We met at this place some Indians carrying tobacco from Tocache and Saposoa (towns of the Huallaga) to Huanuco. Enterprising men have frequently tried to establish a trade along this river, carrying down cotton goods, knives, hatchets, beads, &c., and getting return-cargoes of tobacco, rice, straw hats, rare birds, and animals; but the difficulties of the route seem to have baffled enterprise. About two and a half years ago Vicente Cevallos made a large venture. He carried down thirty-five trunks or packages of goods, and the people of the river still talk of his articles of luxury; but in passing one of the malos pasos, or rapids of the river, his boat capsized, and he lost everything.
The Indians here had blue limestone, which they were burning to mix with their coca.
July 31.—I bathed in the river before starting. This is wrong in so humid an atmosphere. I became chilled, and did not get over it for some hours. A native traveller in these parts will not even wash his face and hands before the sun is well up. Soon after starting we crossed a small stream, and ascended a hill that overlooks the falls of Cayumba, beyond which canoes cannot ascend. I did not see the falls, but am told that there is no cascade of height, but rather a considerably inclined plain, much obstructed by drift. Smyth says: "From hence," (the cave of Cayumba, below the falls,) "we had a very picturesque view of both the Huallaga and Cayumba—the former rushing between two high perpendicular rocks, and the latter rolling down a steep ravine. They unite with great violence at a point where there is a small island covered with trees, and roll past the cave in an impetuous torrent."
The ascent of the hill was very tedious, and I should complain of the fatigue but for shame's sake; for there were Indians along, young and rather small men, who were carrying a burden of nearly one hundred pounds on their back. Their manner of carrying cargoes is to have a sort of cotton satchel, of open work, with a broad stout strap to it. The end of the trunk or package, which is placed on end, is put into the bag, and the Indian, sitting down with his back to it, passes the strap over his forehead, and then, with a lift from another, rises to his feet, and, bending forward, brings the weight upon the muscles of his neck and back. A bit of blanket, or old cotton cloth, protects the skin of the back from chafe. The traveller in these parts should be as lightly clad and carry as little weight as possible, for the path is very steep and muddy. I had been thoughtless enough to wear my heavy Sierra clothes, and to load myself with a gun of a greater weight, I believe, than a standard musket—and so had occasion to envy Ijurra his light rig of nankeen trousers and cotton shirt, long but light staff, and twilled cotton "Jeffersons."
The descent of this hill, which is nearly as tedious as the ascent, brought us to the banks of the river opposite the mal-paso of Palma. This is the first rapid I have seen, and it looked formidable enough. The river, obstructed in its rapid course, breaks into waves, which dash with thundering violence against the rocks, and rush between them in sluices of dazzling velocity. Cargoes must always be landed at this place, and carried around. The canoe, thus lightened, under skilful and practical management, may shoot the rapid; but this should not be attempted where it can be avoided. By prudence, these malos pasos (the dread of travellers) are stripped of all danger; but the Indians sometimes get drunk and insist upon the attempt; and thus these places have become the graves of many. Since my return home I have a letter from Castillo, the young man I met in Huanuco, enclosing others which were sent to him at Tarapota from Lima to be forwarded to me. He begged me to excuse the condition in which I should receive these letters, for they had been shipwrecked in their transit. "Three persons," said he, "were drowned, but the letters fortunately escaped."
Nearly all the malos pasos are at the mouth of a tributary. These, in the floods, bring down quantities of drift, with heavy boulders, which, thrown crosswise into the stream, lodge and form the obstructions. Little labor would be required to clear away the rocks, and make the river passable for canoes at least, if not for light-draught steamboats.
