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By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

LLAMAS TRAVERSING THE ANDES LADEN WITH SILVER.

EXPLORATION OF THE VALLEY OF THE AMAZON

EXPLORATION
OF THE
VALLEY OF THE AMAZON,
MADE UNDER DIRECTION OF
THE NAVY DEPARTMENT,
BY

WM. LEWIS HERNDON AND LARDNER GIBBON,
LIEUTENANTS UNITED STATES NAVY.

PART II.
BY Lt. LARDNER GIBBON.

WASHINGTON:
A. O. P. NICHOLSON, PUBLIC PRINTER.
1854.

MESSAGE FROM THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES,
TRANSMITTING
THE SECOND PART OF LIEUTENANT HERNDON'S REPORT OF THE EXPLORATION OF THE VALLEY OF THE AMAZON.

January 6, 1854.—Resolved, That there be printed, for the use of the members of the House, ten thousand extra copies of the report of the Secretary of the Navy communicating the reports of the exploration of the river Amazon and its tributaries, made by Lieutenants Herndon and Gibbon, with the accompanying maps and plates.

April 13, 1854.—Resolved, That there be printed twenty thousand additional copies of the reports of the surveys and explorations of the river Amazon, with the plates and maps accompanying, by Lieutenants Herndon and Gibbon—two hundred and fifty copies for distribution by Lieutenant Herndon, and two hundred and fifty copies by Lieutenant Gibbon, and the remainder for the use of the members of the House.

To the Senate and House of Representatives:

I herewith transmit a communication from the Secretary of the Navy, accompanied by the second part of Lieut. Herndon's Report of the Exploration of the Valley of the Amazon and its tributaries, made by him, in connexion with Lieut. Lardner Gibbon, under instructions from the Navy Department.

FRANKLIN PIERCE.

Washington, February 10, 1854.

Navy Department, February 10, 1854.

To the President.

Sir: In compliance with the notice heretofore given and communicated to Congress at its last session, I have the honor herewith to transmit the second part of the Report of the "Exploration of the Valley of the Amazon, made under the direction of the Navy Department, by William Lewis Herndon and Lardner Gibbon, lieutenants of the United States Navy."

The first part of the exploration referred to was transmitted to Congress by the Executive on the 9th of February, 1853, and has been printed. (See "Senate Executive No. 36, 32d Congress, 2d session.") The second part, which completes the report, is the result of the labors of Lieutenant Lardner Gibbon, after his separation at Tarma, on the 20th June, 1851, from Lieutenant Herndon, the senior officer of the exploring party.

I have the honor to be, with the highest consideration, your obedient servant,

J. C. DOBBIN.

Washington, D. C., February 7, 1854.

Sir: I have the honor to submit, herewith, a report of an exploration of the countries drained by certain tributaries of the Amazon, made by Lieutenant Gibbon during the years 1851-'52.

It will be recollected by the department that, at Tarma, in Peru, I divided my party, and confided a portion of it to Mr. Gibbon's direction. This report is the result of Mr. Gibbon's labors consequent upon that division, and will form Part II of the "Exploration of the Valley of the Amazon."

I have the honor to be, very respectfully, your obedient servant,

WM. LEWIS HERNDON,
Lieutenant U. S. Navy.

Hon. James C. Dobbin,
Secretary of the Navy, Washington.

Washington, D. C., January 25, 1854.

Sir: By instructions, a report, accompanied by maps and sketches of scenery in South Peru, Bolivia, and Madeira river, in Brazil, made by me to the Navy Department, is herewith submitted.

Very respectfully, your obedient servant,

LARDNER GIBBON,
Lieutenant U. S. Navy.

Lieut. William L. Herndon, U. S. N.,
Commanding Amazon Exploring Expedition, Washington.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF PLATES.

PREFACE.

Washington City, January 25, 1854.

Sir: A Passed Midshipman, suddenly drawn from duty at the National Observatory, in Washington, to enter upon an exploration of distant lands and rivers, among strange and divers people, will not be expected to furnish a polished report of observations made under many disadvantages.

In revising notes, hastily scribbled upon a mule's back, on mountains, or in a canoe, the writer has endeavored to present familiar images of the objects he saw, as they impressed him at the time, leaving intelligent readers to draw their own conclusions from his facts, or the best information he could gain from reliable sources on the route.

The statesman, the planter, the merchant, the farmer, the manufacturer, or the artisan, can estimate, from every-day occurrences, in what manner habits and customs of inhabitants of the southern continent, or productions of its climates, lands, rivers, forests, and mines, may advantage the industry or promote the enterprise of the people of the United States of North America.

Being limited by instructions, the writer commences his observations at the division of the naval party at Tarma, in Peru, and closes them on reaching the mouth of the Madeira river, in Brazil.

Descriptions of fishes collected from snow-water lakes and streams in Peru or Bolivia, and from rivers in Brazil, botanical specimens, varieties of birds, different ores, earth, and metals procured on the journey, are unavoidably omitted.

Very respectfully, your obedient servant,

LARDNER GIBBON,
Lieutenant U. S. Navy.

Hon. James C. Dobbin,
Secretary of the Navy, Washington.

CHAPTER I.

Tarma—Inca road—Juaga valley—Quichua Indians—Trade—Juaja river—Snow mountains—Stone bridge and stone coal—Temperature of springs—Llamas—Lieutenant of police—Quicksilver mines of Huancavelica—Wool growing—Molina Posta, or country tavern—Silver mines of Castro-Virreyna—Population of Huancavelica—Its mineral productions—Sand-stone pyramids—Chicha and chupe—A New-Englander among the Andes—Fruits and flowers of Huanta—Blacksmiths.

Tarma, a small town in Peru, by alpha and beta, Centauri, in latitude 11° 25' south, is situated in a rich, well-cultivated, narrow valley, between the Andes range of mountains on the east, and the lofty Cordillera chain on the west.

On the 9th of July 1851, the writer turned southeast, accompanied by Henry C. Richards, a native of Virginia, in the United States, and José Casas, of Spanish descent, native of Peru.

A volunteer mestizo, Arriero, with his little son, drove a train of mules which carried the baggage.

Our path was shaded by willow trees, and the way obstructed with droves of llamas, loaded with rock salt from mines in the neighborhood.

The leaves of the trees seemed calling for water, while the temperature of the air, at mid-day, in the shade, was 68° Fahrenheit. Peach and apple-tree leaves doubled up, showing both their edges to the sun; the fruit is small, oblong, and unthrifty-looking.

The ravine through which we ascend is thickly populated with Quichua Indians. Their houses are built of stone and mud, and thatched with coarse mountain grasses.

The natives are busily employed gathering in the harvest of maize, which is small-grained and of four colors, red, white, yellow, and blue. It is of excellent quality, generally used as food, roasted or parched.

Potatoes, of which there are numerous varieties, are also now gathered; they grow in perfection, though much smaller than their descendants in the United States.

The little estates—chacras—are owned by descendants of Spaniards, Indians, or Mestizos, the latter a cross between the two former.

In almost all cases the cultivation of the soil is performed by the aborigines, at wages from ten to twenty cents a day.

As we rise above the foliage, the mountain tops begin to look wild and barren, with rocks and red clay; below we have a beautiful view of the town of Tarma, amidst its green trees and pasture fields. My mule, Rose, pants for breath; she is so fat and plump that the climbing troubles her.

On the mountain-side is seated a fine looking Indian, blowing a semicircular shaped trumpet, made of a number of cow's horns, stripped one into the other, with the joints sealed; he don't seem to be so particular as to the tune, as he does to the distance he may be heard, and he makes the valley ring. José thinks he is trying to blow up a wedding with a fair one among the flowers below. The Indians celebrate harvest-time with merry-making. Their meals are cooked in the fields, where their kitchen utensils are carried. They have music and dancing in the barley stubble. It is amusing to see these happy people enjoying themselves in the open air. As we pass, the reapers are seated near the road, in a barley field, at dinner, upon the ground, in rows one behind another, laughing and talking among themselves. When we meet them they are very civil, modest, and unassuming in manners. The men carry enormous loads of barley or wheat on their backs, while the women drive the loaded ass, and sling the children over their own shoulders. Their horses, mules, sheep, horned cattle, pigs, and dogs, are all admitted, together with the family, into the harvest field; while the father reaps, and the mother gathers, the boys tend the flocks, and the older girls take care of the babies and do the cooking, while at the same time they spin woollen yarn by hand, for stockings. One of them offered a pair for sale at twenty-five cents, which were nearly long enough for trowsers. They are always employed, go to bed early, and rise before the sun, as their Incas taught them to do.

At the top of the mountain, not a house or tree was to be seen, and no sign of cultivation. On tufts of coarse mountain grass, a flock of sheep were grazing; some of them merinos, and of good size. Their wool is sent to Lima, where it is sold, to be exported around Cape Horn, to the manufacturers in the North.

To the east is a snow-peaked mountain, and as the moon rises, as if from the Atlantic ocean, we are followed by a cold north wind. The sky is clear and of a deep blue. On our left we see the remains of an ancient Peruvian road, used in the times of the Incas. It is said that good roads are marks of civilization; could my mule, Rose, give her opinion, she would certainly decide in favor of the Inca road, in preference to those found in Peru at the present time. These remains show a width of thirty feet of rock pavement, with well placed curbstones on each side. Where the road has considerable inclination, rows of stone are placed across, higher than the general level of the pavement, so that it appears like a stair-way on the side of a hill. That it was not a coach road is no argument against it; it was before the horse, the ass, or the cow were introduced into South America from Europe. It was constructed for the Indian and his llama, the surest of the sure-footed and, therefore, the improvement speaks well for the civilization of those times of which we have but a traditionary record.

Passing over a plain on the mountain top, there was a cistern by the side of our path, where water is caught during the rainy season to supply the thirsty in the dry. The rainy season commences here about the middle of September—sometimes later—and lasts six months. The remainder of the year is dry.

Night had overtaken us where not a living thing was to be seen, except a black eagle, returning to its roosting-place under overhanging rocks, on the west side of a lofty peak. Our little tent was pitched; the baggage piled up and covered at the door; the mules let free for the night to feed upon the mountain grass around us. A fire was kindled, and water from a small spring heated, and tea was made. José produced bread and cheese from his saddle-wallets; placed them upon a clean cloth over a trunk; looking into the tent, he says, very slowly, "Señor! La hora de cenar," (Sir, it is the supper hour.) Both men and beasts seem tired; we have ascended all day. The first day's travel is always the most harassing. Our arriero, Francisco, a mestizo, is a small, slim built man, with respectful manners; he and his little son Ignacio keep watch by turns over the mules. The little boy is out while his father gets supper. The night was clear and cold; the moon shining brightly. The world is not so silent in the middle of the ocean. I do not think I heard anything; I almost listened to hear the globe turn upon its axis. Long after the people were asleep, I heard little Ignacio singing to himself, wrapped up in his homespun poncho, as he follows the mules.

At daylight in the morning we found heavy frosts and ice about us, with thermometer 24°, and wet bulb 30°. The mules were loaded; breakfast over; observations made; and we off, soon after sunrise. This is the way to travel at an elevation where we find no inhabitants.

The mountains are becoming more rounding, and covered with a fine sort of grass. Shepherdesses are following thousands of sheep and lambs. The girls spin wool and chat together, while the dogs follow lazily after. If we pass close to the flock, and the sheep run back, these dogs make a furious attack upon us, keeping between us and the flock. The temperature of a spring of excellent water near the path was 48°. To the southeast snow peaks stand up in full view. The day is warm and pleasant. Here comes a cheerful party of ladies and gentlemen on horseback. As we pass each other, the gentlemen take off their hats, and the ladies look prettily under their white straw ones. Their figures show to advantage in riding-dresses, and they manage and set their horses well. The cool mountain air gives them a fresh color, which contrasts well with gazelle-eyed beauty and long black hair. I thought their dresses rather short, but a sight of the foot of one of them, small as it was, reminds one there is proof positive against the propriety of a man's travelling through this world alone.

Now we meet the market Indian driving asses loaded with potatoes, corn, and saddles of mutton, to Tarma. I wanted some mutton for the party, but José was positively refused by an old woman, who got out of his way by twisting the tail of her donkey, who was disposed to come to a stand and be relieved of his load. I was told Indians scarcely ever sell except after they arrive in the plaza. I can account for it by the woman's wanting to go to town, for José offered her more than the market price.

At the end of a thickly populated valley, which stretches off to the southeast, we halted at an Indian hut for dinner. The wife was at home with her children—fine, healthy-looking little ones. Boiled mutton, potatoes, and eggs, with good wheat bread, were placed upon the ground at the door. The children and dogs formed an outside circle around us. After dinner the woman gave me an orange, which she said came from the woods, pointing to the Andes, to the east of us. Some of these Indians cross the range of mountains, and garden on the eastern slopes for the markets, on these table lands—Puna—as the Spaniards call the elevated flats.

The husband was threshing barley with his neighbors. The grain is separated from the straw by the tramping of oxen and horses. Over the surface of this level valley there are numbers of such threshing parties. The grain is cleared from the chaff by being poured from the top of a man's head on a windy day. Many of them suffer with inflamed eyes, and even lose them sometimes by a shift of wind, which blows the barley beards into the eyes.

Black cattle are numerous here, and at the foot of the mountains; so are white churches, which stand in the midst of a thick population of Indians. We met a number of tax-gatherers, going among the threshers, with silver-headed canes, receiving a measure of grain instead of contribution-money. They are old Indians, very well dressed, with a respectable, quaker-like air about them; broad-brimmed hats and standing collars. It is an active time also with the priests, who go abroad among the farmers for tithes. The valley is all activity, and merry are the people. Women are visiting about from place to place, astride of plump little jackasses. This is a plentiful season.

When the crops fail on these table lands, the suffering among the Indians is very great. Seeding time is in September, just before the rains commence. If there are hard frosts in February, the chances are that a famine follows.

Crossing a small ridge on the east, we came in full view of the great valley of Juaja, stretching away south. The snowy peaks are represented in a sketch from our camp near the town.

José's wife and children came to the tent, brought us supper, and lucerne for our mules. One of the sons, a fine-looking boy of eighteen, volunteered to go with me. José desired that I should let him go, and I had no objection; but when his mother came to ask me if I was not satisfied to take her husband without taking her son and only protector, I referred José and her son to her. She settled the case her own way, and gave me her blessing.

