Richards shot at four wild geese with his carbine and single ball; two of the geese flew off, leaving the others very much frightened. The geese flew across a small snow-water lake. These birds are white, the ends of wing and tail being black, with red bills and legs, as large as the domestic goose, though not so tender. Tadpoles, but no fish, were to be seen. Wild ducks kept at a distance. The llama is pasturing and giving birth to its young close under the perpetual snow line. The alpaca and huanacos—species of the llama—are in numbers also. Llamas occupy the useful position among the aboriginal race of South America, that the camel does to the wandering man in Arabia. These animals carry loads of one hundred pounds, over roads too dangerous for the mule or the ass, and climb mountains difficult for man. They are principally used for conveying silver from the mines. The Indians are very fond of them; though they drive them with a whip, it is seldom used; when one lags behind or lies down on the road, the Indian talks to it, and persuades it to forget its fatigues and get up again. They hang little bells about their graceful necks, and decorate the tips of their ears with bits of colored ribbon. Their disposition, like those of their masters, are gentle and inoffensive, except when too much hurried; then they cast, saliva at the Indians, or at each other; this is their only offence; it is thought to be poisonous. They require very little food, which they pick up on the mountains, and are much more temperate than their drivers; they require very little water. Their loads are taken off at mid-day, so that they may feed. I am told that they never eat at night. They seek the cold regions of the Andes; nature has provided them with a warm fleece of wool, and they need no shelter. Though they are feeble animals, their usual daily travel is about 15 miles; but after three or four days journey, they must have rest or they perish on the road. The motion of the head and neck as they cross the mountain crags may be likened to that of the swan, as it floats over smooth water. The wool makes good coarse cloth, of various colors, seldom all of one color. The huanaco is known by its being rather larger than the llama; it is said to be difficult to train, even if taken young. It never gives up its ideas of liberty, and will regain its companions whenever an opportunity admits.
The alpaca is the smallest, with the finest long wool; its body resembles the sheep, with the head and neck of the llama. José tells me they are good to eat, but like the others the meat is not very palatable. The alpaca wool is well known in the markets; the Indians make clothing of it, and trade it off on the coast. In this department, and further south, great numbers of these new world camels are raised. It has been remarked that they seek the south side of the mountains; probably there is less evaporation than on the north side, and the pasture is more fresh and inviting. Barley is generally raised on the north side of the mountain.
After a long and tiresome descent we halted in the main plaza of the town of Huancavelica, in front of a small shop on the corner. Drawing out a letter of introduction to the owner of the house, given to me by his friend, my Copenhagen "countryman," I handed it to a very pretty young woman, seated in the doorway, sewing. She invited me in, and I followed to the bed-room of her husband, who was napping. There were so many female dresses hanging around I was obliged to be seated on the bed. The husband shook hands, rubbed his eyes, gaped, and then laughed. He said he was very glad to see me, that everything in the house was mine. Our baggage was put into a room, and preparations at once made for dinner. While I was resting, an officer, with a gold-laced cap, gray trowsers, and a half-buttoned military jacket, came in, and inquired from whence I came, and as he was a lieutenant of police, he would thank me to show him my passport. In return I inquired, whether, in his opinion, the world was not sufficiently civilized to permit people to pass without such documents. It is very certain the lieutenant never had such a question put to him before. I told him to call when my baggage was unpacked, but I never saw him again, though I heard that Don — had said, "North Americans required different treatment from those of some other parts of the world; they did not know what passports meant, notwithstanding they were a very intelligent people!"
Don — keeps a gambling house, where hot coffee and ice cream may be had by applying at the shop, attended by his pretty little wife. All the ladies in town visit in the evening to refresh themselves after promenade, while the Spanish Creoles spend their time at a game called "Monte," until day-light in the morning. This is a hotel, so far as eating and drinking goes, and the only house of the kind in the town kept by a Spaniard. The house was established after the marriage of the young couple, and is thought a good business, though the bride may be disgusted with her laborious life, even amidst so much ice cream, during the honey-moon.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.
ALPACAS ON THE CORDILLERAS NEAR HUANCAVELICA, Peru.
The town of Huancavelica has a population of about 8,000, and is situated in a deep ravine, amidst a cluster of lofty peaks. It is the capital of the department, and was named by the Incas. The ravine runs east and west, with an average width of one mile. A small stream flows through it to the east. Thermal springs, of 82° Fahrenheit, found in the vicinity. The town is divided into two parishes; counts six churches, a hospital, and college for young men, in which physics, chemistry, and mineralogy are taught. The plaza is adorned with a fountain of stone. A cathedral stands by the side of the mountain of Cinnebar, which contains the celebrated quicksilver mine of Santa Barbara. Climbing up this mountain, we came to a door-way 15 feet high and 12 wide, carved in the sand-stone. The entrance on the southwest side of the peak was like a railroad tunnel. The eternal glaciers are at this door-way. Icicles hung overhead, and sheets of ice spread under our feet. Sooty-faced, rough-looking Indians trundled wheelbarrows loaded with quicksilver ore. As the administrador, a tall, smallpox-marked mestizo, said to me—We are all ready, sir, to escort you through the mines of Huancavelica—I felt as though he was going to say, to be buried alive. We entered this dark hole, about 600 feet below the top of the mountain. As we left daylight, I thought of home; then I heard a dreadful crash, which the mestizo informed me was the upper part of the mine falling in. A hollow sound was followed by a splash in the deep waters somewhere below; then came suddenly a strong smell of sulphuret of arsenic. A little further on I saw a pair of eyes through the darkness. I called to Richards to hold his torchlight; we were travelling east-northeast by my compass; the eyes belonged to a little Indian boy standing on the side of the mine, with a load of ore on his back, while we passed; he had come through a narrow passage called "Take off your horns," on his hands and knees, and had raised a choking dust. After refreshing ourselves at a spring of water of 50° temperature, we passed into a plaza, where the market women sell to those men who seldom leave the mines. On one side of this plaza, by holding the torches over our heads, we see a beautiful bridge, and beyond it a stairway leading into utter darkness; on the other side a lake—the opposite shore not in sight, though the sound of a hammer floats over its smooth water. As we move along among red brick-colored columns, which support the immense weight overhead, we see a dim torch by the side of the workman, seated with his hammer and chisel, cutting away and honey-combing the Andes. The administrador tells me we are half way through; if I wish to climb up stairs, we can get near the peak. Turn which way we will, we find a road to travel. I told him to be pleased to keep as near a level as possible. He halted, and after some words to the Indian guide, he said he had taken the wrong road, and must go back some distance. After bumping our heads, and walking doubled up in a most tiresome position, with great want of fresh air, we finally stood up in the San Rosario church, which is rotundo-shaped, with a height of 100 feet to the ceiling. Over the altar was carved, in solid cinnebar, the Virgin Mary, with the Infant in her arms. As the Indians pass, with hat in hand, they turn, and, kneeling under their heavy loads of ore, say a short prayer, cross themselves, and pass on by the light always burning at the altar. The laboring Indian, who seldom leaves these dark regions, attends when the church bell calls, and offers up prayer for protection from the dangers of the mine. On a Sunday evening, in this rotundo, he meets his countrymen, who work on the opposite side of the lake; they tell of seeing daylight at the point of the chisel overhead, instead of driving it farther towards the bowels of the earth.