The trees of the forest are large, tall, and without branches for a great distance up. Ijurra pointed out one to me, of smooth bark, about four feet diameter near the ground, and which ran up sixty or seventy feet without a branch. He said that it was so hard that it resisted all attacks of the axe; and, to get it down, it was necessary to remove the earth and set fire to the roots; and that, suffered to lie in the water for a long time, it turned to stone of so hard a character, that, like flint, it would strike fire from steel. Unfortunately for the accuracy of the statement, we next day saw gigantic trees of this species that had been felled with an axe. The wood is, however, very hard and heavy—too much so for any practical use here. The tree is called capirona. It has a smooth bark, which it is continually changing. The old bark is a very pretty light-red; the new, a pea-green.
At half-past 4 p. m., we arrived at the Cave, a place where a huge rock, projecting from the hill-side, made a shelter which would cover and protect from dew or rain about a dozen persons. The Indian who carried my bag of bedding wished to make my bed there; but I decided that it was too damp, and made him spread it out on the shingle by the river brink. The largest part of the cargo had not arrived, and I feared that we were without drink or cigars, which would have been a great deprivation to us after the fatigue of the day. The rice and cheese were on hand; and, to our great delight, Ijurra found in his saddle-bags a bottle of sherry-brandy that Mr. Jump had insisted upon our taking from Cerro Pasco, and which I had forgotten. A tin-pan of hot boiled rice flavored with cheese, a teacup of the brandy, and half a dozen paper cigars, made us very comfortable; and, lulled by the rustling of the leaves and the roar of the river, we slept in spite of the ants and other insects that left the mark of their bites upon our carcasses. I saw here, for the first time, the luciernago, or fire-fly of this country. It is, unlike ours, a species of beetle, carrying two white lights in its eyes, (or, rather, in the places where the eyes of insects generally are,) and a red light between the scales of the belly—so that it reminded me something of the ocean steamers. It has the power of softening the light of the eyes until it becomes very faint; but upon irritating it, by passing the finger over the eyes, the light becomes very bright and sparkling. They are sometimes carried to Lima, (enclosed in an apartment cut into a sugar-cane,) where the ladies, at balls or theatres, put them in their hair for ornament.
August 1.—We started, without breakfast, at a quarter to seven, thinking that we were near Tingo Maria. But it was ten miles distant, and I was weary enough ere we arrived. My principal source of annoyance was the having inadvertedly asked how far we were off from our destination. I would advise no traveller to do this; he is sure to be disappointed; and when he is told (as he will certainly be) that he is near, the miles appear doubly long. The Indians take no account of time or distance. They stop when they get tired, and arrive when God pleases. They live on plantains—roasted, boiled, and fried; and in the way of food, a yucca is their greatest good. Talking with a young Indian, who had a light load, and kept up with me very well, I was struck with the comparative value of things. A Londoner, who has been absent for some time from his favorite city, and subjected to some privations on that account, could not have spoken of the elegances and comforts of London with more enthusiasm than my companion spoke of Pueblo Viejo, a settlement of half a dozen Indians, which we were approaching. "There are plantains," said he; "there are yuccas; there is everything"—(Hay platanos, hay yuccas, hay todo)—and I really expected to be surprised and pleased when I arrived at Pueblo Viejo. The town, in fact, consisted of a single hut, with a plantain grove, a small patch of yuccas, and another of sugar-cane. In several places near by, people were felling the trees and forming chacras. The road lay sometimes across and sometimes along these huge trees; and I envied the bare feet and firm step of my companion, feeling that my tired legs and muddy boots might, at any moment, play me a slippery trick, and cost me a broken leg or sprained ankle.
At eleven we arrived at Juana del Rio, a settlement of five or six houses, on the right bank of the river, named after the lady of Señor Martins, whom we met at Cocheros. The houses were all shut up, and nobody seemed to be at home. Here we crossed the river, (one hundred yards broad, smooth, and deep,) and walked down the left bank about half a mile to the pueblo of San Antonio del Tingo Maria. Tingo is the Indian term for the junction of two rivers, the Monzon emptying into the Huallaga just above this. The governor, an intelligent and modest young man, a former friend of Ijurra, welcomed us cordially and gave us a capital breakfast of chicken broth.