CHAPTER XXII
SUCRE, THE RIO PILCOMAYO, AND THE UPLAND DESERT TO THE ARGENTINE FRONTIER
The inhabitants of Sucre insist that their city is still the capital of the country, and that the removal of the government to La Paz is temporary only, owing to the greater accessibility of the latter place. They are confident that with the completion of the railroad from Potosi the old régime will return, and with it the gayety and activities that such an event occasions. This, however, does not seem probable.
The city is built on a plateau over nine thousand feet up, on the site of an ancient Indian village known as Choquesaka. Its climate is that of perpetual spring. The streets are very wide, paved with cobblestones, and are kept exceedingly clean. The buildings are, for the greater part, low, although edifices of pretentious dimensions and imposing appearance are not lacking, and numbers of most attractive summer homes dot the surrounding country. The Medical Institute is well-known throughout the neighboring republics, and annually supplies them with thousands of tubes of vaccine. The markets are abundantly supplied with provisions of all kinds, at reasonable prices, including many fruits and vegetables of a temperate climate--brought from the eastern lowlands.
The inhabitants of the upper class are well educated, refined, and charming. There is a total population of about twenty-five thousand, but by far the greater part of it consists of Quechuas and Cholos. As a whole, Sucre is one of the most delightful spots in all Bolivia and, when the vast country to the east with its unlimited resources is made accessible, the city will unquestionably enjoy the growth and prosperity to which it is so well entitled.
However, South American cities, with few exceptions, possess little attraction for me. I touch upon them almost reluctantly, and am impatient to return to the wild, free life of the boundless jungle, desert, or plain.
Within a few days after reaching Sucre, our necessary business affairs had been looked after and we had decided upon the upper Rio Pilcomayo as our next field of operations. Pack-mules were not to be had; the few _patrones_ who owned herds of these very necessary beasts were all en route to or from Cochabamba. A weekly motor-bus service is maintained between Sucre and Potosi, and the powerful cars passed within a stone’s throw of the spot we decided to visit; but the list of waiting passengers was long, and even though a little monetary persuasion might have been helpful in securing an early passage for ourselves, the transportation of our luggage by that means was out of the question. We therefore secured the services of a _coche_. Six mules hitched to a lumbering vehicle that had seats inside for ourselves, with the luggage festooned about the exterior, took us thundering over the rocky, uneven road at a fast pace. The driver sat in front and diligently plied a long, thin whip that cracked with reports like those of a pistol, but inflicted little punishment on the mules, while a Quechua boy ran alongside and encouraged onward the panting animals with ear-splitting whistling and volleys of stones. I was never able to understand how these urchins could keep up the fast gait maintained by the mules, and at the same time have sufficient wind left with which to do the whistling.
Within an hour after leaving Sucre we had reached a point where the road ran along the rim of an attractive valley filled with trees, shrubbery, flowers, and pools; a number of queer structures combining Chinese, Arabian, Greek, and several other styles of architecture, were scattered about promiscuously and detracted greatly from the natural beauty of the spot. This place, known as _El Recreo_ is the property of a Bolivian woman who calls herself a princess, and who for reasons unknown to me makes her home in far away Paris.
Soon after leaving El Recreo with its lovely vegetation and disfiguring minarets, stained glass, and other hall-marks of poor taste, the large town of Yotala was reached. Yotala is well-known throughout Bolivia for the excellent quality of the peaches and apricots that are grown and preserved there; and locally it enjoys the reputation of producing the best bread of the vicinity, although I could never agree with the latter assertion. The finest bread we had in all Bolivia was prepared by the hospitable señora living on the banks of the Pilcomayo, and in one of whose huts we resided the following eight days.
After an hour’s halt at a house called Pulqué, where the mules were fed and watered, and where we refreshed ourselves with weak coffee at thirty _centavos_ the cup, we resumed the journey, and 3 o’clock P. M., found us on the bank of the great river we had sought--having come a distance of nine leagues since 7.30 o’clock that morning.
