Notes of a naturalist in South America. Ball John
The Fonda del Universo informed the public that it contained “apartamentos para familias,” and the rival establishments were no way inferior in the stateliness of their titles and the inducements offered. It must be recollected that Chicla is the first halting-place on the main, almost the only, line of communication between the coast and a magnificent region, as large as England, and teeming with natural resources – the montaña of Central Peru. Before the war the hostelries of Chicla were often crowded, and the accommodation doubtless appeared sumptuous to the wearied travellers who had been contending with the hardships of the journey from the interior, and the passage of the double range of the Andes.
I have already said that the supplies at our hotel were somewhat scanty. Inquiries for eggs were met by the reply that the Chilian soldiers had killed all the poultry, and milk was not to be thought of, because the cows had all been driven to a distance to save them from the Chilians. But these were only trifling inconveniences. The experience of our German landlord was full of graver matter. A foreigner in the interior of Peru during this abominable war is placed between the devil and the deep sea. Having no one to protect him, his property is at the mercy of lawless soldiery; he is an object of suspicion to both parties, and his life is in constant peril. Our host owed to a fortunate accident that he had not been shot by a Peruvian party under the suspicion of having given information to the enemy. He was certainly no lover of the invader; but, like every foreigner in Peru, he looked forward with undisguised dread to the day when the Chilians should depart.
THE CONDOR AS OFFICER OF HEALTH.
If one had not recollected how very slowly and imperfectly the elementary rules of health have made way in Europe, it would have been hard to understand how men of education and intelligence, such as the great majority of the Chilian officers, should neglect the simplest precautions for preserving the health of themselves and their men. We had heard that the troops at Chicla had lost many men owing to a severe outbreak of typhoid fever, though the disease had recently almost disappeared. The cause was not far to seek. The ground all around the village was thickly strewn with the remains of the numerous baggage animals that had fallen from overwork, and the beasts that had been slaughtered by the soldiers. In South America the only sanitary officials are the carrion-eating birds. Near the coast the removal of offal is chiefly accomplished by the gallinazo, a large black vulture; in the Andes the condor takes charge of all carrion, and travels far in quest of it. It is likely that in the noisy neighbourhood of a detachment of soldiers the birds were shy of approach. If the remains had been dragged a short distance away from the village, they would have been quickly disposed of. As it was, the carcases were allowed to accumulate close to the sheds in which the men were lodged until they bred a pestilence. Things were mended, they said, at the time of our visit, yet, warned by vile emanations, I found the carcase of a horse lying close beside the baraque in which we slept; and it was only after energetic remonstrances that I succeeded in having it removed to some distance, where, doubtless, the condors made a savoury meal.
We were not curious to inquire too particularly what animal had supplied the material for our evening repast. It was enough that the skill of the Chinese boy who acted as cook had converted it into a very eatable dish. The work of the establishment seemed to be conducted altogether by two boys – the Chinese cook and a young German who acted as waiter. It was curious to notice that the intercourse between the two was carried on in English, or what passed as such. On many another occasion during my journey I observed the same thing. Throughout America, and I believe that the same is true in most countries out of Europe, English has become the lingua franca, the general medium of communication between people of different nationalities.
Having felt perfectly well all day, and inclined to believe that the discomforts of the previous night had arisen from some accidental cause, we had no hesitation in renewing the arrangement for an excursion to the Tunnel en la cima, and the Chilian commandant readily promised to send two horses, with a soldier who was to act as guide and escort, at seven o’clock on the following morning. Rather late, after some hours’ work in laying out the plants collected during the day, I lay down to sleep, but in a short time awoke with a severe headache, accompanied by ineffectual nausea, the light supper being already digested. It was an undoubted case of mountain-sickness, which had to be borne through the sleepless dark hours until daylight summoned us to rise. As on the previous day, the operations of washing and dressing chased away the symptoms, and before seven o’clock we were ready to start. At half-past seven we began to lose patience, and despatched a messenger to ascertain the cause of delay. No answer coming, we resolved to go in quest of the promised steeds, and, shouldering the impedimenta, proceeded across the stream to the pueblo. We soon discovered that no order had been given the night before, and that the commandant had not yet made his appearance. The messenger had not ventured to awake him, and thought it safest to await events. Having discovered the high-sounding name of the “hotel” where he lodged, I lost no time in proceeding to the double-bedded room shared by our commander with a brother officer, and rousing them both from sleep. Profuse excuses in excellent Spanish, with a promise that not a moment should be lost, were but a poor salve for my growing impatience, though policy required some faint effort at politeness, which had to be maintained through what seemed intolerable and interminable delays, until we at last got under way at ten o’clock.
NATIVE INDOLENCE.
It was indeed aggravating to find an excursion, to accomplish which any naturalist would gladly traverse an ocean, maimed and curtailed by the indolence which is the curse of the American Spaniard. One circumstance, indeed, helped to moderate the keenness of my disappointment. Rather heavy rain had fallen throughout the night, and the mountains about the head of the valley, previously almost clear of snow, were now covered pretty deep down to the level of about fifteen thousand feet. I already judged that it would be difficult, starting so late, to reach the summit tunnel, if sufficient time were to be reserved for botanizing. With snow on the ground the vegetation would be concealed, and the chief interest of the expedition lost, so that I readily made up my mind that we should not attempt to reach the summit of the pass.
We had not gone far on the track when we came to a suspension bridge, over which our soldier-guide rode as a matter of course. Seeing the frail structure swing to and fro under the horse’s feet, I confess that I felt much inclined to dismount and cross on foot; but in such cases one remembers that whatever men or animals are accustomed to do they are sure to do safely, and I rode on, admiring the judgment with which my horse avoided the weak places in the basket-work under his feet.
The track is well beaten, and in easy places broad and even; but here and there, where it climbs over some projecting buttress of rock, is rather rougher and steeper than I have ever seen elsewhere in mountain countries on a path intended for horsemen, excepting, perhaps, some choice spots in the Great Atlas. It was impossible to push on rapidly, for we overtook a succession of long trains of baggage-animals – mules, donkeys, and llamas – moving towards the interior at a rate of little over two miles an hour. As it was only in favourable places that it was possible to pass, our patience went through many severe trials.
At about thirteen thousand feet above the sea we passed two farmhouses, evidently constructed by European settlers, plain but neat in appearance, and the fields better kept than one could have expected in a spot so remote, each with a clump of well-grown trees of the Peruvian elder. Higher up the scenery was constantly wilder, desolate rather than grand, and with no trace of the presence of man until we reached Casapalta, a small group of poor sheds now occupied by an outpost of Chilian soldiers, nearly fourteen thousand feet above the sea.
ALPINE REGION IN THE ANDES.
We had now evidently reached the true Alpine region. At the head of the valley in front fresh snow lay on the flanks of the mountains where the dark rugged masses of volcanic rock were not too steep to allow it to rest, and the higher summits in the background were completely covered. The slopes near at hand were carpeted with dwarf plants thickly set, rising only a few inches from the surface. The only exception was an erect spiny bush, growing about eighteen inches high, with dark orange flowers, one of the characteristic Andean forms —Chuquiraga spinosa.
The guide seemed disposed to halt here, but we had not yet reached our goal, and we pushed on for about three miles, to a point about 14,400 feet in height, where it seemed judicious