The day's ride has been a fatiguing one. The motion of a horse wading in water is unpleasant and harassing, both to man and beast. This journey to Trinidad cannot be made on horseback during the rainy season. The roads are navigable for canoes half the year, when travelling is much more easy than when the season is called dry. The Indian builds his hut on those elevated places which remain islands; when the great flood of waters come down, crickets, lizards, and snakes crawl into his thatched roof; droves of wild cattle surround his habitation. Armadilloes rub their armor against the pottery in the corner of his hut, while the tiger and the stag stand tamely by. The alligator comes sociably up, when the "gran bestia" seats himself on the steps by the door. The animal family congregate thus strangely together under the influence of the annual deluge. Those of dry land meet where the amphibious are forced to go, and as the rains pour down, they patiently wait. Birds fly in and light upon the trees and top of the hut, while fish rise from out of the rivers and explore the prairie lands. The animals begin to seek a place of refuge in the month of January, when the soil becomes gradually covered. As the waters subside in March, they spread out over the drying earth, and pasture upon young grasses, which spring up upon the passing away of the flood. At these annual meetings of the beasts, birds live upon fish and upon each other. All the carniverous animals, man included, fare the best; while horned cattle, tapirs, deer, and horses suffer for want, and become an easy prey. As the fluctuation is uncertain, many are drowned, or die from exhaustion in running about with the water up to their chins, out of sight or reach of shelter.
The Indians of Mojos are not friendly to the Spanish race at heart; that they love and respect the influences and arrangements of the church there is no doubt. The Indians of Loreto are of the Mojos tribe, and are remarkable for beauty and intelligence. The men are very independent. One of the most wealthy went to his chacra, while the prefect was here, and remained there, not only because he disliked him, but all the creole race.
Loreto has somewhat a ruinous appearance. The streets and plaza are filled with grass, on which hogs, goats, and sheep pasture. A small stream runs close by the town, and supplies the people with water. A wooden bridge is thrown across it, over which the Indians pass to their chacras. There are but few creoles living among them. The population is poor, and the hospital filled with cases of small-pox. While walking through the town we saw too men evidently affected with consumption—one of them a silversmith. We met an old woman ninety years of age, without teeth, her hair as white as snow; she embraced us all. Don Antonio returned the compliment with so much warmth, that the old woman's life seemed in danger, to the great amusement of all the young girls.
There were a number of cases of chills and fever, one of them a black man. There are said to be about two thousand fugitive slaves from Brazil in the territory of Bolivia. By the first article of the last constitution they are free and equal with the white people the moment they enter. The negro of Brazil, in Bolivia, has more rights and privileges granted to him by law, than the Indian on his own soil.
We visited an old Indian woman with a house full of daughters; these Indian girls are beautiful and much respected; several of the creoles have desired to marry them, but the father is displeased with the whites, and refuses to permit his daughter to marry any but a man of their own race. The house was furnished better than any Indian's house we had met; their beds were neatly curtained; floors partly carpeted; neat white hamacs and table cloths. One of the daughters was decidedly beautiful; her complexion white and clear, with regular features; her eyes large and deep black, like her hair; she was of middle size, with a most perfect figure; hands and feet exquisitely shaped, and teeth perfectly white; her manner was modest and shrinking, while, at the same time, she spoke Spanish remarkably well; attention had been paid to her education. This family of Indians were more respected by both white and red than any other in the Beni; yet the father would have as little to do as possible with the authorities. He was a leading man among the Indians, and did not hesitate to make them acquainted with his opinion of the wrongs every day practised against the tribe. We were unfortunate in not seeing this man; upon inquiring, it was found he would not remain at his farm, but was visiting about the country among the Indians.
Near the town there is a grove of large tamarind trees, planted by the Jesuits. Under the shade of one of them some carpenters were hewing a large canoe, like the one we descended in from Vinchuta. When complete, it will be worth from thirty-five to forty dollars.
The floods rise up into the streets of Loreto, and the church floor is so damp they have commenced a raised foundation for another alongside of it.
The southeast winds were exceedingly raw and wet during our two days' stay at Loreto, so we had a poor opportunity to see the inhabitants. They keep their houses during these cold, damp days; such weather is the most pleasant for travelling. We returned to Trinidad by the same and only road, which continues on to Santa Cruz, through a wild country.
In the month of June, sometimes fresh winds blow from the northwest, over the bottom of the Madeira Plate, veering often to north and northeast; but this is seldom the case. When the wind is from the northwest, the thermometer ranges at 82° in the morning, and as high as 90° in the afternoon. Although the dust is very much disturbed by it, the population sit out of doors in the calm, clear evenings after the wind goes down with the sun. This wind seldom exceeds three consecutive days; it then changes, and blows from southeast, rather lighter, but brings fogs. Rain falls from the clouds; and, in the latter part of June, during these winds, the thermometer falls as low as 66° in the morning and 70° in the afternoon. The natives then shut their doors, and keep in from the street; their cotton camecitas are doubled, or one of bark cloth put on. The Indians suffer for the want of proper clothing; they shiver, and are perfectly helpless until this wind changes to the northwest, when the town becomes enlivened again—the southeast winds being wet winds and the northwest winds dry. These two currents appear to be struggling against each other. The northwest winds appear like water-carriers going back with dry buckets; as they pass the town of Trinidad, the southeast winds are pushed out of the way, and after they have passed, then the southeast winds come up like a train of watering pots, and down drizzles the rain, and the dry atmosphere, as well as the hot soil, becomes cooled and watered. The rains are seldom heavy in the month of June, nor are the winds strong except in puffs from the southeast. We have never witnessed such regularity in the distribution of heat and cold as we find in the Madeira Plate. The dry and wet winds are independent of the dry and wet seasons. The trees here ripen their fruits, while, at the same time, they put forth fresh buds and blossoms. Vegetable life goes on in rapid succession, and seems to be as regular as the year in and out. In the month of July, the southeast winds blow a little fresher, and sometimes veer round to the southwest. The northwest wind often commences to blow light from northeast and north; and in this month the wind from northwest is much fresher than it is in June. They come back as though showing some temper at the manner in which the southeast winds crowd up. While the northwest winds blow, the thermometer ranges at 76° in the morning, and 82° in the afternoon. The northeast winds are warmer than the northwest winds, both being dry winds. During the southeast winds the thermometer sometimes stands as low as 62° at 9 a. m., and 67° at 3 p. m. The southwest breezes are generally a little warmer than the southeaster, with lightning flashing among them—both wet winds. After a fresh wind from southeast, we may expect one from northwest; this wind appears very fighty at times.
In August the northwest current often increases to a gale in the struggle with its opponent, and the thermometer rises as high as 80° in the morning, and 90° at 3 p. m. When the wind from the southeast gets the upper hand, it knocks down the thermometer as low as 73° at 9 a. m., and 81° in the afternoon.