The Pilcomayo at this point varies in width from a few hundred feet to half a mile, is crossed by a suspension bridge, and flows between high, barren, rocky hills. There was comparatively little water, but the current was strong. For me the Pilcomayo possesses an unusual fascination. While looking at the hurrying, muddy torrent underneath, I could not help picturing the awe-inspiring stretches of wilderness through which those same waters must flow before mingling with the less fearsome Paraguay hundreds of miles farther down: little-known savages indulging in wild orgies and cannibalistic dances on its banks, or paddling silently and mysteriously on its glassy bosom to some jungle rendezvous unknown to white men; jaguars eagerly lapping up a refreshing draft after a gory meal of deer or peccary; myriads of _pirañas_ lashing its surface into spray in their mad struggles to tear the flesh off some struggling, despairing victim; lines of crocodiles sunning themselves on mud-banks or slowly patrolling the water’s edge, like drifting logs, with only the ever-vigilant eyes showing the faintest animation; boundless wastes of pestilential swamps and lagoons, where mosquitoes and other obnoxious insects in clouds forestall the advent of man, but where millions of egrets, storks, cormorants, and other water-loving birds find a safe haven and lead their wild, joyous lives in blissful ignorance of despoiling plume-hunters; but, a shout of “_Ya está, señor_,” from the mule-driver reminded me of the fact that day-dreams must soon end. The man had unloaded the luggage at a little hut surrounded by shade-trees and fields of alfalfa. He had been unable to find the owner, but thought we could arrange to stay there should that personage appear. Most important of all, he wanted his money--and then he was off with twenty-seven miles of up-hill road ahead of him, before reaching Sucre that night.
While taking stock of our outfit and arranging it conveniently in the little adobe hovel that was to serve as our home, an elderly Bolivian woman came from one of the alfalfa-fields near by, and I rightly guessed that she was the owner of the property. To my request that we be permitted to remain, she promptly replied that she would consider it an honor to have us do so. I wondered if there are many places in our own country where courtesy to utter strangers is so universal as in Spanish America. Frequently, after long and trying journeys afoot or on mule-back (sometimes of hundreds of miles) our appearance was disreputable; but with one or two exceptions only during the entire course of my travels in South America, the kindness and politeness of the inhabitants was unfailing. When we left the Pilcomayo, the _señora_ accepted not a cent of payment.
The country for many miles about was arid, excepting only the few irrigated flats near the river where fodder, grain, and vegetables grew luxuriantly. Cacti and thorny shrubbery dotted the slopes, but even these plants of the dry lands were not abundant. Numerous small streams empty into the river during the wet months; but now (November) their courses were dry and parched.
Birds were plentiful, but the species varied little from those typical of the uplands. However, they were nesting and this circumstance furnished a new and interesting field for study.
One of our first walks took us to an old mill, fallen into decay through neglect. There were hundreds of dollars’ worth of machinery ruined through lack of care and the use of improper lubricants. I have frequently seen machinery of various kinds, ranging from typewriters and sewing-machines to Pelton wheels, seriously damaged because lard or tallow had been used instead of oil, and the wearing surfaces never cleaned. In one of the dust chutes a pair of chestnut flycatchers (_Hirundinea_) had built a flimsy nest of twigs and feathers. It contained two cream-colored eggs speckled with red. The birds remained in the vicinity all day long and paid no attention to the Indians working near by, but when a dog chanced to pass they darted at it furiously, making quick dashes at its head and snapping their bills with a loud, popping noise. Another pair of birds of the same species had a nest above the door of a near-by house.
Leaf-cutting finches also called tooth-billed finches (_Phytotoma_), were very abundant. The inhabitants destroyed them whenever possible, as the birds cut the blossoms off the fruit-trees and grape-vines. The bright, saffron-breasted male sat in the top of some thorny bush and uttered queer, unmusical wails that reminded us of the mewing of a forlorn alley cat, while his gray-and-black-striped mate incubated the eggs in a small but compact nest hidden farther down among the spine-armed branches. We examined numbers of the nests; each one contained three eggs of a deep-green color, marked with a few black lines about the large end.
Oven-birds built their dome-shaped mud nests on fence-posts or the larger branches of the few poplar-trees that had been planted about the huts for shade, and sang in unison from dawn to dusk as if their hearts were overflowing with happiness.
Parrakeets had excavated holes in the face of steep banks, and chattered and quarrelled noisily over their domestic affairs. I suspect that they also appropriated the cavities prepared by swallows, as there seemed to be frequent disputes between these neighbors.
