CHAPTER XV

ACROSS THE CORDILLERA TO THE RIO TAMBO

Professor Edward Alsworth Ross in his book _South of Panama_ says of Peru:

"Were I to be exiled, and confined the rest of my life to one country, I should choose Peru. Here is every altitude, every climate, every scene. The lifeless desert and the teeming jungle, the hottest lowlands and the bleakest highlands, heaven-piercing peaks and rivers raving through canyons--all in Peru. The crassest heathenism flourishes two days in the saddle from noble cathedrals, and the bustling ports are counterpoised by secluded inland towns where the past lies miraculously preserved like the mummy of the saint in a crypt."

The greatest part of Peru lies east of the Andes. It is also the least known part of Peru for it is rarely visited by strangers or mining men or commercial travelers. The part they see is the desert coast line with its dirty, poverty-stricken towns, the bleak barren peaks that fringe the Pacific littoral, here and there a spot of verdure at the mouth of a river, and Lima, the capital. A few others, mostly mining men and engineers, take a trip to the summit of nearby mountains on the Oroya railroad, sojourn in the mining towns, suffer from cold and lonesomeness, and swear that Peru is the damnedest country on the face of the globe, and are heartily glad when the time comes for them to leave, vowing never to return again. Barely a handful of these people ever cross the passes of the eastern cordillera, and descend the banks of the rivulets formed from the melting of the perpetual snows until these rivulets become streams, the country opens out, and the climate changes from that of the arctic regions to that of the temperate zone and finally changes again to that of the tropics. If the tourist journeyed farther he would find himself in a vast forest of tropical trees, impenetrable, and the home of wild Indians of the blowpipe variety, who roam the great swamps and jungles clad not even in a loin cloth. He would meet mighty rivers as wide as our widest ones, would observe flora such as is only seen in our hothouses, and would see many species of fauna which he has never seen except at a zoo. This great, and for the most part unexplored, section of Peru is part of the Amazon watershed and forms a wilderness of forest which is the continuation of that of Brazil. The Amazon and many of its tributaries rise near the summits of the Andes, and cutting their passage in deep gorges and canyons ever widening in their descent down the eastern slope of the great barrier range of mountains, finally reach the lowlands and flow peacefully in the direction of the Atlantic Ocean, their volume of water being continually augmented by an inpour of thousands of similar smaller streams.

A person who is at the mouth of a great river longs to follow it up to its source, likewise a person standing at the source or at the side of a little stream which he can step across and know that thousands of miles away it flows into the ocean as a mighty river, is fascinated and a longing comes over him to descend it and follow it to its outlet, especially if it happens to be in a country that is new to him and the course of the flowing road lies through a stretch of the universe that to him is an unsolved mystery. Twice before I have stood at the sources of tributaries to the Amazon, and each time I could hardly resist the temptation of following them downward. Once was at Huancayo on the Mantaro. This river flows eastward and joins the Apurimac, forming the Rio Tambo. The latter joins the Urubamba, forming the Ucayali. The Ucayali joins the Maranon, forming the main stream of the Amazon. The other time was at La Paz at the headwaters of the Chuquillampo. This river descends very steeply through a wild gorge named the Yungas and flows into the Altamachi. The latter flows into the Beni which in turn empties into the Madeira. The Madeira flows into the Amazon. As I was limited for time on each of these previous occasions I had to forego the pleasure and excitement of such a thrilling expedition. Also the descent of either of these rivers would have been impracticable without a large expedition because their courses lie through a country inhabited by savage Indians which would make traveling extremely dangerous.

In Lima this time the idea occurred to me, since I had been twice thwarted in my desire to descend the length of the Amazon basin and might never have another chance if not at present, that it would be a good stunt to obtain all possible information about what route to take, and if feasible to make another attempt. I spoke about it to Prat who did not fall in with the idea very well as he had a wholesome fear of the wild tribes which he was told infested the whole forest region of Amazonian Peru. After a considerable palaver he finally agreed to take a chance and since we were told at the American consulate that the best way to make the trip would be by the way of the Chanchamayo and the Perene Rivers, we determined upon this last-mentioned route and then started to make preparations.

