The descent here is not near so precipitous as to the east of Cuzco, though the difference in height between it and the last ridges we crossed was very small. The road near the Espiritu Santo is over ridges of hills which run parallel with the range of mountains, decreasing as we descend. We rise up a short distance, and then descend on the long side, like a boat forcing its way seaward through the rollers of the coast, which, as they approach the land, become mere breakers. We passed a comfortable night in the hut, which protected us from heavy rains accompanied with lightning.
Farther down, at a settlement called Espiritu Santo, about one hundred creoles were cultivating land on both sides of a ravine, which widens as we descend. They were clearing coca patches of weeds; looked ghastly, thin, sallow, and distressed. The climate did not agree with them. I never saw so miserably weak, broken down a caste of men. The women looked more healthy, but there were few of them.
The coca plants were small and unthrifty; the moss gathered about their trunks gave them the appearance of trees placed in uncongenial climate and soil. The patches looked beautiful on the distant sides of the hills; rows were planted on steps formed by little stone walls one foot high, one above the other, with a platform to plant the trees upon of a foot and a half in width. The place was too wet and cool, and the soil not sandy enough. The Indians say the Yungas coca is better than this of Yuracares, and that of Cuzco a superior quality to either. The coca tree of Cuzco is larger; these grow on an average four feet in height and produce fewer leaves. Near Cuzco the trees are planted in a flat country, where the climate is warmer, more regular and not so damp. There the mats on which the leaves are dried are spread on dry ground flats. Here a pavement built of stone is walled in with an opening on two sides, so that when it rains the water may pass through, and wash off the pavements placed below the surface of the ground for the purpose of protecting them from sudden gusts of wind that come down and sweep away the whole crop, the more easily after the leaves are dried. In the lowlands of Cuzco the winds are not so violent, and the coca grower may tell when a storm is approaching and carry his leaves under shelter. The air is dry enough there even when it rains not to injure the leaf, while here the atmosphere is so damp that the coca curer must carefully secure his leaves against it, or they lose their flavor, diminishing their market value. The Yuracares coca planter is too high up on the side of the Andes. If he would condescend a little, he probably could find as congenial a climate and soil as those in the lowlands of Cuzco. In Espiritu Santo there are several patches which have run out; they are constantly planting new crops, which show that the tree is short lived.
The coca is a great favorite of the Quichua Indian; he prizes it as the Chinaman does his opium. While the one puts to sleep, the other keeps awake. The Indian brain being excited by coca, he travels a long distance without feeling fatigue, while he has plenty of coca, he cares little for food. Therefore, after a journey he is worn out. In the city of Cuzco, where the Indians masticate the best quality of coca, they use it to excess. Their physical condition, compared with those who live far off from the coca market, in a climate equally inhospitable, is thin, weak, and sickly; less cheerful, and not so good looking. The chewers also use more brandy and less tambourine and fiddle; seldom dance or sing. Their expression of face is doleful, made hideous by green streaks of juice streaming from each corner of the mouth.
The coca leaf has a very bitter taste to those unaccustomed to it. The Indians chew it with a little slacked lime, which they think eases its way down, and makes it sweeter.
The Incas employed the coca leaf, and it is said introduced it into their church worship. Great attention was paid to its cultivation. They were careful in the choice of land, descending to the eastward of Cuzco, until they found the proper soil and climate.
The Indians have a curious custom with regard to the coca. After the ball in the mouth has lost all its flavor, they throw it against a rock. Along the narrow roads on the Andes, where the rocks stand out in the way, we have noticed their faces besmeared with the coca leaf after it had undergone a thorough mastication.
The men tell me they gather a crop of coca leaves every three months; sometimes the season fluctuates. As soon as the trees are stripped of their leaves, fresh ones sprout out again during the lifetime of the bush, which in the montaña of Cuzco outlives a man.
Among the workmen was a negro, and I never beheld a more cheerful face in any of his race. When he saw us, he grinned till it attracted our attention particularly to him. He was fat and hearty; his black skin had a clear, ebony color, while his teeth were so white and lips so red, it was plain to see he had no partiality for coca. He was excessively polite in getting us seeds from the plant, fetching us water and oranges. We are among fruits and flowers now—a congenial climate for the black man. His wool was curled in most glossy locks and his heels projecting. He was dressed in a white jacket and trousers, straw hat, but without a shirt.
The Creoles chewed coca and smoked tobacco. The negro luxuriated upon oranges and bananas, which he guards from the ring-tailed monkeys, who fancy the same food. This was his only annoyance, for he naturally sides with the white man.