Of humming-birds there were a number of species, including the giant hummer, which was truly monarch of all he surveyed, for when one appeared the smaller members of the group found it advantageous to depart to other regions. Doctor Frank M. Chapman, in Chile, saw an individual of this species pursue and catch in its claws a small humming-bird and fly away with it; for what purpose he did not know, unless from “sheer cussedness.” It is a well-known fact that hummers possess a pugnacious disposition, are almost constantly fighting among themselves, and frequently pursue and strike at large birds such as flycatchers and even hawks, apparently for no reason other than the pleasure it affords them to torment their victims.
One afternoon we had the first indication of the coming rainy season in the form of a severe rain and thunder-storm. Before long the river was a seething, muddy torrent that continued to rise rapidly until well into the night. The next morning the water had subsided to its low level, leaving numbers of fish of several kinds stranded in depressions in the _playas_. A flock of caracaras appeared with daylight and, wading daintily into the shallow pools, extracted and devoured the stranded and helpless fish at their leisure.
Not long after we were fortunate in meeting an American by the name of Kolle, who was in the employ of a wealthy Bolivian owning estates in various parts of the country. To one of these we were subsequently invited, but before accepting the invitation of the affluent señor we decided to spend a few days at Pulqué where some variation in the avifauna from the upland type had been noticed. We had also seen numbers of Quechuas apparently living in much the same manner as their predecessors during the height of the Inca’s glory.
As frequently occurs in semiarid country, and as I have stated before, birds were very abundant; but there was little else to indicate the close proximity of other forms of life unless one took into account the herds of goats clambering about on the steep ledges and seeming to delight in bombarding with showers of small stones every one who passed below; or the caravans of burros and llamas passing on the main highway. A visit to the nebulous peaks of the adjacent mountains, however, revealed a different story. Patches of green dotted the isolated little depressions to which the name “valleys” can hardly be given, and thin pillars of smoke ascended from them straight into a cloudless sky. After long and patient looking a small, stone hut set among rocks would invariably be discovered, and sometimes we could even distinguish minute, moving forms which we knew were Indians. There, tucked away among the towering peaks they love so well, they were living a life of peace and plenty, apparently safe from the gaze of vulgar interlopers, and knowing or caring little about the outer world. It was as if one tore a page from the history of bygone centuries, or found himself suddenly transferred into the midst of a contented, pastoral community as must have existed in places unnumbered throughout the vast Incan Empire before its despoliation by the gold-crazed invaders. In this connection it might be well to go back briefly into the history of the events that brought about the present state of affairs.
The boundaries of the Incan Empire had been gradually extended until within five hundred years after the arrival of Mamo Capac and Mama Occlo, supposed Children of the Sun, it covered nearly one-third of the South American continent. Near the middle of the sixteenth century, when Pizarro and his insatiable band invaded the sacred precincts of Atahualpa’s dominion, the star of the Inca seemed to have reached the apex of its ascendancy. Under the beneficent rule of their venerated sovereign the several tribes lived contentedly, if not always peaceably; agriculture thrived, arts and crafts were encouraged and, responsive to the efforts of many thousands of laborers, numerous mines poured a constant stream of precious metals into the kingdom, adding to its wealth and splendor.
We are all familiar with accounts of the advanced state of civilization, governmental organization, and fabulous riches of the ancient nation. Temples, palaces and forts--stately edifices of hewn stone--dotted the mountainsides and crowned the eminences; beautifully constructed highways connected many of the remote districts with the capital; countless herds of llamas fed on the slopes, and streams of water flowing through a system of aqueducts poured into the heretofore arid wastes and transferred them into fruitful fields capable of supporting a numerous population. The present-day republics of Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, as well as a part of Colombia and Chile, were included within the limits of the vast kingdom.
Suddenly a dark cloud appeared on the horizon, and omens of evil import presaged the downfall of all this greatness and splendor. The fatal apparition quickly assumed the form of bearded strangers, some of whom were mounted on terrible beasts which filled the ranks of Indian warriors with panic, and who seemed to have succeeded in harnessing the thunder and lightning for the furtherance of their wicked designs. Suffice it to say, that before the avarice of the Spaniards had been abated, eight million subjects of the Inca perished and the organization of the nation was destroyed. With the single exception of the Aztecs of Mexico, who were practically exterminated by the same people, there has never been another example of such rapid and complete devastation in the history of the world.