There lives in Lima one of the best fellows that I have ever become a chance acquaintance of. His name is Tomas de Mandalangoitia and by occupation he is an official of the Peruvian line of steamers plying between Ilo and Panama. He gave me much information about my prospective trip and as his intentions were to sail the next week for Panama on business for his company, he offered to see that all our baggage would get through safely to that port. This he did, and to him I am extremely thankful as otherwise I would have never been able to make the trip. I left the details of the first stages of the trip to Signor Francesco Sansoni, the courier of the Hotel Maury, who telegraphed to the different stopping places en route as far as the Perene Colony, making reservations for me for horses, and accommodation for me, with guides. He arranged my itinerary and also made in Lima what necessary purchases we would require. The latter consisted of a portable stove, tent, blankets, rifles, revolvers, sack of beans, salt, sugar, molasses, and buckskin shoes. I also carried a camera and medicine chest. I might as well mention that I went to all this expense for nothing because on the Rio Tambo our boat upset and we lost everything in the water excepting the clothes we had on, our money which with our letters of credit we had tied around our persons in a belt, and our revolvers with a box of cartridges which we had in our pockets. Prat even lost his hat and was obliged to buy an Indian piece of headgear from a native boatman which he wore until we reached Iquitos a month later.

The railroad to Oroya, the highest in the world, has been described so many times that it is unnecessary to do so now. In even hours one is taken from Lima to an altitude of 15,865 feet and then dropped down 3686 feet to the junction town of Oroya, from which place a railroad runs northward to Cerro de Pasco, and another one southward to Huancayo. At Casapalca near to the summit of the Andes west of the divide there was a herd of llamas numbering about three hundred behind the railroad sheds. I obtained a good photograph of them which is here reproduced. Most of the people on the train suffered from _soroche_, a mountain sickness akin to vertigo and nausea which is due to the rapid change in atmosphere that the traveler undergoes when he is whisked into the high, nitrogenous altitudes. It commonly takes several days before the unaccustomed person feels all right again. At Oroya there is a fair hotel, the Junin, where I was obliged to stop over night and where the raw air nearly chilled me through on account of my previous sojourn in the sub-tropics. Oroya is 12,179 feet above sea level and is a bleak, dismal place at its best. The wind blows something fierce and chills one's very marrow. I told Prat that he had better dress warmly but the Spaniard said that since we were only to endure a few days' frigidity he could stand it. It was laughable to see him shiver in his Palm Beach suit and watch him chase his straw sailor hat which a gust of wind would occasionally blow off. Even though I was warmly clad, I was obliged to crawl under four blankets with all my clothes on when I retired that night.

At six o'clock the next morning we were awakened and upon emerging from the front door found a cholo guide, who Francesco Sansoni had telegraphed for, awaiting us with four mules, one for the baggage. We had so much paraphernalia with us that it would have been impossible to load it all upon one mule, so I had it divided somewhat in order that the three mules which we were to ride would bear some of the burden. We were ready to start out at any time after breakfast was served, which we had ordered for 6.30 A.M., but seven o'clock slipped by without any of the servants having prepared any. I went into the kitchen and asked the cook to hurry with it, but he said that the proprietor was asleep and had the keys of the pantry. I told him to awaken him, but the cholo cook was evidently afraid to disturb the sleep of his Italian master. It was nearly nine o'clock before we got away after we had partaken of some stale rolls and several cups of poor coffee. For an hour and a half after starting we climbed a broad, well-traveled path up the western slopes of the barren mountains, until we reached the summit where there was a pass at an altitude of 13,975 feet above sea level. This pass is the dividing line between the Mantaro and the Palca watersheds, both of which belong to the Amazon basin. The Mantaro flows in a southeasterly direction out of Lake Junin and as a creek flows past the towns of Oroya and Jauja, ever increasing in volume so that it is quite respectable in size at Huancayo. Beyond the summit was a large uneven plain from which rose many rounded hills and stony buttes and which was sprinkled here and there with coarse tufts of bunch grass at which we saw llamas grazing. These mountain plateaus are in Chile called pampas, in Bolivia and Southern Peru, _punos_, but here and farther north as far as Colombia, _paramos_. It took us an hour to cross this plain which sloped gently to the east; then began a rough descent over stony ground on the eastern slopes of the mountain till we reached a formation where a depression of the ground showed us was the beginning of a valley. The grasses became more abundant and a few shrubs appeared. The lower we descended, the more these shrubs took on the appearance of trees so that now the country had a totally different aspect from the barrenness of Oroya and the high plateau. The path had broadened considerably so that it nearly assumed a road-like width, and we met many droves of llamas followed up by drivers on muleback. All were carrying merchandise to the railroad. In a few days they would return with the products of the civilized world imported from North America and Europe. We now came upon the south bank of a fastly flowing stream and followed this for about five hours, riding very slowly and taking in the landscape which was becoming less wild all the time. A few miles before reaching Tarma the banks of the creek were clothed with patches of calla lilies, growing wild, in their original native state, the dark green of their arrow-shaped leaves forming a brilliant color contrast with the creamy whiteness of their blossoms and the golden yellow of their petals. A cleft in the mountains was seen ahead, which showed us that our creek here joined another river, which was true for here the Acomayo was reached. Presently the red tile roofs of Tarma were seen among the eucalyptus groves and soon we clattered down an avenue bordered by trees and on each side of which ran irrigation ditches. At the end of this avenue was an ornamental gate built into the solid walls of the buildings and which looked like a triumphal arch. Under this we passed and then entered the narrow streets of the city, drawing up at the Hotel Roma on the plaza, where rooms reserved for us by Sansoni were awaiting our occupancy.