Juaja has a population of about 2,500 inhabitants. I say about, because there is no such thing as a census known at this elevation. The houses are built one story, of adobe walls, or of unburnt bricks, and tile roofs. The streets are well paved, and run at right angles with each other. A pretty little white-washed church stands upon the plaza, where the women sell their marketing and say their prayers. The Indians come to market and church at the same time; Sunday morning is the great market day. A drove of horses are most miserable-looking little rats; the horses of the lowlands and coasts are much their superiors.

Men live to a good old age in this climate; 70, 80, and 90 years are common; some have arrived at 120 and 130. I am under the impression that the Indians live longest. Mestizo and Spanish Creole girls have been known to bear children at 8 and 9 years of age.

The Spanish Creole population is small; they are generally shopkeepers, the only dealers in foreign goods, which are retailed to the Indians at enormous profits. They travel to Lima and purchase goods, which they use as an inducement to the Indians to work the silver mines, existing three leagues to the east of Juaja, in the Andes range, but which at present are little worked. The Indians prefer blue, in their dresses, to any other color, and consume considerable quantities of indigo. The demand for wax in the churches is of some account. Eggs and wool are the principal exports to Lima, and are carried over the Cordilleras on the backs of jackasses. Travellers do not know why they meet with so many bad eggs at breakfast in Lima. It is customary to pass them round the country as current money or coin for some time before they are sent to the coast to be eaten. Mrs. José says, three eggs will buy her a glass of brandy, or sixpence worth of anything in market. The carrying trade is superintended by the Indians.

The mestizos are shoemakers, blacksmiths, and saddlers. They seem fond of music and dancing, and assume the pride of a superior, and lord it over the honest Indian.

Our road lies through a rich valley, often four miles wide, and level as a floor. The mountains on both sides are dry and unproductive, except in the ravines. The half-yearly displacement of earth is very great; during the rainy season the mountain torrents come down from the summit loaded with soil. The decrease in the size of the mountains from the time of their creation to the present day, and the filling up of this basin, naturally leads one to wonder, whether the present valley was not once a lake. The Juaja river, which takes its rise in Lake Chinchaycocha to the north of Tarma, flows sluggishly and serpent-like through the whole length of the valley, and creeping through the Andes, suddenly rushes off at a rapid rate, as though sensible of its long journey, by the Ucayali and Amazon, to the Atlantic ocean. The bed of the river is half a mile wide, and in the wet season is probably eighteen feet deep. There is very little water in it now. The banks break down perpendicularly. The growth of small trees and flowers gives a fresh appearance to the valley, but the sun is very warm as we pace along the dusty road. The apple trees are about the size of raspberry bushes.

There are few varieties of birds in the valley; some pigeons and doves keep the table pretty well supplied. Little Ignacio takes great interest in the sport, and his sharp eyes are constantly on the look-out for a shot. By the river snipe are found; among the flowers, the humming bird is seen and heard.

Sketched by L. Gibbon.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

VIEW TO THE EAST OF JUAJA, Peru.

The road crosses a number of dry beds, streams of considerable size in the rainy season. There is only water enough, at present, for the washwomen, whose soap-suds spoil the water for our beasts. We pass through the village of San Lorenzo, and the small town of Concepcion. A death-like silence pervades these places; the people are in the fields, except some creoles, seated among the flowers in their neat little court-yards. The streets are narrow and the houses small. All the towns of the Puna are built pretty much after the same fashion, and of the same material; the only difference in their outward appearance being produced by the cultivation of foliage and flowers, where the soil and climate permit. When this is not the case, the town presents a stupid, uninteresting aspect. Children, dogs, and pigs, earthen pots, and beds of straw, surround a smoking fire on the ground floor of a one-roomed house. The smoke escapes through the door-way; the only opening for light or a change of air. During storms, or at night, the door is closed. One peep inside satisfies the North American he can find no rest there. But here, in the valley, the cooking is done under the trees, and the inmates of the house wander out in the shade. We have often noticed expressions of friendship between children and dogs; the latter shows his pleasure by wagging its tail, while the smiling child pulls his ears. The pig is the most restless creature at this height. While by himself, he is seen tossing up the bottom of the valley; when he sees the child and dog together, he gives a corkscrew motion to his tail, jumps and swings his body about with an inviting grunt to play. Before long he is laying on his side, with the child on top of him, while the dog is pawing and snapping at that laughable twist of the tail. The affection the different species of animals have, in these associations, is remarkable. The dog in any other place will sometimes kill and eat the sheep; here, he protects it by night and by day. The pig forms an attachment to the jackass, who leaves it, at this season of the year, for the female of its own kind. The ram becomes intimate with a horse or a bull, and it is with difficulty they can be separated. The lamb follows the Indian girl in direct disobedience of its mother's call. Domestic cats are few. They cannot live on high elevations.

There is no part of Peru which is more densely populated than the valley of Juaja. There, close under the mountains, on the east side, stands the town of Ocopa, with its convents and schools. From that place, missionaries have branched off in different directions to the forests in the east, at great risk of life and loss of all its comforts, to teach the savage red man how to change his manners, customs, and belief. Some have succeeded, others have failed, and were murdered or driven back by the battle-axe; their settlements destroyed by fire, and years of labor lost; yet some never tire!

Ignacio carries our tent pole across the pommel of his saddle. His thirsty mule ran between two others, loaded with baggage. The boy was swept off and dropped over the creature's heels in the middle of the stream. He regained his saddle in a short time. His father laughed at him, and took the pole himself.

In the centre of the valley are the remains of an ancient city; the ruins of stone walls were 12 feet high, and from 1 to 1½ foot thick. Those of the present day are generally adobe, from 3 to 4 feet thick. Some of the buildings have been round; others oblong, but generally square, 12 by 18 feet. The round ones are largest and best situated. The streets very irregular and narrow; no appearance of plaza, or church. The ruins extend half a mile north and south, and 200 yards east and west, on a knoll, which may have been an island before the Inca road was built, now hedged in on both sides with cactus. As the land about this ancient city is now cultivated as a corn-field, no remains of curious things could be found. The mason-work is very rough, but remains of mortar are there. How the houses were roofed is doubtful, but by the slanting down on the inner sides of the stones of those houses which were round, the mason work may have been carried up till it met at a point, which would give the house a sugar-loaf shape. Besides doorways, there were window openings.

Droves of jackasses pass, loaded with small raw-hide bags filled with quicksilver from the mines of Huancavelica, on their way to the silver mines of Cerro de Pasco.

On Saturday evening, July 12, 1851, we encamped on the south side of the town of Huancayo, and remained till Monday morning, giving the party their usual day of rest. Upon entering this town we saw the first signs of improvement in the construction of a stone bridge; the mason work compares well with that of more flourishing places. The men and cows of this place are larger than any we have seen. The people are very polite. The Indians oblige us with all we require, and seem interested in our industry. José asks permission to go to church, and for money to buy shoes. The singing of frogs reminds us of home. Some of the trees are much larger than those hitherto passed.

Marks of small-pox are seen among the people; but there are no chills and fevers here. Some of the women have dreadful swellings in their necks, called by them "cota," or goitre, caused by drinking bad water, or snow-water deprived of salts. But why this disease is generally confined to the women I cannot say, unless the men never drink water. It was very certain, from the noise after church, that they find something stronger. I do not think the people are generally dissipated, except on Sunday afternoons, when both sexes seem disposed to frolic. During the week they are otherwise employed.

Leaving the Juaja valley, we passed through a rough, hilly country. In barley stubbles ewes are giving lambs.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

ENCAMPED NEAR HUANCAYO, VALLEY OF JUAJA, Peru.

A woman planting beans after the plough, has her baby slung over her shoulders; by the noise it made, I doubt its partiality to beans. The plough is drawn by oxen, yoked by the horns. It is made of two pieces of wood—the handle and coulter are of one piece, into which is jointed the beam; the coulter is shod with a square plate of iron, without a shear, so that the furrow is made by throwing the soil on both sides, like the North Carolina bull-tongue. On a hill some Indians are planting, while others are carrying up water in large jars from a stream for the purpose of irrigating the vegetables peeping out of the ground.

Some of the Indians on the road look very sad after their Sunday frolic. A man on horseback, with his wife astride behind him, and her baby slung to her back, looked quite as uncomfortable as his miserable little horse. The road is marked with stones at every league of three miles: some of the measures must have been made on a Monday morning after a frolic. The small towns of Guayocachi and Nahuinpacyo are inhabited solely by Indians, and have a ruinous appearance. The streets are pasture-grounds, and decayed old houses serve as roosting-places for buzzards. We had thunder, rain, and hail; the hail-stones as large as peas, and soft, like snow-balls. Lightning flashed all around us in the valley, while the black clouds brought up by the southeast winds were hurried back by a heavy northwest squall. Thermometer 45°.

The Indians gather the dung of animals for fuel. Wood is too scarce to burn here. The green waters of the Juaja rush down through deep ravines; its power is used for a flour mill. The grain is mashed. The branches of a few large cedar trees, give shade to the door of the polite old mestizo miller. Descending the river, we came to a beautiful whitewashed new stone bridge, with one arch, 30 feet above the stream. Paying a toll of one shilling per mule, we crossed the Juaja into the small town of Iscuchaca. Near the river there are patches of lucerne, and peach trees in blossom. A native of Copenhagen, in Denmark, came forward and invited us to his house. The people had told him his countrymen had arrived. He was silversmith and apothecary, but had been employed by the Peruvian government to construct this beautiful stone bridge, which he had finished, and married the first pretty girl on the street leading therefrom, the daughter of a retired officer of the Peruvian army. The bridge across this stream was formerly built of wood. During a revolution, one of the parties set it on fire to the stone foundation. The Copenhagen man gathered a quantity of this stone, made a fire of it in his forge, and heated a piece of iron red hot. He called it brown slate coal; rather hard; not good for blacksmith's work; but the same is used for running an engine at the mines of Castro-Virreyna, in which he is interested. There are thermal springs near; and specimens of magnetic iron were collected from a mountain 1½ league to the northeast of the town. The "Matico" bush is found here. Many stories are told of the effects of this medicinal plant, which has been in use as a tea among the Indians, and as a poultice for wounds.

Iscuchaca is pleasantly situated amidst wild mountains, which seem to lock it up. The Juaja winds its way towards the Atlantic, while we climb a steep towards the Pacific.

The water of a rapid stream is somewhat salt, and its temperature 50°, while the air was 65°. Many fine mules are dashing down the narrow road. The drover tells me he is from Iça, bound to the Cerro Pasco mines, where he trades mules for silver. Iça is situated inland from Pisco, on the coast.

Among the mountains, at the top of a dangerous and precipitate pass, there is a wooden cross, erected by the people in the neighborhood. Travellers universally take off their hats as they pass, praying for a safe passage, or feeling thankful for one. The women often decorate these emblems with wreaths of flowers, cross themselves devoutly, and pass on. José begged me to hang the mountain barometer to one arm of the cross. While I took the reading of it, he looked on in great admiration.

The small Indian town of Guando is the first we have seen built of stone. It is situated high up on the mountains, and presents a most dilapidated appearance. On one side of a narrow street, little school boys were seated, saying their lessons to the teachers, who were on the opposite side. As we passed between them, the boys all rose and bowed politely. Among the inhabitants were an unusual number of elderly women. The temptation was great to ask their ages; but as some dislike questions of that sort, I might make an enemy without getting a fact. An Indian hut in the valley sketches the inhabitants. José appears between the man and his wife, telling them, in the Quichua language, that I live far off to the north, and want to show the people there what kind of people are here. The old Indian chews an extra quantity of coca leaf. The woman looks astonished, and the child is disgusted, though all stand still as they are told. The man was employed threshing barley with a long pole. The woman was cooking, and the child playing with the dog, when we arrived. The nights are very cold, the days warm and pleasant. To a church and few houses near the road has been given the name of Acobambilla. The Indians around answer the bells to prayers.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

QUICHUA INDIAN FAMILY AND HUT, Peru.

We ascend the top of the mountain and see perpetual snow in all directions, overhung with heavy, black, cumulus clouds, above which the cirrus shoot upwards; in the zenith the sky is clear and of the deepest blue. Spring water 44°; air 45°.

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.

After a walk of two hours we came into the fresh air on the north side of the mountain. The Cinnebar is so narrowly separated by layers of sandstone, that the peak may almost be called a solid mass of quicksilver ore. At present there are 120 Indian men, women, and boys employed in extracting the metal. Those who cut out the ore work very much as they please—that is, they cut without compass; this makes it dangerous to those inside, the proper supports being cut away by the ignorant Indian. The ore is carried out at both sides of the peak, in bags of raw hide, slung over the backs of the boys, and then wheeled to the furnaces near by, where men break it up into bits, and women make small cakes of the dust. These cakes are laid in the bottom of a large iron grate, sufficiently open to allow heat to pass, and over them the ore is filled in to the depth of three feet. A fire is made underneath of coarse mountain grass; a strong draught carries the vapor from the heated cinnebar, through a retort of earthern pipes, slipped one into the other, to a distance of five or six feet, where it condenses, and the quicksilver lodges in the floor. After the ore becomes well heated, which generally takes eight or ten hours, the doors of the furnace are closed, and, for three or four hours, the distillation continues. After this the quicksilver is swept into pots, washed in water, and dried, when it is ready for the market, and is sold here at one dollar per pound. It is sent off in all directions to the silver mines of Peru.

By the rude method of mining and smelting, the loss of mercury is great. The joints of the earthern pipes are luted with clay, through which the vapor escapes before it has time to condense. It is difficult to regulate the heat by the dry mountain grass, which blazes up and passes away in a moment, so that the doors must be kept open, and a man constantly feeding the fire.

The mine is owned by the government, and leased to a company, who keep secret its annual yield. The laborers' wages are never more than fifty cents a day. They are supplied by the company with all they require from the shop—a sort of purser's store-room—altogether a profitable business for the company. It often happens that when the day of reckoning comes, the laborer is in debt on the books of his employer; he is then obliged to return to the mine and work.