The Quechua of to-day is a cowed, almost pathetic, individual; he has been kicked about by the descendants of the _conquistadores_ until he has learned to become reconciled to his lot; but while it seems as if this recognition might, in many instances at least, give way to despair, such is not the case.
The partiality of the Quechuas for the high _puna_ is well known--some of the ancient dwellings having been discovered at an elevation of more than seventeen thousand feet.
Those living near Pulqué seldom come down into the lower country; doubtless they are happier in their almost inaccessible fastness than if they lived nearer to their Bolivian neighbors. In appearance and dress these Indians differ greatly from the other members of the tribe living in the more populous sections of the country. Instead of the more or less conventional attire adopted by the latter, they still adhere to a form of dress at least a part of which may date back to the time of Atahualpa. The women wear a quantity of clothing--short, full skirts of dark blue, and shawls of varied colors. The men are garbed in loose, white knee-breeches, a gray or blue shirt, and belts which are neatly embroidered in gay colors and are very wide at the back so that they form a kind of sash; also, they wear the inevitable _poncho_. Strange as it may seem, the small children always wear very long clothing, and the little girls waddling along in their full, almost trailing skirts, resemble dwarfed aged women. All the apparel is made of woollen cloth of home manufacture. The men permit their hair to grow long and braid it in a queue which hangs down the back. Both sexes use peculiar little hats made of some kind of skin prepared by a process which renders it very hard; this head-gear reminded me of steel helmets. With the exception of huge spoon-shaped pins of copper, which the women used to fasten their shawls, we saw no metal ornaments or jewelry of any kind.
The home life of these Quechuas is tranquil and uneventful. Usually the little stone huts contain two or three rooms; potatoes, avas, and other produce are stored in one of them, and the rest are used for cooking and sleeping-quarters. In very cold weather a fire is kept burning day and night, and all the occupants of a house burrow deep into a pile of sheepskins and blankets close to the smouldering embers. We persuaded one of the women to bring goat’s milk to camp each morning, but in this we had the greatest difficulty. Only by payment for a week’s supply in advance could she be induced to perform this service. With past experiences with their fellow countrymen these Indians have learned to regard all strangers with apprehension. On several occasions we had ample opportunity to observe how the average _paisano_ treats the Quechua. Should night overtake him on the trail, he stops at the nearest hut and demands food for himself and his horses. In the event that the owner has nothing to offer, he draws revolver or rifle and shoots any fowls that may be running about or, lacking these, a sheep or goat, and seizes whatever else he can find. Should he see an attractive blanket, it also is taken. In the morning a few _centavos_ are thrown on the ground and he continues on his journey.
As a general rule, we found that if these Indians were treated in a frank, honest manner they were quite amiable. The little woman we had engaged to bring us milk trudged down from the mountain-top daily in faithful compliance with her obligations. She brought cheese also, and occasionally a few eggs. As it gradually dawned upon her that we really could be trusted, she became talkative and seemed to take an interest in our occupation. She spoke Quechua only in common with practically that entire tribe, which makes no attempt to learn Spanish; or, if they are able to understand it, will make no effort to speak the language.
Upon seeing a woodpecker we had collected, she gave a sigh of satisfaction; for, according to the Indian’s belief, they are birds of ill omen. If a pair of them make a nest near one of the huts, they are said to be excavating a tomb for a member of the family who will soon die. Oven-birds are looked upon with favor and are encouraged to remain in the vicinity of the dwellings. Should a pair of the cheery singers place their large, domed nest of mud near by, good fortune will follow in their wake. Any one guilty of robbing a bird’s nest will become violently ill; but as birds flock to the planted areas in such great bands that an appreciable amount of damage is done to the fruit and ripening grain, their increase in numbers is discouraged by filling many nests with small stones. After the seeds have been planted, a network of strings is stretched across the fields, and sometimes a dead hawk suspended from a post in the centre serves as a scarecrow to frighten away the marauding visitors. When the crops ripen, a small boy called the “_piscomanchachi_” is stationed in each sector. He is armed with a sling and keeps up an incessant fusillade of stones; fortunately his aim is poor, but he succeeds in killing a few birds each day.
