When the rivers are swollen in the low lands, the arms of the canoemen have not power to propel their vessels against the current. Trade, for half the year, stands still; human strength is not equal to the requirements of the trade that is carried on.
There are supposed to be at least ten thousand silver and gold mines abandoned in this country; one-third may have been exhausted, and the remainder have been left because the miners struck below the water-line.
Respectfully taking off our hats to the gigantic Andes, we push on in our little canoe. As the men dip their paddles in the water we glide rapidly along with the current of Coni creek. After being tossed up and down on the mountains for a year, the change is enlivening. We feel this water-carriage is put in motion by the All Powerful, in whom we have placed our trust and confidence in a long journey through the wilderness towards our homes.
The Indians suddenly began to work hard at their paddles; the fine-looking old captain talked to the crew sharply, and we went dashing over rapids at a most furious rate; the waters roared against the great trunks of trees that stuck up in the shape of snags; the logs were in constant motion, like sawyers; the channel was narrow; one little mistake of the pilot would have dashed us sideways among the snags, and our canoe must have rolled under. Every man's eyes seemed, for the moment, half a size larger, for the reduced crew of the heavy and long canoe had to exert themselves to the utmost of their strength to manage and keep her clear of danger.
Our cargo was bulky—cakes of salt brought her down so deep in the water that she moved sluggishly. Richards, seated on the baggage in front, guarded Mamoré, who was unaccustomed to the water, and it was with difficulty he could be kept from jumping overboard.
Coni creek is not navigable for a steamboat; the lands on both sides are flat and thickly wooded with a rich growth of bamboo; these lands are all overflowed in the wet season, and therefore are uninhabitable. Temperature of water, 74°. We saw a small lion or puma on the bank, besides a number of wild turkeys, and shot a wild goose. The banks break down perpendicularly with rich black surface soil one foot and a half thick.
Our canoe was soon launched into the waters of the river Chaparé, one hundred yards wide, and where we entered it twelve feet deep; we have scarcely lost sight of the Andes. The canoe was stopped that we might repeat the soundings; as we descended the soundings increased to two and a half fathoms upon a current of one and five-tenths of a mile per hour. The muddy stream wound its way through the forest trees and thick cane-brakes like a great slow-moving serpent. We find, at the foot of the most lofty mountains, that the lands on both sides of this navigable river are semi-annually deluged; that the rise of the waters in the wet season is about thirty feet, and by the marks on the trunks of the trees, the appearance of the undergrowth, with the information gained from the creoles and confirmed by the Indians, the banks are overflowed about two feet deep. In the rainy season, the bottom of the Madeira Plate would have been found covered with water, so that we might navigate over the land in a canoe drawing less than two feet; our canoe draws but six inches when fully loaded.
The forest trees here are not so large as higher up the country, nor is vegetation heaped up in such luxuriance as we saw it on our way down through the boisterous region. The climate is more mild and gentle in its action. As night comes on, thunder roars and lightning flashes above us towards the southwest among the mountains, while here the sky is clear, and winds gently blow from the northwest. The winds strike heavily against the great elevated side of the earth, and the storm there is raging from the southeast.
The sun passes from our view behind dark clouds, and cuts our day short by setting below the great ridge which stand between us and the Pacific. We have watched the mercury in our thermometer as it fell by the application of boiling water in ascending those mountains from the great western ocean, and saw its indisposition to rise or to fall as we travelled along on the table lands of the Titicaca basin. As we descend on this side it gradually ran up again, until now we have arrived on a level. The observation of yesterday was the same as that of to-day, at our journey's end.
Turning to the table of observations, in Lima, 22d April, 1851, at 3 p. m., boiling point, 209, 250; temperature of air, 77°. Here on the Chaparé river, May 27, 1852, at 9.30 a. m., boiling point, 209, 500; temperature of air, 75°. These show how near the bottom of the Madeira Plate is on a level with the ocean. They tell us we are below Lima; but Lima, according to our barometrical measurement, was 493 feet above sea level. On the river we are 28 feet below the general level of this part of the Madeira Plate.