Cuyaba is between 15° and 16° south latitude. The river from that town flows south, winding through a rich country, more than one thousand miles, to the south Atlantic ocean. Any road, constructed of wood, iron, or water, which passes through that latitude, must exhibit great varieties of vegetable growth. At Cuyaba, the coffee and chocolate tree flourish. There is nothing to do but plant and gather. At the mouth of the river La Plata neither of these plants will grow. The planter must study his heights above the sea-level, or reckon his distances from the equator, as the sailors do, and plant those crops which are congenial to the climate he lives in; watching also carefully on which side of the hills he sows barley or plants sugar-cane; for if he gets them both on the same side, one will fail.
The country at the mouth of these great rivers—Paraguay and La Plata—is a grazing country; their trade is in hides, tallow, and glue. The drover has no time to plant, sow, or gather grain; he would rather exchange hides for flour manufactured where wheat is produced. He will give beef for coffee and sugar, which he cannot grow. He wants copper boilers to prepare tallow, and the bark of the up-country to tan hides. The climate at the mouth of the river for half the year is cold; the "pampero" winds blow across the pampas of Buenos Ayres from the frosty regions of Patagonia, where the hills are covered with snow, and icebergs float along the coast. The drover, therefore, requires the wool of the table-lands, vicuña hats, and cotton; he can make his own shoes and boots, but his wife has no time to spin wool and knit his stockings, even if she knew how. The merchants at the mouth of the river do business with ships that come from all parts of the world.
The cattle on the pampas of Buenos Ayres and Brazil suffer for want of salt. They who prepare the beef of the southern provinces for the markets of the northern parts of South America, require both salt and saltpetre.
The train of mules behind which we travel are partly loaded with cakes of salt from the plains of Potosi, which the Indian arriero says was produced from a lake of water formed by a mountain stream. When he is questioned closely, as though it was doubtful about the salt being produced from a fresh-water stream, he very knowingly looks up and says: "If I take my hoe and lead the upper waters between the rows of my potatoes the lake will produce no salt."
The people inhabiting the rainy regions are much troubled with a swelling in the neck and throat, called goitre, which they attribute to the absence of salt in the water.
The Indians of the desert of Atacama, where the rains are not hard enough to wash away the earth from off the rock salt, lead small streams directly over a vein of salt with their hoes, so that their cattle may fatten the quicker on a poor pasture-ground.
The mule, Rose, has carried me nearly two thousand miles, and is in better order now than after she had travelled in a drove from Tucuman in the Argentine republic, in latitude 27° south, through the mountainous regions to Lima. She is the admiration of all good judges, from the arriero down. The reason she has kept in good order, while the mules throughout our route, from Lima to Oruro, look so miserable, is because José constantly gives her salt, and I observe it is not the general custom of the country to do so. The good old padre we met in the montaña of Cuzco was an exception. He called his cattle from the woods to offer salt. The moment they heard his voice the bulls came rushing out as though they were angry with him. It was a beautiful sight to see the fierce-looking animals halt in front of the old gentleman, robed in his clerical garments, and gratefully lick salt from his hands; afterwards rubbing their horns against his legs by way of thanking him. He did not seem to like this much. It may be mentioned in confidence, padres in these countries sometimes go about without trousers.
I met an intelligent gentleman, Mr. Mauricio Bach, who had spent some years in the province of Chiquitos, and to him I am indebted for much information.
Mr. Bach travelled by land from Rio Janeiro to Bolivia; he was fresh from his own country, and was so much impressed with the value of the lands, productions, and climate of Chiquitos, that he remained there some years, during which time he had a fair chance of judging it. He told me that the route through Brazil is inhabited by some savage Indians; on the plains herds of cattle are raised, and there was much wood. He passed over with a large party, who were prepared to protect themselves from the unfriendly Indians; but at the present day the mail from Rio Janeiro reaches Cuyaba every month.
The town of Santiago, in the southern part of Chiquitos, is situated on a hill of the same name, and has a population of 1,380. The climate is delightfully fresh, healthy, and compares well with Chiquisaca, with the difference that the air is not so dry in Santiago; it is free from all troublesome insects also. The country is well watered. The streams which flow into the river Oluquis contain gold, silver, signs of cinnibar, and a suspicion of precious stones. In the forests are ornamental woods and medicinal plants. To the south of Santiago the country is thickly wooded with a great variety of palm-trees. In the plains the pasture affords a plentiful supply of cattle and horses already there. The soil is so fertile that the products of both the torrid and temperate zones may be produced, from chocolate to the wheat and sugar crops. On the river Agua Caliente Mr. Oliden, in the year 1836, established a town, and called it Florida, over the ruins of the old settlement of Santiago, where the Jesuits first established themselves in this wilderness. The Indians built large wooden houses, cleared the land, and raised an abundant crop of rice, superior to that of Bengal.