Cinnebar is said to be found the distance of ten leagues, in all directions, from Santa Barbara, and that the Incas knew of and made use of it. Remains of small ovens, in the shape of retorts, have been discovered. The Indians used it to paint their faces.

The only account found of the annual yield of this celebrated mine was from 1570 to 1790; during this 220 years, Santa Barbara produced 1,040,469 quintals (100 pounds) of quicksilver, or an average of 47,294 pounds per annum. The price during this period varied from fifty to one hundred dollars per quintal, according to the tariff of prices fixed by the Spanish crown.

Huancavelica is on the inland route between Lima and Cuzco, distant from the former 73 leagues. This, although not the shortest distance to the coast, is yet the best road at the present day, leading to the best seaport. Of this immense mass of cinnebar, not a pound is exported. England finds a market for other quicksilver in the silver mines of Peru; carried in iron jars around Cape Horn at great expense, it is transported on the backs of mules, almost by the very mouth of Santa Barbara. The roads are very narrow and rough; it would be impossible to draw a piece of artillery over them in their present condition; a piano was brought from Lima to Huancavelica, and remains cracked to this time, though the house containing it is the centre of gayety and attraction; the owner expects the music of "The last rose of summer" by the next train of mules. Cargoes arrive from Lima in ten days; mail-boxes, on a mule, travel the distance in six days. To Iça, 50 leagues; cargoes take eight days.

There are no foreigners in Huancavelica. Creole families are few, and the Indian population very poor. Its vegetable productions are raised in this cold ravine; the inhabitants, generally, keep in doors; almost all the Spanish Creoles have been to Lima on visits, or educated there, and possess a gay, agreeable manner, and make the cold dreary evenings pass off pleasantly. They have no fires in their houses; as a substitute, they play romping games, and under the exercise keep comfortable until bed time. This was decidedly a merry way of bringing families together, and pleasing to see old folk's romping, like children, with the young people. On one such occasion, a corpulent gentleman had his thumb put out of joint; a pretty girl held the end of it, while others pulled it in place again—by his coat-tails. One of the games is somewhat like "hunt the slipper." All the players stand up in the middle of the room, and carry on to the music of a guitar, violin, or flute. The houses are tolerably well furnished and carpeted. The Indians act the part of servants. They are taken when young, grow up with the children, and frequently remain all their lives in the family; others run away when they become of age, or whenever they are dissatisfied. The Indian girls are often very much attached to their employers, and make cooks and house servants; remarkably neat in their dress, which is not unlike the bloomer style. People wear thick cloth here, even in the house; it is unusual to see ladies without shawls, or gentlemen without cloaks or overcoats. The only fuel known is mountain grass, and dried droppings of llama, like what our hunters call "Buffalo chips."

The Prefect of the department was very kind and attentive. He gave me passports for all the lieutenants of police in South Peru, and called upon them as good citizens to assist me; besides, he offered me private letters of introduction to his friends on my route. He expressed the opinion that Mr. Gibbon was probably going to Carabaya, for the purpose of ascertaining whether the gold there was not "the other end of the California vein." I paid off Francisco and his little son Ignacio, when they returned home. Here we take regular post mules and new arrieros, or mule-drivers. José's saddle wallets were replenished with bread and cheese. An Indian girl came up in time for Don ——'s pretty little wife to purchase part of a lamb for us, and we marched on, feeling quite an attachment to the town, for though the climate and soil be inhospitable, the kind-hearted people are not.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

MATRIZ DE SAN ANTONIO-HUANCAVELICA, Peru.

Dog-killers were rushing through the streets with short clubs, and as a wounded dog came running for protection among our baggage mules, the arriero's fat wife clung to her own pet dog until the killers were out of sight. The women generally accompany the arrieros some distance on the road, carrying provisions, which are eaten and drank on the road side just before parting. Ascending a rough, rocky road, over deeply washed ravines, we gain the smooth grass capped mountains. Between peaks of perpendicular strata, flocks of llama are pasturing. Yonder is a lake of clear snow-water, and there stands five beautiful vicuña, looking intently at us. What pretty animals, and how wild they look. They come here to pasture with their kinsfolk, the llamas. "Richards ride round the mountain; José go with the baggage steadily along the road, while I take up this ravine, and try a shot." We all start. The male gives a whistle, which sounds among the hills like the cry of a wild turkey; the four females are off. He stands still; as I near him, he calls louder, and long before I get within ball range, he is away over the mountain brow. The sailor-boy Richards will never give up the chase; he has run his mule out of breath, and now he takes after them on foot.

The vicuña is smaller and a much more neatly-formed animal than the llama, with a coat of fine curly wool; its color resembles that of the smaller deer. In the distribution of animals, as well as I can judge, the vicuña naturally seeks an atmosphere just below the llama. It is very swift and difficult to capture. The Indians take them by driving them into pens. Now and then a young one may be found tamed, and kept as a pet among the children; they are never used as beasts of burden. Fine cloths and valuable hats are manufactured from the vicuña. A skin sells in the market for fifty cents, and the meat is better than that of the llama, though José expresses rather a disgust at the idea of eating llama meat.

Our course is to the eastward. The snow-capped mountains are in sight to the west. Temperature of a spring 48°; air, 44°. Lightning flashes all around us; as the wind whirls from northeast to southwest, rain and snow-flakes become hail, half the size of peas. Thunder roars and echoes through the mountains; the mules hang their heads, and travel slowly; the thinly-clad aboriginal walks shivering as he drives the train ahead; the dark, cumulus cloud seems to wrap itself around us.

The first house we met was Molina post; the men passed the night with their mules in a storm, which beat against our tent all night. The postman, a Spanish Creole, invited us into his house; I saw his wife, two children, one Indian servant, and five dogs, seated around a fire made of dung, over which the woman was cooking mutton. Their bed was of barley straw, and a miserable old donkey was peeping in the door at it; so I had the tent pitched. At 7 in the morning the thermometer was 37° Fahr. This is a barren country, and seems to be inhabited by the wilder animals. We chased a fox among the rocks, and shot two viscachas, which resemble the rabbit in size, color, and head, but the feet and tail are like those of the opossum. The people are very fond of them. The arriero smiled when he saw his supper. Richards cut one of them open to bottle its young, but we had misjudged its appearance. An Indian boy said if the mules ate any of the hair of this animal it would cause instant death. We had no extra mules to prove the assertion. The fur is very fine and valuable; they are running in and out of holes in the ground or the clefts of rocks, to nibble the mountain grass. The mountains are more rolling, and covered with a thick coat of pasture; flocks of sheep speckle the mountains—black and white—cleanly washed by the rains. They seek the atmosphere next below the vicuña, while the good-natured shepherdess follows with a womanly regard for the wishes of those she loves.

Another storm is coming; we hurry on, and arrive at the next post in the small Indian town of Pancara. The postman told José that the Alcalde had come to pay us a visit. A respectable old Indian, with a silver-headed cane, who could not speak Spanish, appeared, so José was my interpreter in Quichua. "How many people live in this town, Señor Alcalde?" Alcalde, (eating parched corn from his waistcoat pocket,) "Don't know." "Have you plenty to live upon in this part of the country?" Alcalde, (with the most laughably contented air,) "Roast corn and few potatoes. The people are going away; will soon be left by myself." Alcalde—"Going to Cuzco?" José—"Yes; and as we have a long travel, we have to feed our mules well. Will you order us barley?" Alcalde—"I will go now and fetch it."

The town is falling to decay; many houses deserted, and their roofs have tumbled in. Climate cold and unpleasant. Except our kind friend, the Alcalde, the people look wretched.

The vegetable productions of this department are few, and can only be raised in the deep valleys, where the dense atmosphere interrupts the parching rays of the sun, and they are protected from the cold mountain blasts of the night. No department in Peru is more broken and barren than this, with a greater variety of climate. In our sight are peaks of eternal snow, which run up to sharp points of pure white, standing in rows; the humble Indian, cultivating his patch of green lucerne in the valley, far below.

The animals are mostly those native to the country, and few of them tame. The horse, ass, and horned cattle, are much smaller than those on the coast, and are little used. Birds are very few, and seldom found domesticated; even the common poultry find the climate uncongenial.

Fishes are rare and small; only taken, I believe, in the Juaja river. Of minerals and metals already known, there are silver, quicksilver, copper, lead, iron, stone coal, and lime.

The silver mines of Castro-Virreyna have been worked for many years. They are situated south of the town of Huancavelica, in the Cordillera range. They count thirty mines, of which, at the present day, but seven are worked. Stone coal is found near by sufficiently good for engine purposes. One steam-engine made a voyage round Cape Horn, and arrived safely at these mines, where it is said to be doing a good business. In all cases, the pieces must not exceed one hundred and fifty pounds weight, or they come to a stand-still at the landing on the coast. Two pieces are balanced on the back of a mule, which carries the heavy loads, never exceeding three hundred pounds. This is the only way a steam-engine can possibly travel through the department of Huancavelica. The unoccupied mines are said to contain water, and air so offensive, that it is dangerous for the workmen to enter them.

This department has a population, by the government estimate, of 76,111 people. Two of the aboriginal race to one Creole will not be far from the average proportion. As the old Alcalde honestly confesses, he don't know how many people live in his small town, it will be understood how difficult it is to get anything like a correct list. The people are scattered over a great space of country. We travel a day over the wild heights without meeting with a man, or find a valley too thickly peopled for the productions raised therein.

The department is divided into four provinces, each governed by a sub-prefect. These are again divided into districts, under governors, all of whom are responsible to the prefect at the capital—Huancavelica—who is allowed a secretary, three assistants, and a porter. The civil list amounts annually to six thousand four hundred and ninety-five dollars. The prefect is appointed by the government at Lima, and holds his office during the pleasure of the President of the republic. The sub-prefects and governors are also appointed by the supreme government, though generally through the recommendation of the prefect of the department.

Early in the morning we left Pancara; our good old friend, the Alcalde, still eating roasted maize, while he cheerfully expressed a desire to see us when we returned again. The Indians show great surprise when they are told that we will not return that way, and seem to be buried in deep thought, as though it troubled them to make out the white man's motions.

Near this small town the road leads through a number of standing rocks, which have been washed by the rains into sugar-loaf forms; and so uniform are they, that it seemed like passing through tents in an encampment. The rock is a soft sandstone, which wears away very fast at the sides, and not on the top, where seems to be the end of the grain. Their heights are from 12 to 18 feet, and so well shaped, that one might be erroneously led to believe they were the work of a pyramidal-minded race of men; but, upon closer examination, we found the work going on in the side of a bank, which was being regularly divided off into sugar-loaves. Had we entered this apparent encampment at midnight, I should have called out, for those rocks which stand off on the plateau a little distance look like sentry boxes around the main body of an army.

The constant wearing away of these elevated portions of the earth is beautifully demonstrated here, where the uplands seem to be dissolving and settling down towards a level—examples of the natural working of weather upon stones, so nearly resembling that of human hands with hammer and chisel. We found these pyramids for some distance along the road. Some of them were inhabited by families of Indians, large square holes or rooms being cut in the north side. Some rooms required steps to ascend; others were even with the ground. I found the family at home in one of them. Near the doorway was a horse-trough cut in the stone, and above it a place like the handle of a pot, where the end of the halter was tied. Cooking utensils, dogs, and children were seen in the lower story, while the Indian woman was spinning wool in the upper, or bed-room. A few regularly-built stone houses near by are not so interesting.

On this part of our journey, Indian girls, with chicha and chupe for sale, are seated at the tops of the steep ascents. Chicha is the favorite drink of the Indians. A party—generally old women—seat themselves around a wooden trough containing maize. Each one takes a mouthful, and mashes the grain between her teeth—if she has any—and casts it back into the trough in the most sickening manner. As the mill-stones are often pretty well worn, the operation requires time and perseverance. The mass, with water added, is then boiled in large coppers, after which it is left to ferment in huge earthen jars, when it is sold by the brewers without a license. It is an intoxicating drink, but very healthful, the Indians say. Chupe is the Peruvian national dish, and may be made of any and everything, so long as it holds its relationship to soup. It is made generally of mutton, potatoes, eggs, rice, all highly seasoned with pepper, &c.

As the weary traveller arrives almost breathless at the top of the hill, the girl tempts him. I halted by one of them, and addressed her in Spanish, but she answered in Quichua, and pointed to her chupe, which I believe she had kept warm by sitting over it during the morning. I thanked her kindly, and pushed on. Here and there an Indian hut is to be seen at a distance. In the valley to our right are flocks of sheep; and the merry laugh of the shepherdesses echoes through the mountains. Two girls walking after their flocks, have their arms around each other's necks, joking and laughing as they leave home for a day among the hills. The sheep have just been let out of their pen, and run, one before the other, nipping the frost-tipped pasture. The dogs follow sulkily, with heads and tails hanging, as though they would rather stay at home if there was any company.

Here, as we rise to the top of a mountain, we behold all around one broken mass, ridge beyond ridge, as far as the eye can reach, like waves of the tempest-tossed ocean. Our mules are harassed, and the chronometer positively refuses to go any further. As we descend the Indians are harvesting barley. Horned cattle seem to fancy the atmospheric pressure just below the sheep.

The arrieros keep the higher road which brings us to the left of a valley. From the ridge we see the small town of Acobamba, and a turn in the Juaja river, dashing over its rocky bed, as the wild duck flies quickly against the current. The country has a fresher appearance. In the ravines, clusters of green bushes and flowers bloom; 5 p. m., air, 43°; wet bulb, 39°, at Parcas post.

I succeeded in securing a duck supper from a small lake, with a thick growth of rushes in the centre. The common mallard duck, and a black species, are found with red and green bills, and red legs. When these take fright, they hide themselves in the rushes and seldom fly. There are a number of beds of lakes which are filled in the rainy season; at present they are dry; on this route it is usual for travellers to carry bottles of water with them. A man in poncho and mountain travelling dress rode up behind us, with an Indian girl seated behind his saddle. He refreshed us with the compliments of the morning in plain English. He came out of the valley from Acobamba, though born in New Haven, Connecticut. His spirited horse was fretting itself over the rugged road. This man was proprietor of a circus company; had been many years in South America, and as we slowly wound our way up the mountain, told us his past history; what he had seen, and how often he thought of returning to New England. "But nobody knows me now. Years ago I heard of the changes there, and don't believe I should know my native place. I have adopted the manners and customs of these people, and if I should return to the United States again, I fear my earnings would not be sufficient. I have worked in this country for years, and am worth nothing at last." His stories of travels were interesting. He had encountered travellers of all nations, and amused me with the way in which some of them worked their way through the rough country, among the people of Mexico and South America. Speaking of the mountain roads between Popoyan and Bogota, in New Granada, over which travellers are borne in light bamboo chairs upon the backs of Indians, I discovered that he had encountered two of my own near relations on that route, nearly twenty years before.

