Chapter I (2)

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.]

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.