These Quechuas lead a sedentary life. There are no more long, arduous journeys to far-away Lake Titicaca and Cuzco to participate in solemn festivals and gorgeous pageants. Their fields supply potatoes as of yore, and they still convert the tubers into their beloved _chuño_ by simply allowing them to freeze and dry. From the wheat they have learned to cultivate, a splendid quality of bread is made. Their flocks provide flesh and milk, and the wool so essential to the preservation of human life and well-being in the high altitudes. _Tola_ bushes and a peaty growth known as _yareta_ furnish an adequate supply of fuel; but should these be lacking, dung is used. The demands of civilization, however, will alter this mode of existence until little remains to remind us of the contented nation which at one time willingly bowed to the rule of the Children of the Sun.
Birds were not quite so numerous as at the Pilcomayo, but we found several forms new to us. Among them was a large, white-fronted parrakeet (_Myiopsitta luchsi_) that we saw in no other place. It banded in flocks of ten to fifty and seemed to prefer the fruit-trees near the house. A species of humming-bird built nests in doorways and suspended under the thatched roofs of houses, often in the midst of a colony of swallows (_Atticora_). Tinamou were not uncommon in the dry ravines and provided a welcome change from the goat-flesh which is the staple meat of the people and the only kind we could purchase; the latter animals were killed when very young (about the size of a cat), and we could never become enthusiastic over this, locally considered, great delicacy.
In a region such as the country around Pulqué, there are few available nesting-sites, and nests are very conspicuous objects when placed in a cactus or thorny bush; however, the sharp thorns and spines with which they are surrounded protect them, alike from predatory animals and humans. The disused mud nests of oven-birds are collected as needed and made into a poultice that is supposed to cure stomachache. Judging by the quantity they gathered, this ailment must be of frequent occurrence. A bird of the wood-hewer family (_Upucerthia_) excavated burrows in banks and deposited two white eggs in a small, feather-lined nest placed in a roomy chamber at the end of the tunnel.
The _señora_ at whose _rancho_ we stopped complained that tiger-cats were killing her chickens; so one afternoon I set a steel trap at the base of a near-by stone wall, baiting it with a dead bird. I had not gone a dozen paces from the spot when the trap sprung with a loud twang, securely imprisoning the much-sought culprit. The cat’s greed had overcome its discretion, at which we rejoiced, for it made a desirable addition to our collection. On another occasion one of these beautiful animals bounded out from under the roots of a huge tree and seized a bird as I was stooping to pick it up--and made a clean getaway to its hiding-place with the spoils.
Our hosts on the Cachimayo were awaiting us, in order that we might be present at the ushering in of the “month of baths,” as December is called in this part of Bolivia. Whether or not they thought we were in need of the daily ablutions, I am unable to say; but this I do know, that we shocked the good people on numerous occasions by having a swim at every possible opportunity, even if the month was not in keeping with local traditions.
Peras Pampa is an immense estate on both sides of the Cachimayo, and but an hour’s trip by motor from Sucre. We spent a delightful ten days amid pleasant surroundings, living in a comfortable bungalow, and passing the evenings at the _casa grande_ where the elite of Sucre’s society gathered for music, games, and dancing.
The grounds were a succession of orchards, fields, and vineyards. Scores of Indians lived and worked on the place, cultivating the ground, building stone fences, and taking care of the stock. At night they met and played very well on reed flutes of various sizes, each musician taking a separate part, so that the combined effort was somewhat like that produced by a well-organized band. Their favorite piece was “Red-Wing”--apparently learned from a phonograph record.
The evening parties were always enjoyable affairs. They began with a sumptuous dinner--including several kinds of wine; then a series of eight or ten well-chosen courses, followed by liqueurs and smoking. The women did not smoke.
After that there were charades, story-telling, music, singing, dancing, and perhaps a walk _en masse_ in the moonlit grounds, through arbors of honeysuckle and other flowering vines and over paths bordered with hedges of roses. There were always more refreshments just before the party broke up at midnight. All the Bolivians we met at Peras Pampa were charming, and we heartily regretted that our time for combined work and play was not unlimited.
The majority of the people who formed the gay evening crowd lived in separate cottages on the estate--the guests of the owner. Each day they repaired faithfully to the river for a dip, although the water was usually very muddy, and there was about an even chance whether one would emerge without yesterday’s coat of grime or with an additional one. December is chosen for this purpose because it is the warmest and most pleasant month of the year.