He had sent a branch of his circus to Cerro de Pasco, and ordered the horses, on a raft at Huallaga river, to descend that stream, and the main trunk of the Amazon, to Pará. He had navigated the Mississippi in a canoe, and assured me at first he would try to sell his horses and go with me down the Purus. Every now and then his English ran off into Spanish. Then he would beg my pardon for not speaking his mother tongue as well as when a boy.

The Indians of the surrounding country were gathered at Marcas post, to celebrate the saint's day of San Jago, an old church in the valley. The obliging master of the post had just returned from church, a little intoxicated, like most other folks about him. The Indians were dressed in queer costumes, marching in procession, with drums and fifes, through crowds of women; some wore cows-horns and black masks, others cocked hats and gold laced coats; while the women were dressed in all colors. Young Creoles dashed about on horse-back; girls were singing and hanging most affectionately on the shoulders of their lovers. The whole crowd was high on a chicha diet. The morning had been spent in prayers, after which a grand procession, headed by the priest. We came in at the evening ceremony. The scenery was as beautiful as strange; the church below us, and the people lining the road from it to the post house, while drums mingled with the shouts and singing of the women. Down the sides of the mountain, Sage's circus company slowly advance. A queer-looking Mexican is the clown. A little dark complexioned Guayaquil girl, a neat rider, accompanies a fine looking Peruvian, whose fat wife, with sun-burnt face, follows. Then a pony and his playmate, the dog, with a beautiful Peruvian girl, servants, and a long train of baggage mules, all mixed in with the congregation. As the sun sets over the western mountains, a storm rises in the southwest, with thunder and lightning.

A long steep descent brought us into the valley of Huanta, where we entered the department of Ayacucho. The horse stands at ease; the swine repose coolly under the shade of a fig-tree; humming birds buzz among the flowers, and the fresh-water streams ripple through the highly cultivated lucerne fields. The gay, laughing faces of the people speak for the happiness of the valley, as do the beautiful flowers for its richness. Potatoes, beans, apples, chirimoyas, and granadillas are for sale by the road-side. Indian girls often invite us to take chicha. The climate is pleasant. At 9 a. m., thermometer 60°. The fig-tree is very large, and bending with fruit, while peach blossoms overhang the road; large clusters of green cactus shade the quiet little ring-dove; the partridge calls from beneath the barley beards; the people are seated by the shady brook in midsummer costume. Yesterday we were shivering under a midwinter snow-storm, high up on the mountains.

At the town of Huanta, my letters were handed to the governor, who kindly gave me possession of the house of the sub-prefect, who had gone, with his family, visiting about the country. Huanta has a population of two thousand people. From the balcony we have a full view of the plaza and the market people, with the hills in the back ground, among which there are some rich silver mines. Many have been abandoned on account of water. People are anxious to receive silver bars, but not over anxious about paying the necessary expenses for getting them. The Indian finds great hardship and little profit, while he goes with hammer and chisel mining out the rich metal. The Creole seats himself at the mouth of the mine, wrapped in his broadcloth cloak, and receives the treasure. The poor Indian prefers cultivating the soil, from which it is difficult to persuade him; force, at times, is indirectly applied through the influence and power of the authorities. The more intelligent race take advantage of his ignorance. Some, who are very intemperate, of course are generally very poor; such are enticed to the mines by a regular supply of chicha; others, again, are taught to believe that to labor in this world for the benefit of others is to lay up treasures for them in a better place; they have a dreadful fear of temporal powers, and dare not disobey. There are different sorts of slavery existing among different kinds of free people. If obliged to choose, many would rather be negro slaves in North America, than free Indians in the South.

The governor had our mules cared for, and invited me to his table under the shade of the eastern balcony. He was a cheerful, agreeable man; if he knew how, no doubt would better the condition of those around him. His fine, healthy boys are growing up in idleness, and a pretty little daughter stands most of the day in the balcony watching the Indians in the plaza, under their umbrella shades, selling fruit. She pointed out an old Spanish Creole, said to be one hundred and five years old.

There are beggars and marks of the smallpox. In the ravines, along the sides of the valley, ague and fever sometimes prevail, but, generally, the valley is very healthy. The nights are cold and days warm. During our few days' stay here, the twilight was followed by flashes of lightning, which lit up the whole valley. The nights are cloudy, which baffles our watch for the stars. The day's travel before our arrival here was harassing.

The roof of the government house in Huanta is well tiled, and the walls well plastered, with paintings of full figures of saints, fairly executed, on them; the rooms are large, furnished, and carpeted. This is the exception to the rule.

The Huancavelica mules and arrieros returned, and we engaged others. The postman examined the baggage; pairs off the loads; and receives half the passage-money in advance the day before starting. He inquires, with an enterprising air, what time we would like to leave in the morning? I have found it best to tell them to come before the time appointed. The frequent excuses are various—a mule will be missing, or, the arriero may want a wife—he is never at a loss for a reason to keep you waiting until he is ready. The best way, after fretting a little at first, is to take things a little easier than they do. It is amusing to see how they dislike to be outdone, and hurry to break down opposition. Whenever these people meet with difficulties, the rule is to take a seat, and from the pocket take a small piece of paper or corn husk; a tin box supplies tobacco, to be rolled up in the shape of a cigar, and placed behind the ear; a match box and strike-a-light are produced, and the difficulty is considered in so cool a manner, while the smoke curls upwards, that unless you saw a mule, baggage and all, had broken through a miserable bridge, or fallen down a precipice, you would not believe anything had happened. The tobacco imported from Havana into Peru is highly prized, and a quantity consumed. Massachusetts cotton goods are sold by the Indians, in the plazas of these inland towns, at three times their value in the United States.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

VIEW TO THE SOUTH FROM HUANTA, Peru.

Passing through the small town of Macachara, I made José ask an Indian woman, seated on the side of the street, how old she was? She answered, one hundred years, God bless you, and "very poor." At a well built stone bridge, dated 1770, a flock of parrots flew by. Our course is south, over a rocky, dusty road; the day clear and calm. At noon, thermometer, 71°, with snow-capped mountains to the northeast. There is very little growth on the mountains—here and there some cactus. We arrived at the side of a stream through which a number of women were wading. No wonder they carry such loads on their backs, they are so stout built. An old woman, with four handsome daughters, kept her dress much dryer than any of the girls, though they were more careful after they found how deep it was. They are not nervous, and don't mind men much. A plateau is cultivated with barley, and we felt somewhat interested in the ground over which we travel. It is the battle-field of Ayacucho, where the royalists of Spain, under command of Viceroy Laserna, met the independent South Americans, under the brave Venezuelan Sucre. This battle took place on the 9th day of December, 1824, when the whole of the Peruvian territory was surrendered, with the exception of Callao.

The country around is wild and deeply washed with gullies and ravines in the wet season. The Spaniards flocked to this country for silver and gold; they built a large city, and called it Huamanga; the republicans changed its name to Ayacucho, in honor of the victory. It is the capital of the department, which is divided into five provinces, and contains a population of 129,921.

The complexion of the people becomes lighter as we get south, and fewer Indians speak Spanish. They all say "buenos tardes" (good evening) when we meet them, even if it be at sunrise. Many of their expressions in Quichua sound like the language of the natives of the South Pacific islands, as I recollect it ten years ago, while cruising as a midshipman in the ship-of-war St. Louis.

The city of Ayacucho has a population of ten thousand people; the houses have two stories, with large rooms and court-yards; the streets run at right angles, and are paved. On the grand plaza stands an immense cathedral, of stone, with heavy bells and iron-fastened doors. There are twenty-two other churches. The whole city was built on a grand and expensive scale. The present population indicate a falling off in numbers and wealth. The streets are strewed with ragged children and beggar men. Under large corridors are seen lounging sleepy old soldiers, with muskets and fixed bayonets; officers parade the streets, buttoned up to the throat, with dangling swords, and some of the most unclean looking priests we have ever beheld.

In the two schools there are only thirty pupils. A professor of belles lettres and poetry, informed me that geography was only provided for in the college of Lima; and a teacher of latin grammar said the reason they had so few scholars was, the parents were too poor to pay for schooling. Among the aboriginals it is very unusual to find one who can write his name, and not unusual to find Creoles who cannot write. As to reading, I have never seen a person in the country so occupied, and have not seen a public journal.

In the plaza the Indians sell barley, wheat, maize, potatoes, onions, lucerne, and fruits, brought from the other side of the eastern ridge. In a blacksmith's shop I found the mestizos burning charcoal, and upon asking whether they used stone coal, they all stopped work, and, with an air of astonishment, said they had never seen coal dug out of the ground, nor iron neither. One of them showed me a piece of charcoal, and inquired whether I had seen any before! As they were about shoeing a mule, I remained. The smith came into the street with a short-handled whip, long lash, and box of tools, accompanied by four workmen. One of them doubled a hair rope and slung the mule's hind foot to its tail; in doing so there was some kicking. The tools were at once set aside, and the sprightly mule most cruelly whipped; after which the shoe was nailed on and the hoof cut to fit it. The horseshoes are imported.

CHAPTER II.

Gold and silver ornaments—Bridal trip on the Andes—Manufacturers of bark rope—Cotton trees—Winds and currents of the mountains—Population—Cultivation—Flocks of sheep—Frosty nights—Reports of robbers—Shoemaker—Ancient fortification—Indians travelling—Condor's wings—A padre on the road—Sugar-cane patches—Spanish Creoles—An African slave—Apurimac bridge—Cabbage patch—Peruvian widow—Bullfight—Fish and horned cattle—Cuzco—Market place—Steamboat navigation—Eastern side of the Andes—Coca plantation—Head of Madre-de-Dios—Rivers Cosnipata, Tono, and Piñipiñi—Forests—Tigers—Monkeys—Chuncho savages—View of the low lands from a peak of the Andes—Cinchona bark gatherers.

This town was formerly celebrated for manufacturers of beautiful gold and silver ornaments. Exported to Spain they were highly prized. Old ornaments are still for sale, which are of virgin metal, some of them curious imitations of birds and animals. In the small shops around the plaza, cotton goods are sold, but there is little activity in anything. The picture of decay is distressing; blind people walk arm in arm with cripples; no sound of busy wheels or of business is heard; a death-like silence prevails, both day and night, only broken by the chime of enormous steeple bells, where the ragged population kneel before an altar groaning with the precious metals. The priests, with few exceptions, are the only fat looking people in this part of the country, others being taxed for the support of the government and the church.

There are many pleasant families here; the gentlemen frank and agreeable. Several of them came to see me, and expressed great pleasure at the idea of advancing their country by steam navigation. One gray-headed gentleman told me he probably would not live to see the result of the expedition, but he believed his sons would, and daughters too. He gave me his blessing, which was quite sincere. The prefect was also interested in the enterprize, and showed it by presenting maps, and furnishing everything necessary for an easy passage through a rough country. We were comfortably quartered, and kindly treated by all. The ladies of Ayacucho are handsome, ride well on horseback, are extremely agreeable in conversation, and naturally talented. One who can boast of having been in Lima, is never a "wall flower" among them. With a modest bearing, they speak out, and to the point. Some answer serious questions affirmatively at the age of twelve years. One of the first they ask is, "are you married?"

Sugar and vanilla beans are produced on the eastern side of the mountains. Ice and rock salt are brought from the glaciers, in sight, with cream from the valley. Ice-cream is made and sold by the Indian women in the plaza. Our pistols kept bright, and burnished steel remains in the open air without rusting. Grapes are not very fine in quality. Goats seem to thrive better, and poultry again appears here. At dinner, seated by a lady, with large gold rings on each hand, and heavy gold chains around her neck, supporting a locket and gold cross, it was remarked that, those wearing expensive ornaments were supposed to be wealthy. She, evidently pleased, asked me to help her cut her chicken bones into tooth picks. Some of the dishes, cups, spoons, and forks were roughly made of solid silver, though there are thought to be few wealthy people in the city.

Breakfast is taken at from 10 to 11 a. m., dinner from 4 to 5 p. m. If supper is taken, it is at a very late hour; coffee is drank early in the morning, and tea in the evening. Tables only are set twice; their meats are served in different forms, highly seasoned with pepper and spices, generally accompanied with potatoes. Quinua, a native plant, considered a delicacy, is also prepared in different ways; the seeds are cooked with cheese, or boiled with milk and pimento.

On Monday, August 4, 1851, at 8 a. m., thermometer, 59°; wet bulb, 54°. Our course stretches to the eastward again, over a dry, uninteresting road, hedged in with cactus, bearing the Tuna fruit. The country is uncultivated, except in the valleys. Crossing a well-built stone bridge, over a stream flowing northward, we passed a grist-mill. Peach trees were in blossom, and some few flowers. After a ride over these barren heights, the sight of a fresh rapid brook gladdens the hearts of our mules.

Matara post house is near a gorge in the range of mountains trending southeast and northwest. The potatoes and barley are of good size here; on the northwest side of a hill, I cut eleven stalks of wheat, produced from one seed, and counted four hundred and fourteen grains from the heads of these sprouts. It is not unusual to see twenty stalks produced from one grain—eleven is about the average. These crops are only raised after a careful system of irrigation. The Indians lead the water from the heights to a great distance; this seems to be a favorite occupation with them. Wherever water can be had, there the soil yields a rich harvest; in other places, the mid-day sun kills the young stalks.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

MATARA POST HOUSE.

One of our arrieros—a Quichua Indian—has his wife; being just married, they are very fond. This appears to be her bridal trip. Mounted like a man, on a white horse, her blue dress and scarlet manto show to advantage. She wears a straw hat, with broad ribband. Her hair, after their custom, is plaited and hangs in two braids over her shoulders. The Indians all salute her as she rides by, and has something pleasant to say to both; she bows and receives it smilingly, while he looks modestly, and becomes very much engaged attending to his duties; while nearly out of sight, among the mountains, he is constantly talking by her side.

