappear beneath the surface, and then reappear with a fish in their bills. The lumbering and stately pelicans drop with a mighty splash that sends up a dash of spray. These greedy birds continue this foraging process until their pouches are so filled with fish that they are unable to rise out of the water until the load is digested or they disgorge themselves. The seals and sea lions keep themselves as busy as the birds, and constantly display their sinuous and shiny bodies above the surface, as they pursue the fish or come up to breathe.
We passed by the famous guano islands just before nightfall. The air was filled with birds, all of which were flying toward a great island that lifted up its rocky surface above the blue of the sea. At some distance above the sea were the smaller birds, which, at a distance, looked like mere specks against the sky. A little lower were the pelicans flying in single file, and in flocks of from twelve to thirty. They seemed to play the game of “follow the leader,” for if the leader poised his wings or lifted himself higher all did the same. Near the surface were divers, called “pirates” in the local parlance, in flocks of a thousand or more. They sailed along just above the surface of the water and continually altered their formation. With the naked eye the number of birds was myriad, but the telescope showed ten times as many. As far as one could see there was the same multitude of birds, all heading for this one island. The island itself was black with the birds already settled for the night, but each new arrival seemed to find a resting place either on the surface of the rock or in the caves underneath. For countless ages these birds have occupied these sterile volcanic rocks as their resting place, and have deposited the guano which has brought millions of dollars of wealth into the Peruvian treasury. A glimpse of this remarkable bird life shows how the guano has accumulated in such enormous quantities.
ROW BOATS CROWDING AROUND A STEAMER.
The northern part of Chile contains the dreariest section of this forlorn coast. There are no harbours, and a tremendous surf which rolls half way around the world before it strikes a breakwater dashes into foam upon these beaches. Several prosperous towns are located here as a result of the workings of nature’s laboratories. To reach these ports it is necessary to trust yourself to one of the boatmen, who crowd around the ladder as soon as the vessel drops anchor. Judicious bargaining is always advisable, and never pay the boatman until he has returned you safely to your floating hotel. The boat is guided through the surf with amazing skill, and it is very seldom that an accident occurs. They sometimes crowd each other off, however, in their eagerness to get the best position at the bottom of the ladder and secure the first passengers. But all these men are good swimmers, and the only result is a good wetting and much amusement for the steamer’s passengers who welcome any diversion.
Arica is the first port of importance in Chile at the north. It is only a day’s journey from Mollendo, the last Peruvian port. The Peruvian heaves a sigh when he enters Arica, but there is some hope in it, for he trusts to add this province to Peru’s possessions at some time in the future again. But at Iquique the hope fades, for sovereignty is lost for ever. Although not a large town, Arica has been the scene of several memorable events. It was here that were built the boats which carried the troops for the conquest of Chile. It was at that time a place of some importance among the natives, and the valleys back of it were densely populated and were cultivated by means of irrigation. Sir Francis Drake touched at this place in 1579, and found a collection of Indian huts on the shore. It is supposed to have been founded in 1250 by the Incas. It is like an oasis in the desert to the traveller who has coasted along the shore for days or weeks without seeing vegetation. At the present time it is famous for its oranges. They are grown in the rich valleys that lie behind the rather unattractive and forbidding hills next to the coast, and through the opening in the flat-topped hills one is permitted to catch glimpses of these valleys. Near the coast is a prehistoric cemetery filled with dead bodies, which were embalmed with almost as great skill as the mummies of Egypt.
Arica is a pleasant little place of several thousand inhabitants. There is a handsome little plaza which encloses a plot of shrubbery adorned with morning-glories and purple vine trees. One of the striking features is the brilliant colouring of the houses. There is also a rather imposing parochial church which is painted in the gaudiest colours that I have seen in any country; and it would be hard to duplicate it anywhere, even in Spanish America, a land of rich colouring. It used to be a great market for the skins of the vicuña, which are so beautiful. In late years, however, the skins are becoming less plentiful and the prices have jumped accordingly. The harbour is commodious and well sheltered. Interesting glimpses of native life are afforded by the Indian women coming to town. Some of them ride astride, being almost concealed by the huge panniers containing their market produce. Others trudge along by the side of the animals.
From this city a highway runs into the interior of Peru and Bolivia, which was constructed by the Incas a thousand years ago and has been used ever since. To-day caravans of mules, donkeys and llamas may be seen constantly passing up and down this ancient trail. They bring down ore and take back mining supplies and miscellaneous merchandise. It is known as the “camino real,” and is several hundred miles long. Near here is supposed to be the underground outlet of Lakes Titicaca and Poopo. One argument advanced in favour of this theory is that a certain kind of fresh water fish that abounds in that lake is caught in considerable numbers in the ocean near this town. It has been the scene of several disastrous earthquakes. On August 13th, 1868, it was almost washed away, and many of its inhabitants perished in a tidal wave which came without warning and devastated the coast for a hundred miles. Two United States men-of-war, which were in the harbour at that time, were lifted from their anchorage by waves sixty feet high and carried inland a mile over the roofs of the town. One of the vessels, the Fredonia, was dashed against a ledge of rocks and entirely destroyed, while the other, the Wateree, was left lying in the sand. Everyone on the former boat was lost and about half of the latter. For many years the boat lying on the sand was used as a boarding house for the railway employees.