The time allotted us for work in Bolivia had nearly expired. We had thoroughly enjoyed our lengthy sojourn in the republic, and look forward to revisiting it in the future. Our schedule called for rather extensive work in the Argentine, so, after a great deal of difficulty, we succeeded in collecting a caravan of riding and pack mules for the ride of over three hundred miles to La Quiaca, on the Argentine frontier. Ordinarily the trip from Sucre to La Quiaca should not be undertaken on mule-back. One should go to Potosi in one day’s time, utilizing the semiweekly motor-car service. A railroad connects the latter place with a small station a few miles this side of Tupiza, and from this point one may reach La Quiaca in two days by carriage. During the rainy season, however, both automobile and carriage service are suspended; and the difficulty of twice securing mules on which to cover the two stretches of road between railway terminals and the delays and other inconveniences are so great that we decided to travel the entire distance with a pack-train. This also gave us an opportunity to see the country.
The expedition left Sucre December 22. The caravan was appallingly large, for we were taking our entire outfit, and it required no less than six Quechuas to look after the mules and burros. All supplies, also, had to be taken with us, as very little is to be had from the Indians, who are virtually the sole inhabitants of the cheerless highlands. There are a number of large villages, it is true, but the person who relies on the natives for maintenance is as likely as not to have to live on coca and _chicha_, or suffer for his improvidence.
By noon we had reached the Cachimayo at a point where, ordinarily, it is fordable; but a heavy rain had caused the river to rise and we were confronted by a series of roaring cataracts covered with foam and débris washed down from the mountains. The mules were unloaded and driven into a corral. Soon other caravans arrived, until there were several hundreds of men and animals gathered on the river-bank. We spent the afternoon strolling through the adjacent apricot-orchards and vineyards. The former trees were laden with fruit, all ripening; it was small in size, but of delicious flavor. By seven o’clock the water had subsided many feet, and one of the _arrieros_ having previously ridden across the river to test its depth, the caravan started across. The stream was three hundred feet wide and the current very strong, so that crossing it seemed an endless operation; the mules struggled onward gamely, but to the rider it seemed as if they stood stock-still while a maze of rushing water seethed and raged all around him in frantic efforts to sweep away everything in its path. Our own animals got across safely, although some of the packs were drenched; but a long train of burros laden with huge boxes of the popular _Sucrenses_ cigarettes fared badly, and a number of the poor creatures were upset and whirled away down-stream. We continued onward in the darkness two leagues to Poste Escalera, a lone hut on a hillside, and spent a trying night at this flea-infested post. Next day we reached the Pilcomayo at a point where the river is divided into many narrow channels, although there is one main stream spanned by a swaying wooden bridge.
A detailed narration of each day’s ride would mean the recounting of practically the same things. There were, however, a few things of unusual interest, and these will be mentioned later.
The country is dry, rolling, and unproductive. In some places there is a sparse growth of cacti and thorny shrubbery, but vast areas are rocky and barren of all vegetation. We crossed ridge after ridge, the elevation of the trail varying between eight thousand and twelve thousand feet. Travel in this type of country is most trying. Water is so scarce that long distances must be covered in order to find suitable camping-sites; in one instance we were compelled to ride thirty-six miles in the course of a day, between streams. The temperature varies 100° each twenty-four hours. At two in the afternoon the thermometer registered 132° F.; at night ice formed on the water in our pails.
Christmas day was spent at Puno, with every member of the party ill from the effects of the climatical changes. The inhabitants went about their occupations as usual, quite ignoring this all-important opportunity for a _fiesta_.
All the dwellings of the Indians were made of adobe. In the walls of some of them rows of disused earthenware pots had been used as building material. When the huts crumbled, a fine collection of pottery was covered up in the mound. This is probably an ancient custom and may account for much of the material found in old ruins to-day.
Two days later, the last of the long, weary miles across the cheerless upland had been left behind, and at noon we galloped briskly into Villazón, on the Bolivian side of the border.
Villazón contains about a score of scattered, low, adobe buildings. We arrived on a Sunday, when the customhouse was closed, but the officials in charge very courteously permitted us to proceed on our way. A brook three or four feet wide separates the two republics and, stepping across this, we found ourselves in La Quiaca and--in Argentina.