Over these rough roads the arrieros generally travel on foot. They walk for days with more ease than the mules, and quite as fast. On the plains they trot along after the baggage for hours at a time. Messages from the governors and sub-prefects are often sent to the prefect by Indians, on foot, rather than by horse or mule. The man cuts across the mountains and delivers his despatches long before they could arrive by the road. I believe the Indians prefer walking to riding. Sandals protect their feet from the rocky and gravelly road, being at the same time cool. Whatever they have to carry is fastened to the back, leaving the arms free. Sometimes they have a short cane in one hand for protection against dogs, or for support over steep, irregular paths. I have seen them crawling on all fours, up hill.

We expected an extended view over lands to the east of our range, but when we arrived at the ridge in the gorge, we saw mountains beyond mountains, snow peaks and rocky rounded tops, deep valleys and narrow ravines, all thrown about in confused shapes. After travelling for hours, we made leagues by the road; yet the distance from the Pacific to the Atlantic is short on our map.

In the small town of Ocron, the people were threshing barley and twisting bark into rope. A good-looking young man arose from the rope-making party of men and women, and offered us a glass of chicha. It seemed impolite to refuse a kind offer when the people do you a favor and wish you to consider it as such, but I cannot drink it; so declining with thanks, we pass on leaving José, who naturally leans the chicha-way. After a long descent, we encamped by a lonely house, enveloped in foliage. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 73°. We have sand flies, musquitos, bugs, bees, and humming-birds. The whole scene is changed to mid-summer; cotton grows upon small trees, so do peaches and chirimoyas.

The Peruvian mail passed by from Lima on its way to the southern departments. The letters are carried in two small hide boxes on the back of a fine mule, with a swallow-tailed red and white flag flying from a short pole fastened between the trunks. The conductor is well mounted and armed; wears a scarlet cloak, and rides after; while the mounted arriero trots ahead, blowing a horn. They travel at a quickened pace up hill and down. I should like to overhaul that letter-box, but remittances are often made by the mail, and a desire to look for United States letters on the road might be considered unlawful.

We crossed the Rio Pampas, flowing northwest, upon a suspension bridge made of bark rope. Eight cables are stretched across, over which small cross-pieces of light wood are fastened to form a floor; two large cables above the sides bear part of the weight, by small ropes laced from the floor over them. Great care had to be taken by leading the mules one by one. My mule, Rose, gave more trouble than any; she was very much frightened, and would not budge until another mule walked just before her, and we all urged her not to turn back. I feared she would rush through the lacing into the river, one hundred and twenty feet below. The creaking and swinging of the bridge was fearful for about forty yards. We saw fishermen in the light-green water below; on the rocks sat numbers of cormorants, ready to dive for fish. The stream is rapid and very winding, turning snake-like round the base of mountains on its way through the Apurimac, Ucayali, and Amazon, to the Atlantic. It takes its rise to the south of us, near the tops of the great Cordilleras; our road leads along its banks, ascending through stunted trees, from which sweet air plants hang in full flower. Here the vegetable productions seem to suffer in the struggle between the moisture from the river and the burning rays of the sun, which seem to obstruct and keep down the plant that shows a desire to improve.

After a long and tiresome ascent we reached Bombam post house; the postmaster offered his house, and seemed astonished that we did not seek it in preference to our tent. He sent us chicken soup and boiled corn for supper. A flock of kids came playing about our tent; their faces resemble those of monkeys. The Indians killed a large hog, and the women made blood pudding. José assured me it was good with chicha; he seems to fancy the custom of living among the Indians.

There is no regular wind in this region; currents of air draw in through the mountains from all directions; although the clouds far above us show wind, we are unable to tell that it comes from any particular direction, and below it is quite calm. While encamped on the high places, frequent efforts were made to distinguish the satellites of Jupiter by the naked eye, but we are not high enough for that yet, though our sight is very good. The rivers around flow to every point of the compass, and make it difficult to decide if the waters make the winds, or the relative positions of the mountains alone cause these drafts. The winds are very gentle, and curl the cirrus or hairy clouds in most graceful shapes about the hoary-headed Andes in rich and delicate clusters; when the peak is concealed, all but the blue tinge below the snow, we see a natural bridal veil. An easterly wind lifts and turns them to dark, cumulus clouds, settled on the frosty crown, like an old man's winter cap; the physiognomical expression is that of anger. The change is accompanied by thunder, and seems to command all around to clothe themselves for storms. The cold rain comes down in fine drops upon us; the day grows darker, and the clouds press close upon the earth. Our oil-cloth hat-covers and India-rubber ponchos were admired at a small settlement. The children were at school under a shed, pulling their bare feet under them to keep them warm; they looked as if they wished school was out. The people are better looking as we travel south, and are more cheerful. A girl stowed José's saddle-bags with fresh bread and cheese from a door-way, and said she would rather travel than keep shop. José said his work was wet; she answered, hers was too dry. The road becomes very slippery when wet; it is best to have the mules shod for safety as for the comfort of the animal. They worry very much sliding about under heavy rain; some of the baggage mules fall upon the ground. The flat lands are thickly populated, and well cultivated. On the rolling mountains we come to grazing again; the flocks roam in the desert, where we pass the night. At supper the arriero tells José, in Quichua, this is a dangerous country; robbers live in numbers among the mountain-tops. They meet the travellers at night upon this uninhabitable part of the road, and make what terms they please. Their modes of attack differ. If they see the party in day time, and know the number, they come boldly up and make their demands; if they are in doubt, their guide comes alone; inquires after the traveller's health; requests a light for his cigar, keeping his eyes about him. After expressing a wish to purchase, he returns to his party, with a full report of his reconnoissance. Whether they attack or not, the chances are that they will steal the mules at pasture during the night. José don't feel at ease; is anxious, after telling me the story, to know what we shall do. The plan for the night was arranged. If the guia comes, he was to be made fast to the baggage as soon as he lit his cigar. José was to keep hot water at the fire; one arriero to sleep with a lasso at hand, the other to watch the mules. Should any one approach our tent, the arriero was instructed to lasso and haul him in under José's hot water. Richards was armed with a carbine and two large ship pistols; my double-barrelled gun and five-shooter, with rifle bore, made us in all ten shots. At midnight José peeped into the tent, and after several anxious calls, said, "Sir, the guia is coming." José did not admire the general plan of action, but it was not changed. Upon close examination, we found the supposed guia to be a donkey gazing at the fire. The weapons used by the robbers is a short thick club, slung stone balls, and knives. They seldom use fire-arms, but dread them. The savage, dissipated negro, or Peruvian robber, may come up bravely with his dagger, intent to commit murder; but let him hear the click of a revolver and he vanishes; the noise is offensive to him. Robbers waylay travelling merchants, lonely strangers, and trains of merchandise with loads of silver. The mules are turned from the road into a wild mountain gorge, where none but robbers live, and forever lost to the owner. The Montaneros, as they are called, control the country around.

About daylight in the morning, José was heard grumbling to himself. While he was asleep a shepherdess's dog robbed his saddle-bags of our bread and cheese. Sketched the encampment; called it Ladron; and pushed on. A thick fog, and snow under foot. At 6 a. m., thermometer, 39°; wet bulb, 37°. The pasture is improved by burning down the grass at this season. While the rain storm beats from the eastward, flocks of vicuñas are grazing to the west of us. The rain turns to hail as the wind veers to northeast.

In the valley of Andahuailas, we see the wild cherry tree for the first time in South America. After sundown, the bright pink light, which often attracts attention at Lima, and sometimes alarms the natives, appears not unlike the aurora borealis, rising far above the Cordilleras in the west, while the bright moon lights our path over the Andes to the east. In Andahuailas we joined the sub-prefect and family at breakfast. Our baggage was placed in a large room, and mules in the corral. If hospitality was not quite so highly seasoned with hot pepper it would go down easier. The rough life on the mountains agrees with body and mind much better than the luxuries of the valley seem to do.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

CAMP LADRON, Peru.

This town has a population of fifteen hundred; mostly Indians. The valley contains six thousand. There is a great deal of poverty. The cultivated portions of land seem to be over populated. Deaf and dumb lounge about. A good-looking woman, with a baby in her arms, came to my door begging for bread. Her intelligent face was sad. When I gave her money, the poor creature nearly bent on her knees before us. My gun-cover wanted repairs; and while applying to a mestizo shoemaker, with three or four apprentices, the sub-prefect joined me. I unguardedly told him what I wished, and remarked that the man had so much business he could not repair it in time, when I was astonished to hear the sub-prefect order him in a loud and passionate way to do the work. The shoemaker pointed to the large amount of work on hand, and said he could not possibly attend to it; when he was at once ordered to do what he was told by the next morning, and to bring it to the government house. The cover was repaired, and shoemaker paid. Afterwards I was more careful.

There are abandoned silver mines five leagues south, one of which has been re-opened by a North American—Charles Stone. I did not see him, but understood he hopes to work profitably.

The productions of the valley are maize, barley, wheat, lucerne, beans potatoes, small apples and peaches, with a few chirimoyas of inferior quality. The tanas fruit is very abundant; the cactus flower beautiful. The wine drank at the sub-prefect's table was manufactured from the Yca grape. The wife of the sub-prefect was a very kind person. At breakfast and dinner hours, ten to twelve poor Indians were sometimes fed by her. She teaches her little son to treat them politely, telling him to help them to water, &c.

Entering the small town of Heronimo, we find all the inhabitants bare-headed, on their knees in the streets and doorways; church bells ringing; host on the way through the town. A padre walks, with book in hand, attended by a man with a large umbrella to keep off the sun. A number of women and men follow, uttering prayers. One of them rings a small bell. We halted under the shade of a house while the host entered the church. As the people rose, we travelled on. Six leagues brought us to Pincor post, where we enjoyed a supper of wild pigeons, six of which were killed at one shot. They are large, and very like tame pigeons. The arrieros and José cooked them on sticks before our camp fire. Here, for the first time, we saw a snake. The songs of frogs are heard among lofty mountains. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 65°; August 15th. Next morning at 6 a. m., thermometer, 38°; wet bulb, 36°; temperature of a spring, 46°.

On a narrow ridge, with deep valleys on both sides, we have a view of snow-clad mountains to the east; by the road-side an ancient fort, called by the arrieros "Quramba." The arrieros (Quichua Indians) expressed pleasure and surprise when they saw the sketch, wrapping themselves up in their ponchos, and kneeling on the ground, looking on. A party of Indians came silently up the ridge; on a journey they are quiet; when at home they play upon wind instruments and drums. The girls often sing, but I never heard any whistling; they are not great talkers, except when excited, and then the women's tongues are remarkably fast. Nor do I believe they are active thinkers. Their eyes are constantly moving, for they are sharp-sighted, and notice every thing near them by a quick, sly glance. Their hearing is very good; so is their knowledge of the manners, habits, and peculiarities of animals, being constantly on the watch for game, which they trap, as they are not practised in the use of fire-arms; nor do these Indians use the bow and arrow. A boy in the party had a pair of condor's wings; one of them four feet five inches from the body joint to the tip end. The bone and joints remind one of heavy iron door hinges. The boy had caught the condor in a trap, and the bird being too much for a load, he cut off the wings and seemed to be troubled with the weight of them on his back. The condor is often seen along the sea-shore, feeding upon cast-up dead fish; but it is among the lofty peaks of the mountain this wild bird builds its nest. The most daring and experienced climbers among the boys are unable to reach their young, or rob their eggs. We looked for the nest and longed to see the extraordinary bird rise from the valley, bearing in beak and claws a young lamb to its little ones; or flying from one mountain to another with a young vicuña. The Indians are fond of baiting condors; they sometimes hide close enough to the bait to lasso them, and have been known to conceal themselves under the bait and catch them by the legs.

Huancarama, a small Indian town situated in a valley, with a little old church, and Indian population. We met the priest on the road returning to town; he was followed by a number of persons, to whom he read aloud as he rode along up hill. Our baggage mules met him in a very narrow pass; all came to a stand-still, and the not over-cleanly padre was addressing the arriero in a loud and excited voice. José assured him it was up-hill work for his party to back out; if he would be kind enough to stand on one side, we would pass on, which was done. As we cleared each other, after some chafing of baggage, the extreme politeness of the padre was more becoming. Sometimes arrieros engage in dreadful fights with stones, followed up with knives; on such occasions the weaker party are forced to give way to the strong. It is generally considered proper for those coming up, to halt on one side to give their mules a rest. Those standing with heavy loads, head down hill, suffer, and are anxious to push on. Noises made in the valley resound through the mountains; an uproar on the summit causes little noise; the echo among these hills is very great. These people are very careful to unsaddle animals only after they are cool; otherwise, they say bumps rise on the back, which become sore. They even leave the bridle a while for fear that taking it off suddenly will give the mule cold in the head.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

RUINS OF THE INCA'S FORT QURAMBA, Peru.

We see at the bottom of the valley of Carquacahua the first sugar plantation. An old Indian, with hoe in hand, is leading the snowy waters of the Andes between rows of sugar plants, which are now two feet high, with rich, yellow leaves. Man seems to suffer like the plant from the heat of the sun; both would perish under it in this valley, without sufficient water for irrigating the soil; with it, he plants and produces a crop every year. A little above his head, on the mountain side, there appears another climate, with stunted clusters of cactus, small dry bunches of grass, rocks, and dusty soil, deserted by animal life, except a green lizard basking in the parching rays of the sun. A little higher the surface is covered with a lead-colored coat of grass, turning a little greenish as the eye ascends; when suddenly a streak of dark earth is capped by the pure white snow, and as you look up it seems to get deeper and deeper, until the soil is completely enclosed in a pyramid of eternal snow.

The old Indian exchanges his sugar crop in the plaza for Massachusetts cotton goods.

