the ancient history of the ruins, and one hoary Indian, named Pablo Plata, who lives in the village of Guachipa, and remembers some wild traditions respecting Cajamarquilla, which he received by word of mouth from preceding generations, I unfortunately missed seeing owing to the shortness of my stay.
Quite close to the remains of the town, is at present a large Hacienda, with magnificent clover pasturages, fertilized by the river Rimac. It was at one of these green oases that our company sat down to a comfortable pic-nic, which spoke volumes for the preparations that had been made for creature comforts. No small portion of what had been brought with us was left on the field, to be gobbled up by the clouds of negroes that crowded round, glad of the opportunity of tasting something cooked in the European fashion, though they do not like them as well as the product of their own wretched native kettles. Thus, for example, our guide, a negro, preferred vegetables and dulce (sweets) to meat, and declared sherry and cognac offered him to be "too strong."
If not in ease and comfort, at any rate in scientific interest, I found my excursion to Cajamarquilla surpassed by that made to Pachacamác in the valley of Lurin, which I made in company with some friend, and in the course of which I stayed behind the rest of my party, in company with the flag-lieutenant of the since world-renowned frigate Merrimac.
My visit to Pachacamác was, however, in so far less interesting than that to Cajamarquilla, that the greater part of the
road, as far as Chorillos, was accomplished by railroad, the remainder of the way being over sand barrens, abhorred by both steed and rider.
Chorillos, about nine miles from Lima, and a favourite watering-place of the inhabitants of the capital, with salt-water baths and gaming-tables, lies in a small romantic cove, but is of rather difficult access, owing to the steep sand-hills which, 150 to 200 feet in height, bar all access from seaward. Formerly the ride to Chorillos, like that from Callao to the capital, was performed under considerable difficulty and danger, whence it has not seldom resulted that visitors to the watering-place, who have made money at the tables of Chorillos, have on their homeward ride to Lima been eased of their winnings by some of their previous companions over the board of green cloth! At present one bowls thither over a well-made road, easily and without dread of being called on to "stand and deliver," since, even in Peru, people have not yet succeeded in amalgamating railroads and robbery.
The little place itself boasts of a few good dwelling-houses, and some 100 to 150 Ranchos of wood and adobes, or constructed of mud and reeds, in which delectable abodes the good folk from the capital are content to pass the hottest and most unhealthy months of the year (from January to May). These Ranchos, very unsightly without and exceedingly poorly furnished, are sometimes most habitable within-doors, and fitted with delightful verandahs or open porches,
in which the free-and-easy occupants loll about in grass hammocks or rocking-chairs, fanned by the cool sea-breezes, in a state of dreamy dolce-far-niente. Altogether Chorillos is a very unpretending and altogether uncomfortable place, in which there is little room for elegancy or self-assertion, the President of the Republic himself occupying a wretched, dirty Rancho. Don Ramon passes most of his time in the gaming-room, where he is a much-desired and most welcome guest, on account of the large sums which he is in the habit of wagering.
On a lovely June morning, about 6.30 A.M., we rode out of Chorillos, and three hours later reached the ancient Pachacamác,[137] a Quichua village close to the sea-shore, with the temple of the Sun there existent at a period antecedent to the Incas, and which was afterwards dedicated by the Incas to the service of the invisible God. These ruins are much older than those of Cajamarquilla. They are partly of clay-tile, but by far the largest part consists of hewn stone, held together by mortar, the whole presenting, even in its ruined state, a lasting and massive aspect. Of the temple which once stood here, there is, however, no trace at present visible beyond mere indistinct traces of the foundation.
In the midst of a spacious Indian village there is seen a hill about 400 feet high, with artificial terraces in regular gradation, and surrounded by lofty walls, that look as though they had been battlemented. On this rising ground once stood the temple which the Yuncas had built in honour of