The Indians use more coca here than elsewhere, and seem to injure their health by chewing such quantities. Those living in the city are thin and miserable-looking, in comparison with the country people. The Indians seem to be much neglected; when they are sick, they wait patiently until they die or get better. The charges of medical men are high; Indians cannot afford to employ a Doctor. The native physicians are generally the most moderate, and understand the climate the best. There are a few foreigners in Cuzco, among them a French baker. The people seem as fond of talking with him as they are of eating his bread.
The city abounds with shop keepers and tailors, who pass their days in the sun. As the twilight commences, the street doors are closed, and the town presents a dark and doleful appearance. Here and there a lamp is hung out in front of eating, government, and gambling houses. The young men play billiards at a sort of club, where the room is decorated with a likeness of Napoleon Bonaparte on one side, and George Washington on the other. A Frenchman keeps the house.
The French are much the most popular foreigners. They soon marry a country woman, and adopt the manners and customs of the Spaniards. An Englishman don't manage so well; one may mistake a Frenchman, who has been in the country a long time, for a Spaniard; but the florid English face declares his nation at first sight. John Bull seems delighted with an opportunity to speak English, while the French tongue seems slung for Spanish. The Frenchman practises the courtesies and habits of these people; introduces his wife and all the children to you. He seems settled for life; the other talks constantly of returning to old England. He is more active, sometimes cultivates the soil, or is engaged in mining. Since my return from the Madre-de-Dios, a young Englishman gathering bark, with a party of Quichua Indians, in a southeasterly direction from San Miguel farm, were all murdered by the Chunchos.
The mail arrives and leaves Cuzco for Lima, and other places, twice a week. There are two mail routes to and from Lima; one inland through Ayacucho and Huancavelica, distant 189 leagues; the other by the English steamer from Callao to Yslay, thence through Arequipa. This is the most expeditious route; the distance from Cuzco to Arequipa is 95 leagues.
October 28, 1851.—Our baggage well covered with tarpaulins. José's saddle wallets received two roasted chickens, a leg of mutton, and a large cheese fresh from the dairy, a present from the kind lady of the house. This is the custom of the country. José tells me, as we follow our train out of Cuzco, when guests are treated in this way, they may be sure they are considered friends of the family. The hospitality of this country is conspicuous and delicate.
The arrieros contract to go from post-house to post-house, on the road south. I was recommended to go by the post, instead of engaging mules for so long a distance. Although the change of mules is desirable, the daily change of arrieros is not; the men work best after they become accustomed to us.
The Indians are ploughing in barley and hoeing corn. The crops suffer for want of rain in the valley. The road is very dusty. We halted for the night in the small town of Oropesa, and for the first time took up quarters in a Peruvian post-house. The moment Paititi entered the patio, he began to war with the dogs. The house consisted of one story and one room. Travellers take a house; we had a table and three chairs, made of the wood of the montaña; in the corners were earthen couches for beds. The walls were dirty, painted with pictures of angels and saints. The ground floor was swept for us. As we took our tea, Paititi sat in the doorway looking on. I felt a flea. The entrance to the corral where the post-mules were kept, was opposite the kitchen, where two large black hogs were feeding. In the doorway was seated the fat, homely wife of the postman. The smoke of the kitchen fire gracefully flowed out over her shaggy head; she was a very cross-looking woman. One of her hogs came near, and Paititi gave him a snap in the ham; she mumbled out something revengeful, while the jolly postman laughed and praised our spirited watch-dog.
In the morning at 7, thermometer 58°, the postman came to say good morning, and inquire how we passed the night, as though he did not know how full of fleas his house was. After breakfast he left his sour-looking wife, and accompanied us to the next post. The custom is to pay fare in advance. Paititi gave the fat woman's sow a farewell nip, and we marched on.
As we rise the side of the small mountain of rocks and red clay, we look down upon a lake of clear water, in which a flock of wild ducks are bathing. Beyond its green shores, we see lucerne, cornfields, and haciendas surrounded with willow trees, near the base of barren hills. This is the eastern end of the valley of Cuzco, which is about five leagues long, and two miles wide in some places. It is thickly inhabited and well cultivated. Our course lay along the western bank of the Urubamba river, a tributary of the Santa Ana. The waters glide swiftly on northward. The river is straight, thirty yards wide, with little fall; rocky bottom, and muddy water. The stream passes between two ranges of hills. In places the valley is half a mile wide; then again there is just room enough for the river and our road. Here the shores are of black rock, then of gravel, then clay breaking down perpendicularly, or with a long sandy beach. While the wild ducks feed upon the water, the snipe seeks his food along the shore. Small fish and tadpoles are plenty; but we saw no large fish in or out of the water.
The town of Quiquijana has a population of two thousand Indians. They cultivate the soil as high up the mountain-sides as the producing line; raise sheep and cattle. Mules are very fine-looking here. Where the lucerne is not in blossom, we feed our mules with corn-fodder, and they travel the better for it. Unripe lucerne weakens the animals. There is an elevation above the sea at which barley grows, but never produces grain. The stalk is very much liked by the mules, either green or dry. On the flats it is raised and stored away for the dry summer season, when the parching sun destroys the pastures.