A few cattle and sheep are raised, and the Indians lead streams of water over the veins of salt, which help to refresh and fatten their cattle.
In the ravines through which the tributaries of the Rio Loa flow towards the Pacific, some barley, maize, potatoes, and fruit-trees are produced by irrigation; wherever in the barren countries these Indians can get a little water, they are enabled to make a crop of something for use.
In former days, gold mines were worked in Atacama, on the Pacific side of the Cordilleras; silver, iron, and copper, of excellent quality, are found there also.
The guano along the coast was known and used for manuring land by the Incas before the discovery of the country by Europeans.
Bidding farewell to the Pacific side of the Andes, we enter the small village of Challa for the night. The only conspicuous thing in sight was a large steeple, with a small church tacked on to the heel, built of mud and stone. The place looks miserable, yet the Indians appear cheerful, and of a lighter complexion. Some of them speak Quichua. José was told there are no more Aymara Indians to the east of us.
December 9, 1851.—At 7 a. m., we found a heavy frost on the ground. Thermometer, 41°; wet bulb, 36°. This observation is made on the very edge of the Madeira Plata. Water flows to the east of where we are standing.
The country round is thrown up into confused and rough shapes, uninhabited by man or beast. Great rocks stand clear and clean of soil. Not a living bush or green leaf to be seen, nor a bird in the air. The day is calm and warm.
The bright sun shines on the east side of the peaks, and in the shade, on the west side, there is frost. When the sun passes the meridian, the frost disappears until after night, when it is first seen on the east side. While the sun is on his trip to the south, and the rains are falling, the frost may be found deep down in the ravines and valleys; the traveller passes over it in the road, and it lays all day long on the tops of the Andes.
Descending a steep, winding road, we were surprised at the sudden appearance of flowers, patches of grain, Quichua Indians, and the most delightful air we ever breathed. Getting down from our mules, we followed them on foot. A comfortable temperature makes a man want to feel his legs again.
At midday, the thermometer stood at 66° in the shade. A small stream trickling over rocks, coated over with a green slime, had a temperature of 107°. One flowing into it, at a temperature of 70°, had an iron-red coating over the stones. The mingled waters of the two showed a temperature of 104°.