Crossing a stone bridge, dated 1564, over a stream of water flowing northwest, we met a party—ladies and gentlemen—travelling on horseback. The gentlemen wear green goggles, and the ladies green veils, to protect the eyes from the glare of the sun, as the reflection of his rays on the snow often causes inflammation of the eyes, said to be very painful in the rainy season, when the snow-line reaches below the road. Though we experienced no inconvenience from the surumpe, as this affection is called, the Creole portion of the population seem to be much afraid of it, particularly the gentlemen. When a middy, on a visit to Lima, eleven years ago, I formed a high opinion of the Peruvian horseman as he pranced through the alameda in the evening, on a well-trained animal. The Peruvians, anxious to make a show before strangers, put spurs to their spirited horses, ride at full speed, halt suddenly, and worry the animal by turning short round and jumping him. A man rode by me at full speed, and drew up just before my mule; in doing so he pulled rather hard on the Spanish bit, and the horse throwing up his head, struck the rider in the mouth, cutting his lips and displacing six of his teeth, which saved him from pitching over the horse's head.

The ladies and their maids are fresh-looking, and manage their horses with ease. A negress rode a man's saddle, and wore a flat straw-hat, trimmed with fancy colored ribband. The riding skirt is dispensed with under the bloomer style; she wore very long orange-colored silk stockings, and on the heel of a small and neat black shoe were buckled her woman's spurs. Her horse had a rocking pace, her hat gracefully placed on one side of her plaited wool, with a large cigar between white teeth; she smoked her way through the mountains, carefully guarding her smiles, only condescending to deal them out to her mistress's most deserving friends. African slavery exists in Peru.

On arriving at the town of Abancay, the sub-prefect was in the country. The governor kindly offered me a house, but as I wished to make some observations upon the stars during the night, we passed on, and encamped in the neighborhood. At 2 p. m., thermometer, 77°. The mules were well fed with lucerne. They suffer and begin to show effects of the travel. The parrots are talking in the bushes near our tent, and a cricket lives with us.

The climate is delightful in this sugar valley. Near town is the ruin of another fort. Flowers, vines, and bushes cover it so thickly that the traveller would not suspect he was passing a masked fortification. The road from it leads over the mountains to the northeast. At 11 a. m., temperature of a spring, 54°; air, 55°; sun, 60°; cumulus clouds and northerly wind. The road seems to be getting worse, and the overhanging rocks are so low, we occasionally bump our heads. By way of resting our animals, we march on foot. A few hours travel, over a wild country, brings us into another valley, where the cattle are larger than any we have yet seen. Passing an idle great mill, on a stream flowing east, we came to the hacienda Lucmoj, a grove of willow trees shaded the avenue; the house was of two stories, large and neatly white-washed, the garden richly supplied with fruits and flowers; the peach tree in full blossom. The out-buildings for the Indian servants were in good order; the shelter for sheep, horned cattle, horses, mules, jackasses, and numbers of goats, showed unusual kind treatment. The owner of this valuable estate was a young bachelor, of intelligence and hospitality. The death of his father gave him possession of the property. He talked with me about his country, and remarked that "the government did nothing for the people." Upon being asked, why the people depended upon the government, he looked surprised, and wanted to know whether all the improvements in North America were not made by the government? The few silver mines in the neighborhood have been abandoned.

After declining a polite invitation to remain some days, we took a short cut across the corn-field to the town of Curahuasi, a miserable little Indian place. The water from the mountains passes down the ravine to small patches of sugar-cane. The mountains are wild; winding around one of them, we suddenly came in sight of the long-looked for river Apurimac. Its waters foam as they dash over its rocky bed. Our view was cut off by another turn, and leaving the surface of the earth, we enter a tunnel, cut into the mountain, which stands like its strata, perpendicular, by the side of the river. Sky-light holes are cut through the rock, and as we travel along, in alternate light and darkness, the arrieros shout at the top of their voices at the train. The mules are fearful of proceeding. Coming to a house, which was open on both sides, we looked over the Apurimac bridge, and then down into the river, a fearful distance below. The toll-house is inhabited by two women, a man, a child, a dog, and two jugs of chicha. The ropes of this suspension bridge—of bark, about the size of a sloop-of-war's hemp cable—are made fast to the posts which support the roof of the house. It is best for travellers not to be too particular in their examinations, how these ropes are fastened. A windlass in the middle of the house kept the ropes hauled up when they slack off. One woman, a good-looking black, was seated by a large jar of chicha, which she sold to travellers, with her child on the other side; she spun cotton, with a smoking fire close to keep off the sand flies. These little insects are here in swarms. A white woman was seated by the windlass, holding her head in her hands. I thought she had the small-pox, but the red bumps on her face were caused by these annoying flies. The baggage was taken off the mules as they were brought through the house, and one by one taken across the river, when the arrieros carried over the baggage on their own backs. When Rose, a most sensible animal, saw the bridge, she held down her head, laid her ears back, switched her tail, and plainly kicked out the words, "I won't go over." She is generally indulged and coaxed; an old mule was put forward, and she behind to follow him. As the arriero walked on with the bridle, the toll man pursued the old mule with a rope's end, when it backed, kicked with both heels, pulling the arriero along. We took shelter behind the windlass, with a barometer, the woman screamed, picked up the child with one hand by the neck, and the chicha jug by the same extremity, and beat a retreat. She mounted the windlass, and, in a towering passion, commanded with her tongue, telling the men to secure the animal at once. José stood out of the way with Rose, for the old mule had charge of the house, and was getting warm; he succeeded in putting his hind-legs in the fire, when the chunks flew in all directions; the mule became angry, as if it had been abused here before. As soon as he cooled down a little, the bridle was taken off; a hide rope put over his head and hitched round his nose; each fore-leg was also fastened by the end of a rope, and three men held the three ropes. The nose-rope was fast pulled until the mule's neck was stretched out; one foot-rope advanced one leg; the other foot-rope being then pulled, brought the first foot down, getting one pace ahead; so they gradually walked him over. Rose had been looking on at the effects of his obstinacy, and gently followed. Two dollars were paid for our two mules and the baggage; the arriero paid six and a quarter cents apiece for his mules; this is the custom of the country. The bridge is eighty yards long and six feet wide, distant one hundred and fifty feet above the dark green waters. There are six floor-ropes, crossed by small sticks, lashed with strips of hide to the cables. This platform is hung to two side-cables by small bark ropes. The river flows northwest, with a width of twenty yards.

The Apurimac empties into the river Santa Ana, and is an important tributary to the Ucayali, after it receives the waters of the Juaja. We are told the Apurimac was the western boundary of the Inca territory during the reign of the first Inca—Manco Capac. The road from this bridge to Banca post-house winds up the mountain. In some places the rock has been cut like stairs. The arrieros help up the mules by pushing against the lower part of the baggage; we were continually stopping to have the loads fastened on. There are few houses near the post—uninviting in appearance—the people being mostly mestizos. A party of women and men, all intoxicated, seated by the road-side drinking chicha, politely invited us to join them; some looked very thin and sickly; an old woman was groaning on her bed at the door; a boy close by her had some horrible disease breaking out on his face; he was deformed and looked like a person on the edge of the grave, but amused himself by playing in the dust; his ghastly stare made us fear he had some infectious disorder. On the other side was a woman shaving a boy's head—the shape of a mule's more than that of a human being. An enclosure, containing a patch of cabbages, was found near a stream of cold water, which flowed rapidly from the snow peaks in sight, through an expensive aqueduct, supported on pillars of stone, neatly white-washed, leading to a sugar plantation some distance below us, on the east side of the Apurimac. We encamped here without permission of the owner, who was absent. While our mules were feeding and we enjoying our supper, a woman came in, and in a hurried and excited tone of voice, addressed me in Quichua. Our difficulty was with a Peruvian widow, very good-looking, but who talked at a terrible rate. José concealed himself behind a peach-tree full of blossoms, preparing tea. She said she was poor, but had sons full grown, and that we had taken her garden fence down, and turned eight mules among her cabbages. José told her, when we arrived, tired, after a long march, she was not at home to give consent; her grounds had particularly pleased us, and we had taken the liberty to enter them for the night; in the morning the fence should be repaired to her satisfaction, and money paid for the use of her grounds; the arrieros' mules should go out, and ours be fastened and fed close to the tent, which was not among the plants, but at a proper distance on our side. She, smiling, accepted a cup of tea, and they spent the evening sociably together, in the clear moonlight, with no sand-flies, and a westerly wind.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

APURIMAC BRIDGE, Peru.

Cabbage, salad, onions, and garlic transplanted here, do not thrive as well as on the coast, and are less cared for than the potato; except the garlic, which is a favorite with the Creoles. Leguminous plants are used in the chupe when nicely made.

August 19.—At 6 30, a. m., thermometer, 53°; the widow's fence being repaired, she received pay, saying "God bless you, good-bye." As we rode off we caught José receiving an answer to his farewell smile. At 11 30, thermometer, 70°. The country has a dry, uninteresting appearance near the town of Mallepata, yet the animals and vegetables seem to be in larger proportion. Flocks of parrots and pigeons increase in numbers; the sheep appear to be smaller in size; horned cattle and horses are plenty; the mountains are lower; sugar plantings more numerous. Tall willow trees grow by the side of a stream we cross, flowing south, and another running west, with milky colored water, which the arrieros prevent their mules from drinking, saying it is not good for our use. The people we meet look like Chinese in the face, and dress like gentlemen of the olden time—short breeches, long coats, with big buttons and large pocket-flaps, in cloth of scarlet and of blue.

As we rode through the Indian town of Limatambo, our attention was drawn to a crowd of people on the plaza, which was barricaded at the corners, and seats put all around. Flags of different colors were waving in the air; drums beating to a singular noise of wind instruments. We had arrived in time to see a bull fight. The matadores were dressed like the clowns of a circus. People were busy receiving and arranging large chicha jars by the walls. All were dressed, and behaved well. The boys gathered round an enclosure with a door opening into the plaza. The girls sat up straight on their seats, and looked cheerful and pleasant. Among them all, I only observed two white persons, who were of Spanish descent, and neatly dressed in blue. The town was filled with people from the surrounding country. Musicians marched round the plaza in the rear of six Indian matadores, who taking their positions, a strict silence followed. A door opened, and out popped an immense condor, fastened by the bill with a line, and to the other end of which a large man was attached. This surprise brought forth shouts and laughter. The bird flapped his large wings, and ran about trying to escape. The music commenced again, and he was taken out, when, during another silent pause, in bounced a young wild bull. As the Indians shouted, he came to a stand in the centre, as though waiting to be heard. He soon began to play; shaking his head, he made a dash, and knocked a man down. The Indian lay flat upon the ground; the bull bellowed with rage, while he endeavored to get his horns under the body to toss him, throwing back dirt with his fore-foot. Not succeeding, he got down on his knees, yet the Indian was too flat for him to lift. Others came up and teased the bull away, when he charged at several, until the animal was completely exhausted. Then he made for the door, and the people so laughed at him, that he came back in a rage; but there were many on the ground, and he was bewildered, and could not make up his mind who among us all he could attack. He retired with the music; others entered, till the afternoon passed away. When we were far on our road, José said the people were merrily dancing away the night. The chicha is brought from a distance on jackasses, in large raw-hide bags, well corked; two bags are slung over the sides of the animal.

In the flat bottom near the town of Suriti, some small fish were bottled from a snow-water stream. During a heavy hail storm from the southeast, sheep flocked together in small gangs, and stood in a ring, with heads out, like a drove of partridges going to rest. The hail-stones were as large as peas. Thunder clapped about our ears. At mid-day thermometer, 65°; two hours after, amidst the hail storm, it fell to 41°.

Ducks, geese, snipe, and a large black curlew, are found in the valley in great numbers. In the rainy season, a portion of the lands are flooded. Now the cattle have good pasture. This land shows the remains of a large lake, to judge from appearances. The annual deposits washed from the mountains decrease the depth of water at the end of each rainy season. The land gradually rises, channels are formed, and the water is drained off, which in time will leave the valley free of floods. When fish become extinct, horned cattle and the shepherd's herd occupy their places. The Indians are breaking up their barley stubble with ploughs. Population increases. The road is paved as we rise to the top of a small gap, and pass under a large arch, which supports a well-built stone aqueduct. We halted, and gazed with delight at the ancient curiosity of the New World—the city of Cuzco, centuries ago the seat of the Incas. The view is beautiful. Close against the hills, at the west of the valley, we see the ruins of the Temple of the Sun; Catholic church steeples rise amidst smaller buildings of a large city. The floor of the valley is carpeted with green, while afar off, opposite the churches, are the white snow-capped Andes in a clear blue sky. Suddenly a heavy cloud came over the city from the south, and we arrived in the plaza under a heavy rain. Entering the government house, I found the prefect of the department of Cuzco very sick in bed with "peste," (influenza,) attended by a doctor and a priest. His aide-de-camp appeared in full uniform, and laughingly told me he was a lieutenant in the Peruvian navy, with a major's commission in the army. We arrived in time for a good dinner: soup, fish from the Apurimac, beef, poultry, potatoes, yuca, rice, and salad, with pine-apples, chirimoyas, plantains, oranges, and granadillas. The wine made in the valley is sweet and mild, superior to that of Yca; excellent coffee is grown on the eastern slope of the Andes. José hung his saddle-wallets behind the door, for fear the dogs might again eat his bread and cheese. The old man and the mules need rest. We have been forty-five days on the road from Tarma. Upon paying off the arrieros from Andahuialas, I advised them to be more particular with their money; never to spend it in chicha for themselves before they buy food for their mules, which they promised me should not occur again. When leaving, they wished to kiss my hand—a practice encouraged by the priests and authorities, but particularly offensive to the North American, especially after the poor Indian has faithfully performed his duties.

August 23, 1851.—At 8 a. m., thermometer, 57°; wet bulb, 55°. In the plaza we find, for sale, maize, barley, wheat, beans, sweet potatoes, white potatoes, chirimoyas, plantains, bananas, oranges, limes, papayas, watermelons, granadillas, and dried figs, in their season; also peaches, apples, grapes, and cherries. There is a great display of pottery, well made, and fancifully colored. White and printed cotton goods bring high prices; so do coarse woollen cloths, particularly those of blue and scarlet. The whole population require thick clothing here. The Indians consume the coarse goods, and fancy large dark bone buttons. The Creoles generally wear broad-cloth. Everybody has a cloak, worn out against the door-post, or at the corners of the streets, where the wearer lounges in the sun. White sombreros or Texan hats are worn during the week, but on Sundays black beavers. Scull-caps are very much the fashion, made of wool and cotton, with ear-flaps, and strings to tie under the chin. The ladies, at church, wear black silk dresses, fancy silk shawls and stockings; bonnets are not yet worn. On Saturday, the shoemakers enter the plaza, where their wives and daughters sell the week's work. It is an amusing sight to see the inhabitants trying on shoes; gentlemen take this opportunity to compliment the ladies upon their small feet, which never offends.

