From the small town of Chuiento we see the snow-capped mountains in Bolivia, on the other side of the lake—the loftiest mountains in the New World; with their silvery heads they cool the eastern winds; we are bewildered amidst these great works, while looking on with awe. José cannot understand the language of these Indians. We are among the Aymara tribe, who were subdued by Capac Tupanqui, the fifth Inca, but never adopted the Quichua language. José thinks there is little use in going among people that we cannot talk to. He says that his countrymen have often told him these people are very savage, or they might speak Spanish or Quichua! Richards tried English, but it was of no avail; they only laughed! Their manners, customs, dress, and general appearance is nearly the same as those of the Quichua tribes. The women are a little more chunky and rather better featured; they are cheerful, and they look up more—the usual effect of beauty all the world over. The men chew less coca, are stronger for it, and have a much more healthy appearance than the men of Cuzco. As far as I can see, there is very little sickness about Lake Titicaca.
The governor of the town sent to the post-house for our passports; they seem to be very particular with persons going south; he read, signed, and returned it by the postman. Inquisitive people go to the governor's house on an arrival, and after he reads the passport he passes it round. This is the way the arrivals are published here. On one occasion I unintentionally offended a roomful of men, by pocketing my papers as soon as the proper person had read them. It is the custom for travellers to present and read each other's passports on the road; you thus tell your nation, occupation, whence you came, and your destination—a very good foundation for a travelling conversation. Through the United States chargé d'affaires in Lima, passports from the government of Peru to all prefects in the departments through which I passed in South Peru overtook me. Passports from the supreme government are rare in these inland towns, and are read with the more interest.
The post-houses are becoming more respectable; some of them are papered, and near the bed and on the seats pieces of carpets are laid. The postmen are white creoles, with pretty wives; and the arrieros are dignified as postillions. Passing through the towns of Ocora and Ylave, we put up at Juli, which is situated, like the other towns along the lake, on a knoll with a perpendicular bank, rough and rocky, standing out into the water. The lofty Nevada de Sorata is in full view, said to be 25,380 feet above the level of the sea.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.
VIEW OF NEVADA DE SORATA, FROM THE WEST SHORE OF LAKE TITICACA, Peru.
November 17, 1851.—At mid-day, air 51°; lake water 65°; wind east, right off the snow ridge opposite; temperature of a spring 54°. After leaving Juli the road turned among the hills to the right. We passed the night at Tambilla post-house, which stands alone at the base of the hills between us and the lake, inhabited by the postman, his postillions, and some Indian women cooks, who made us mutton soup, with potatoes. The plain is alive with cattle, sheep, llamas, horses, mules, and jackasses. The pasture is somewhat fresher. The wind draws through the valley from the north and is uncomfortably cold.
An Indian spade was leaning against the door-post, and while Richards stood intently looking at it, with his hands in his pockets, the Indians were closely watching him and talking to each other, as though surprised a spade should attract so much attention. At the end of a crooked stick of wood a rude iron plate, narrow and long, was fastened by a strip of raw hide; near the lashing was fastened, also in the same way, a cow's horn, on which the digger placed his foot. This spade is used for digging the soil on the side of the hill where the plough and oxen cannot go. In the wet lowlands long poles, shod with small iron plates, are used. One man pushes his pole into the earth, another puts in crosswise, and while they both pry up, a third, on his knees, turns the sod over with his hands. In this way they ridge the meadows and sow on the polled ground. The barley comes to head with very long beards, but bears no grain.