The city of Cuzco has a scanty population. The department contains 346,031 souls. There are very few African slaves in the southern departments.

I found a very friendly disposition towards the expedition, with a desire to aid me. The prefect offered twenty soldiers as an escort in the low country, to the east of the Andes. A number of young men volunteered to accompany me. A meeting of the citizens was held for the purpose of forming a company to join me. At their suggestion, the President of Peru was applied to for the payment of twenty thousand dollars, appropriated by Congress, for the exploration of the Rio Madre-de-Dios, supposed to be the same with the river Purus, rising among the mountains to the eastward of Cuzco. I was very much pleased also to hear a spirited young officer had applied to command the soldiers. From investigation made, I learned that the head of the Rio Madre-de-Dios, was some distance beyond the line between civilization and the savages, the Chuncho Indians.

September 16.—The day for my departure had arrived, but neither volunteers nor regulars were ready. Richards was sick, and left behind with the baggage. The party was reduced to José and an Indian boy, who drove an old horse, with a box of instruments, a little camp furniture, and biscuit as his load. The mules were in good order. We mounted the hills to the left of the valley, taking the short or twelve leagues road to Porcatambo. The wind and course were easterly, with a cold rain falling in small drops; temperature of a spring, 60°; the air, 54°. A bridge over the river Urabamba is constructed of brush-wood cables. Our mules gave much trouble to get them across. José was sent some distance below to wade the mule—"Bill"—as a phthisically fat woman declared his heels were too dangerous to her charge—the bridge. The river flows north, between mountains, ranging north and south, with perpendicular strata of rock and red clay, and is a tributary of the Santa Ana. We met droves of mules, loaded with bales of the coca leaf, on their way to Cuzco. At daylight, in the morning, as we entered a deep gorge, the warm east breezes, mixed with the cold mountain air, remind me of spring time at home. A well-dressed old Indian, with scarlet vest, kindly offered us part of his breakfast; he was taking it in the doorway of his lonely little hut, among these rugged mountains. At 6 a. m., thermometer, 60°, and at 6 p. m., 66°. We crossed a well-built stone bridge over the Mapacho river, which is said to flow north into the Santa Ana, but this is doubtful. The houses of the town of Porcatambo are small, and the population seven thousand; miserable looking, excepting the Indians, who are full of health and life. Many of them have noble faces, and are willing to do anything required of them, except to enter the low country to the east. Like the creoles of the town, they have great fear of the Chuncho tribe of Indians, who are at war with the Peruvian government. The sub-prefect and his wife were very kind; twenty-five able-bodied Creoles volunteered to accompany me; I accepted their services, but the next day the arriero being alarmed, deserted; the volunteers backed out to a man, when José suggested an opinion that volunteers did not act so in North America; at the same time he frankly acknowledged he was afraid of the Chunchos.

Our road lay along the river in the narrow valley, where Indians were ploughing with oxen; peach, apple, and cherry trees in blossom. The Indians build their houses partly of wood; they carve spoons, bowls, plates, and baskets, beautifully, with iron chisels. At 5 p. m., thermometer, 68°. At Totora farm, we halted for the night, and met a young Philadelphian, named Charles Leechler, engaged in collecting Peruvian bark for a number of years. At first, he spoke with difficulty in his native language, but with a true American spirit assured me I might depend upon him as a companion. He knew parts of the country I was directed to explore; his services were the more acceptable. He joined me.

Turning from the river we ascend a steep ridge of mountains—the eastern range at last. A heavy mist wafts upwards as the winds drive it against the side of the Andes, so that our view is shortened to a few hundred yards. We hope the curtain will rise that we may view the productions of the tropical valley below; but the mist thickens, and the day gets dark with heavy, heaped-up black clouds; a rain-storm follows. The grasses are thrifty, and the top of the ridge covered with a thick sod. By barometer we stand eleven thousand one hundred feet above the level of the sea. I was obliged to leave my box of instruments in Porcatambo on account of bad roads, and take barley for the mules. By law, the cargo of a mule descending the eastern slope of the Andes is one hundred and fifty pounds—one-half the usual load. Wild ducks are seen feeding in the small lakes.

September 21, 1851.—At mid-day, thermometer, 54°. Riding along the ridge to the northward, the road suddenly turned east, and immediately descending, we met with foliage, flowers, and fruit; among them a few intimates—the common blackberry and whortleberry; the fruit large, but very acid. At every step we take the growth increases in size, until, after descending the mountain-side, we are enclosed in forest trees. Our course in winding down being towards the centre of the earth the compass is of no use to us. The way is lined with the bones of mules and horses killed by falling down these precipices, which don't deserve to be called roads. Among the limbs of the trees parrots were chattering with monkeys; trains of large ants cross our path. This insect is never seen on the top of the Andes. Under a rude shed by the side of the mountain torrent, Cherimayo, we found shelter from heavy rain in large drops. Thermometer, 61° at 5 p. m. There is no pasture for our mules; they are confined to the path by the dense growth of bushes and vines, and are kept near all night by fencing the track on both sides. Upon inquiring of Leechler the number of inhabitants, he informed me a few men were gathering Peruvian bark in the woods, but it was difficult to tell where they were, as the cinchona trees are thinly scattered over the country. The bark is represented as inferior near the base of the Andes here. The best quality sells at twenty-five dollars the hundred pounds in the market of Cuzco.

The regular rainy season will soon set in, when all the cascarilleros (as the bark gatherers are called) carry the bark home. They enter about the commencement of the dry season, or about the middle of May; roam through the wilderness. When they meet with trees, a little house is built for protection at night, under which the bark is kept dry. The tree is felled by an axe, the bark stripped off, dried, made into small bundles, and carried on the backs of men—who are generally mestizos—to the nearest point at which a mule may be brought.

This life is one of great hardship; the workmen are often caught in the forest without a supply of provisions. In case of fever, however, they are well supplied with quinine; but many of them die. The climate is very changeable; a cold, heavy rain falls, alternating with the rays of a tropical sun. Leechler pointed out the cinchona trees; the cascarilleros distinguish them at a distance by their bright-colored leaves; very smooth and light green, with here and there a yellowish leaf. Standing on one side of a ravine, the men count the value of the opposite side, or they climb to the tops of the loftiest trees and survey the country around. The forest trees here are very valuable for their varieties of ornamental woods. Leechler undertook also to give me an idea of the number of beautiful and valuable tiger-skins to be found in the bushes. I had been thinking of the water-power dashing by us for a saw-mill; when, before going to sleep, he said, "Cover your head, sir, at night; for the serpents here are very large." These are productions not always enumerated in a commercial list.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

DESCENDING THE ANDES TO THE EAST OF CUZCO.

At 5 30, a. m., thermometer, 49°; temperature of stream, 49°. Clear morning. The road was much obstructed by bamboo, and in a very bad condition. We have to halt and repair the road, or cut away the brushwood; the wet branches keep us damp; now and then a mule ahead runs into a bee's nest, which sets all into activity. Our mules plunge into great mud-holes, and are fretted among the roots of the trees. At mid-day, thermometer, 74°, showing an increase of 20° since yesterday at this time. The country is rough; the hills completely enveloped in forest trees. The descent is still great. Arriving at the house of a squatter, we put up for the night. Cascarilleros bring their bark here to deposit it. The place is called Cueba. Three families live in bamboo houses; the men and women are engaged in clearing little patches of ground, where they plant sugar-cane, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, peppers, plantains, oranges, potatoes, watermelons, cotton, and yuca. Probably there may be 40 acres in all cleared. Yuca serves for bread where they have no flour; it is a species of potato like the yam of Panama. It is a root shaped like a beet, from a small tree, which grows to the height of a man, with a trunk as large as his thumb, having crow-foot-shaped leaves in a bunch at the top of the stalk. It is planted from cuttings in rows apart, that the plant may be kept free of weeds. The yuca is valuable and delicious, either boiled or roasted. The people are very fond of it, and boast about the enormous size of some of them. I never saw one more than 18 inches long, and of ten or twelve pounds weight; generally smaller; though seriously told by persons at a distance from their habitation that in the Montaña one is enough for a mule load. Yuca is at once liked as a vegetable by most strangers.

Clearing the land is a tiresome business; trees cut down at the end of the wet season, when they are full of sap, burn with great difficulty. The brushwood and thick undergrowth is troublesome, though the soil is very productive, after being well cleared. Our mules found a blue grass, which springs up upon exposing the soil to the sun, and keeps cattle in good order. The people are mostly Spanish Creoles, and seem to lead a miserable life. Including cascarilleros, there are about twenty-five people who may be said to belong to the houses. There are no others in the neighborhood. They are glad to see travellers to hear the news, for they are shut out from the world. This place might be reached by a less precipitous way, crossing the ridge nearer Porcatambo, and entering the montaña farther south. Such is the report of the cascarilleros, who are the best authorities with whom we are willing to consult.

At night, I was politely given the centre of the floor of one of the houses for my bed. Three men slept on one side of me, and the very pretty woman of the house on the other, with a sucking baby between us, which seemed to have a most extraordinary appetite for milk, and kept a constant snuffling and pulling like a young pup. The houses are built with bamboo, placed about four inches apart, that air may pass. After we all got to sleep, something made a noise near our heads, and in the morning tracks of a large tiger indicated his desire for a baby. The men thought he must be a monster by the foot prints; and pointed to where he had his paw through the opening, but his arm was not long enough. They are seldom so daring, and he must have been very hungry.

Gradually descending, we crossed the Tono river. Water, 63°; air, 74°, at 9 30, a. m. The hills are getting smaller; the road in some places more level, until we suddenly come to a cleared pampa, covered with a rich pasture, on which are grazing a drove of mules. Four houses are built close to one another, and near them a large patch of pine-apples. One Indian woman was at home; she was Quichua. We afterwards arrived at San Miguel farm, where a number of houses are built in a hollow square, with a little wooden church, and fine orange trees in the centre, under the shade of which I was embraced by Padre Julian Bovo de Revello, a Franciscan missionary, honorary member of the Agricultural Society in Santiago de Chili.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

COCA PLANTATION, Peru.

Monday, September 22.—At 3 30, thermometer, 81°. We are now on the eastern frontier settlement, where one hundred men are engaged cultivating the coca plant. The seed is planted in rows like maize. In two years the bush, five or six feet high, is full grown, bearing bright green leaves, two inches long, with white blossoms, and scarlet berries. The women and boys are now gathering the ripe leaves, while the men are clearing the fields of weeds. The gathering takes place three times a year, in cotton bags. The leaf is spread out in the sun on mats and dried. In wet weather they are spread under cover, and kept perfectly dry, otherwise the quality is injured, and the market price very much reduced. The bushes produce from forty to seventy years, when a new planting becomes necessary. The leaves are put up in cotton cloth bales of seventy-five pounds each, and sent to Cuzco, where it sells for fifteen dollars per bale. The Indians masticate the leaf, and sometimes drink it as tea. There is a constant demand for it. Those who work in the mines are inveterate chewers. On long journeys, or while undergoing fatigue of any kind, it supplies the place of the tobacco leaf. It has a soothing effect. Slacked lime or ashes from certain roots are used by some of the old chewers to give it a finer flavor. The plant can only be raised in a moist climate. It is never found in the deep valleys of the Andes. It offers the most important inland trade in the department of Cuzco, and is the inducement for settlers to venture to the base of the Andes. Though the tropical productions can be raised, they are seldom cultivated to great extent. Coffee, sugar-cane, cotton, rice, chocolate, tobacco, limes, and lemons, are to be had. The padre pays attention to experimental farming and cattle raising; he has a little drove, a few cows brought from the tops of the Andes; also ducks, pigeons, and chickens, which he feeds upon corn cultivated by his own hands. His upland rice is fine, without flooding. The padre is a perfect representative of Robinson Crusoe; though he has no goats, he has four dogs. An old Santa Cruz soldier acts as his man Friday. In his little hut he has a few books and two old hats. He wears one when he works on his farm, the other an old hen lays an egg in every day. He seems to be happy, but said he wanted very much to go home to Italy, by the way of the Rio Madre-de-Dios and the Amazon, for he thought if he could find a road to the Atlantic by which his countrymen might come up, he would make a fortune.

I had arrived at the end of the road for mules. The only way to shorten the distance between us and the Atlantic was to dismount and cut a way through the forest on foot. The undergrowth is so thick, that it is difficult to see where the tigers and other wild animals get through.

José was left in charge of the mules. With a barometer and poncho slung to my back, revolver in belt, long knife in hand, I pushed through the woods, accompanied by the padre, Leechler, and four Indians; the padre whistled up his dogs. After a most difficult struggle, twelve hours brought us to the bank of the Cosnipata river, in the territory of the Chuncho savages. The stream is very swift, with a rocky bed, forty yards wide; the water of greenish color. This stream takes its rise to the south, in the mountains of Carabaya, where the people are washing for gold. The day's march was through a level country, with the exception of two small hills. Leechler shot two wild turkeys, and a fine fish, which helped out boiled rice and parched corn for supper. We had been very much bitten by ants and stung by bees. The right arms were tired of cutting a way with the machetes. According to our reckoning, we have travelled nine miles; a bush house was constructed; our beds, the bare ground; the dogs lay by us; they had ranged about in all directions during the day, and were well tired. The padre called one of them Paititi, after a large town of the Chunchos, in the wilderness to the northeast of us; another Alerto, (vigilant;) a third Cabezon, (big head;) and the fourth, Valedor, (protector.) Paititi was a middle-sized, short-tailed, chocolate-colored dog, the bravest and most active. The padre kindly presented him to me. One of the Indians was taken sick; I administered three anti-bilious pills, which cured him after a sleep. Cutting enough balsa wood early in the morning, the logs were fastened together, and the first North American-built raft launched upon this tributary of the Amazon. I embarked with Leechler and one old Indian for the opposite shore. There were falls above and below us; the current swift; we poled part of the way, but soon found the river too deep for that process. We landed on a rocky little island, after being nearly carried over the falls; Leechler lost the balsa on his return for the padre; the current was too swift for him, and he had to swim for life, while our bark was swiftly carried down stream, and wrecked against the rocks. At 1 p. m., thermometer in the sun, 100°; temperature of the river water, 70°. In the evening, Leechler had been working with the padre and the Indians, cutting more timber. He swam over, and spent the night on the island with me, in preference to sleeping in the woods; we lay down upon the rocks, under a heavy rain, with loud claps of thunder, which echoed up the Andes. At midnight, the old Indian called us from our bed of water; the river was rising; the night was dark, and rain poured down. A match was lit, when it was discovered we could not escape; we saw the rushing waters between us and the shore; a sudden rise of three feet would carry us off. Leechler assured me we could not gain the shore by swimming. The old Indian said "I was a bad man for bringing him there, when he could not swim." A mark was placed by the edge of the water, and we seated ourselves very uncomfortably to await our fate. The roaring of the waters was terrible. Leechler looking at the mark, finds our island very much reduced in size by the flood. The old Indian hears the dogs bark, and we think the Chunchos are attacking the padre on the main land; I blamed myself for bringing these people so far. Should the stream continue to rise at its present rate, we must be lost; suddenly, the old Indian looking up, turned to me with brightening eyes, pointed to the southeast, and said in Quichua, "day-break." This was great relief, particularly as I saw the Indian smile; it was expressive, natural, and knowing. As the day-light came, the storm cleared off, and we survey our prison. The waters had turned muddy, the drift-wood came dancing by us, great logs rolled over as they floated down; the wild Toucan, with its large beak, screamed as it flew over us to its nest; the fish seemed to rejoice at the flood, jumping up in the air as though making signs for the river to rise; while the good old padre, dressed in his snuff-colored robes, motioned to us the waters were subsiding. The waves made by the rapid motion of the water in mid-channel were quite as high as our heads, and the island much reduced in size. The water runs off very soon after the storm passes away, and we gained the opposite mainland. Leechler lost a second balsa in trying to cross the stream to the island again for the Indian, and another night was spent with the party divided. Our provisions were getting short. A small bamboo balsa was now constructed, the barometer, pistols, and clothing put upon it. My provisions were left with the old Indian, and he was told to remain there until we returned. He said, "if he was left alone, the Chunchos would murder him, or the tigers would devour him at night; if we left him he would jump into the river;" but he was again directed to remain where he was while we sought help, to take care of his provisions, and he would soon be with his friends. He told Leechler he would obey, but "he must first bring over his coca," which was on the opposite side.

With Leechler on one side of the bamboo raft and I on the other, we jumped into the stream, and after hard work, swimming, we gained the padre in time to save our raft from passing over the falls. In the evening we were at San Miguel farm, after three days' hard work, and two nights without sleep. Resting ourselves we found great difficulty in getting persons to go with us after the old Indian. The padre made a spirited speech to them, which had the desired effect. In the evening we encamped at the junction of the Tono and Cosnipata rivers. To my great joy, the old Indian came down opposite to us, after being called by Leechler. In the morning early, we felled a tree across the Tono, where it cuts through a mass of rocks, and descending along the banks of that stream for some distance, we came to a smooth place in the river. Another raft was built which rescued the old Indian, but was also lost, and we saved the men by felling a large tree on the rocks to which they clung. The old Indian had eaten all he had the night we left him, and was now very hungry; he was delighted to get his coca, and handed me the cigars I gave him to smoke. He amused the other Indians, telling them how the white man had treated him. After following the Tono all day, we came to the river Piñipiñi, a stream as large as the Tono, with an average width of forty yards. I saw at once we could get no further, but it was a satisfaction to behold these two rivers, the Tono and Piñipiñi, join and form the head of the river called by the Quichua Indians Amaru Mayu, (serpent-river,) which Padre Revello had not long since named "Rio Madre-de-Dios," for the reason the Chunchos had killed a number of Creoles and Quichua Indians, and after destroying their little church, had thrown the catholic image into a tributary stream, whence it had floated down, and was found on a rock in the centre of Amaru-Mayu.

This stream is very swift, about seventy yards wide, and not navigable at the point I saw it, which is in latitude 12° 32´ south, longitude 70° 26´ west of Greenwich, and by barometrical measurement 1,377 feet above the Pacific ocean; showing a descent from the first flower on the side of the ridge in sight of 9,723 feet; small hills intercept our view of the river after it turns. Leechler informs me that the cascarilleros, from prominent places on this side of the Andes, have seen Indians crossing the "Madre-de-Dios" in canoes, among the islands, a short distance below us; and that the river is very winding in its course through a level country. The padre has seen a stream called "Marcapata," to the west of us, flowing northwest, which probably falls into the Madre-de-Dios below.

The country is a beautiful one; well watered, and from its general appearance adapted for cultivation, though wild and unpopulated as far as we have seen, except by monkeys of different species, who are very busy in the evening cutting into the bamboo stalks for the water therein, which they take as their tea.

We feel great anxiety to visit the island in a Chuncho canoe; to make friends under the shade of a plantain orchard; to contract at the door of these Indians for a passage to the Amazon, and go home by this route. Besides, I wished to see the effect produced on these wild men by a present, from the padre, of angels, pictures drawn from a long tin box under his arm; but it is impracticable, and we lay down by the head of the Madre-de-Dios, to sleep till morning, with thirty-eight leagues by the road to travel back to Cuzco.

By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.

Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.

RIO MADRE-DE-DIOS.

The ants troubled us. Before the break of day, we all rose suddenly from our sandy bed; the dogs skulking in with tails between their legs; all more or less uncomfortably aroused by the growling of two large tigers on the opposite side of the Piñipiñi. A light breeze was passing from us to them; they snuffed a breakfast, while the Indians silently hung their heads. I was looking upon the water, expecting to see them plunge in and swim towards us. Leechler examined my double-barrelled gun, and laughingly called out in English, "thank you kindly, the rains on the mountains during the night have flooded the Piñipiñi, and we, therefore, cannot breakfast together this morning."

After our breakfast of boiled rice, we turned, and on our way saw the tracks of five Chunchos on the sands. Their feet are very small, and they walk with toes much turned in. They hunt in small parties of from five to seven, always accompanied by a woman, who carries their fish and game, cooks and does all the hard work, while they stroll along with their bows and arrows. They are very bitter against the Peruvians, and give them no quarters; waylay them on the roads to Porcotambo, and turn up their noses at all offers of friendship. We are on their hunting grounds. Here they find large fish, wild turkeys, and a species of pheasant, the size of guinea fowls. It is said they worship brave animals and reptiles, such as tigers and poisonous snakes; are generally smaller men and women than the Indians on the Andes. The inner corners of their eyes are turned down; they walk with their heads hanging; the expression of face is morose, without the least sign of a smile. Such are the reports of the men with me.

We halted at Chapemayo, which joins San Miguel, to see the old Indian safely in the hands of his wife, who had been told by the Indians, when we returned without him, that he was murdered by the Chunchos. The meeting was a very modest one.

José was delighted; the old man had expressed great fears that he would never see us again. The mules were in good pasture, but very much bitten by vampire bats, which strike them at night in the skin of the neck, and they bleed so much as to weaken them. The padre was very sad at the result of our reconnoissance. He was kind enough to give me an extract from a meteorological table he is in the habit of keeping. Three crops of corn may be raised here in one year, yet the people do not descend the Andes to settle in this productive country.

The farmer labors under great disadvantage. He never leaves his house in the morning to cultivate the field without fire-arms. They are at the expense of keeping a watch constantly stationed, lest they be surprised by the Chunchos. People are afraid to pass from farm to farm alone. Some have been murdered; others died from sickness brought on by fatigue, a hot sun by day, and loss of sleep at night. The coca planter generally leaves his wife and children behind him in Porcotambo when he enters upon his ordinary duties on this montaña.

I am told there are some cleared lands a short distance to the east of these four farms which have been abandoned, or rather nearly all were murdered by the Chunchos some years ago, and others have not ventured there since.

Upon gaining the top of the Andes, we found the barometer tube had been broken on the way. A hole was cut in the top of our coffee pot, large enough to insert a thermometer, and the height of the mountains determined by boiling water.

The day is pleasant, and we take our last blow and rest; the clouds lift, and while seated on the smooth top of a peak of the Andes, we see afar off to the east the magnificent view we have been anxiously expecting. The rich lowlands are looked down upon from a height of over nine thousand feet. It is like looking upon the ocean; those regular ridges trending northwest and southeast, decreasing in height as they increase in distance, seem like the waves of the sea rolling towards the mountains. The whole surface is covered with a beautiful growth of forest trees, whose foliage appears of a deep-blue color. Looking at the compass, following the direction of the northeast point, we see interruptions in the ridges, where the Madre-de-Dios cuts her way through the rollers towards the Atlantic ocean, striking them at right-angles. Upon looking at our map on the east, the river Beni flows in an easterly direction into the Madeira; and again on the west, as our previous remarks go to show, the Santa Ana empties into the Ucayali. We know that a great river pours from its four mouths a large quantity of water into the Amazon in latitude 4° south, and longitude 61° west, where it is called the river Purus. The geographical position of the Madre-de-Dios forces us to believe it to be the same as the Purus. This is a matter of importance. If it is navigable for steamboats to where we now see, it forms the natural highway to South Peru. All the silver and gold of Peru are not to compare with the undeveloped commercial resources of that beautiful garden. The wealth, strength, and greatness of a nation depends upon a well-cultivated and productive soil and people, aided by commerce and manufactures. Veins of gold or silver run out; without other industry, poverty follows, particularly where the people have been principally schooled in poetry and Latin grammar, as found to be the case on some parts of our route.

Leechler tells me he has not heard his own language spoken for ten years; that he would like much to go with me; "but," said he, "I have a wife and two fine boys in Porcotambo." He has been of so much service and stood by me in my troubles, that I feel inclined to sit still and talk with him in plain English. The cascarilleros have seen islands in the bed of the Madre-de-Dios. During the rainy season the mountain torrents wash away the soil about the roots of large trees; a tree falls into the stream, and is carried away by the waters; that tree is borne rapidly down until it reaches the level country, where the current of the larger river runs slow; there it turns up-side down, the branches sink, and the roots stick out of the water; the branches evidently hold to the bottom of the river, while earth and sand are heaped upon them; drift-wood and vegetable matter catch in the roots or lodge against the trunk. This is work by the laws of the Almighty. A little island is thus built; it grows larger and larger every year; as it increases in size, in the middle of the river, it occupies space which before was covered with water. The same body of water must pass; as it does so, it cuts a deeper channel, while it also caves away the banks, whose earth and growth are carried farther down by the freshets. One channel grows larger than the other; the smaller one probably fills up, and then our island is lost by its attachment to the main land. Should the river be large enough to float a vessel, and there be no falls between it and the sea, that island is the head of navigation. Suppose it is in latitude 12° south, longitude 70° west, of Greenwich, the distance from the island to the mouth of the river Purus is 735 miles; course N. E. ½ E. from the mouth of the Purus down the Amazon to the sea, a straight line is 806 miles; course E. N. E. ¾ E. 735 + 806 = 1541, which distance a steamer can run in six days. Triple this time for turnings and stoppages for fuel, we have eighteen days then from the mouth of the Amazon up to this island.

A ship, loaded with woollen and cotton goods, and with hardware ploughs, and farming utensils—of which there are none, except some miserable old muskets—with corn, rice, buckwheat, hemp, tobacco, all kinds of flower and garden seeds, plants, vines, and shoes, would require twenty-five days to the mouth of the Amazon, eighteen days to the island, and ten days to Cuzco: in all 53 days. On the route travelled at the present day, by Cape Horn to Yslay, on the Pacific—the nearest seaport to Cuzco—the passage would occupy 105 days, and 15 days from there to Cuzco: in all 120 days. Time with merchants is money.

But the great river must be explored from its mouth up. When we swam across the Cosnipata, with our bamboo balsa, I lost my straw hat in the middle of the stream. Should it be found in the mouth of the Purus, I shall hereafter maintain that it is fully entitled to the honor of having decided that the Cosnipata is a tributary of the Purus. The India-rubber trade is increasing every year. It is now the most important export from the Amazon, and is destined to be of much greater value. Few trees are found near us.

The mules being well rested and fed on the mountain grasses, we overtook a red-haired, thin, sallow-complexioned man, slowly walking after an old horse, loaded with Peruvian bark. This was a cascarillero returning from the labors of the season in the forest. He had been sick, and went homeward with a slim reward. He presented a striking contrast to his wife, who met him with the horse. She was a smiling negress, very black, with beautifully-white teeth, who had been a slave, but bought her freedom when her former master died. He left her money, which the cascarillero married and spent for her.

We rode into Porcotambo late by moonlight. An Indian girl took me into the sub-prefect's room, where he and his wife were in bed. I drew back surprised, but not in time to escape being seen. He and his lady called out to come in. I apologized through the door; this was not considered necessary; they both insisted upon my entering. As they sat up in bed, I, in a seat close by, answered their many questions, while the servants prepared supper and bed for me in another room. The amount of fancy-work about a lady's nightcap was becoming to dark hair and eyes. Women, I find, are much interested in steamboat navigation and the productions of other countries. This town is remarkable for beautiful señoras.

At the end of the sixth day, from the head of the Madre-de-Dios, we arrived in Cuzco, after an absence of twenty-one days. Richards was still much reduced, but gaining health. The prefect expressed his regrets at not being authorized to send troops with me, and asked the favor of a written account of my visit to the east, in behalf of the Peruvian government.

CHAPTER III.

College of sciences and arts at Cuzco—Students—Library—Popularity of Fenimore Cooper's works—Convents—Cock-pits—Procession—Condition of the aborigines anterior to the Incas—Manco Capac and his wife—Their language—Antiquities—Inca's fortress—Worship of the planetary bodies—Suspicion of intercourse between ancient civilized Asia and South Peru—Temperature of bull's blood—Reception of the prefect's family—Sham fight among the Quichua Indians—Barley and corn crops—Trade—Loss of Paititi—Thermal springs—Hospitality of a cura—Lampa—Gold mines of Carabaya—Lake Titicaca—Appearance of the Indians—Puno—Military—Niggardly soil.