Tarma is a very pleasant town of five thousand inhabitants in an ideal location in a narrow valley which it seems to fill at the base of high mountains. Its altitude is 10,010 feet above sea level but it lacks the chill of such highly situated towns east of the cordillera. Here the cold winds from the high paramos and ice peaks do not reach owing to its sheltered position. The air is fresh, but not raw and reminds one of the first breezes of spring. I was told by the accommodating Italian hotel proprietor that the climate is that of a perpetual spring.

The city is compactly built with one- and two-story adobe houses, those on the main streets being painted light colors or whitewashed. In the center of the town is a treeless plaza but beautified with shrubs in which is a round cement fountain and an octagonal frame bandstand. At one side of this plaza is the parish church in charge of an amiable fat priest, a cholo who has but a slight strain of white blood as can be observed by his dark, heavy jowled features. He was clad in a white robe of coarse wool over which hung a dark cape. He seemed very much interested in us and gave us letters of introduction to other priests along the road which we would follow. These he handed to Prat who accidentally lost them on purpose; the Catalonian in his heart was an agnostic, and a Roman Catholic only in his bringing up. He would walk a block out of his way to avoid meeting a priest, yet when he was sick would always want to have one about him. He would never enter a church and would make sacrilegious remarks, yet when a thunderstorm would come up, he would cross himself and mumble prayers only to forget them as soon as the sky became clear again. Padre Troncoso was the name of the Tarma priest and he delighted in having me take his photograph. He teaches in the parish school and asked me to take a picture of his highest class which consisted of sixteen boys, most of whom were white.

The Hotel Roma is a two-story structure with a carved wooden balcony on its second floor; its exterior is much like many buildings in Stamboul. It is a very comfortable and clean place with good food. There is another hotel in Tarma, the Umberto, which is well spoken of. The most curious sight in the small city is the cemetery. It reminds one of a Chinese burying ground. It is filled with many grotesque monuments, some of them having tiled roofs. These individual tombstones are of adobe, and are whitewashed over. They contain several niches into which the coffins are placed and they are so narrow that the gruesome burdens may be put in them at either end.

We left Tarma early in the morning and followed the Acomayo River a couple of hours to the town of Acobamba, a pretty village much resembling Tarma only smaller. We watered our mules here, tarried about an hour, and then continued for another two hours to the city of Palca which is very much like both Tarma and Acobamba, although smaller than the first-mentioned place and larger than the last-mentioned one. It is a poorer place than Tarma, but it has a larger church. This building is several hundred years old; it is of adobe, and has a broad façade from one side of which rises a four-story belfry capped with a steeple. The valley is here very narrow but beyond Palca there is a widening where the Acomayo flows into the Rio Palca. This river we followed the rest of the day. The scenery between Tarma and Palca is much the same, and is distinguished by the number of century plants along the roadside and the abundance of calla lilies along the river bed. Some of these lilies were spotted and likewise had light spots on their leaves. Leaving Palca there was a much more varied vegetation. This was noticeable when we crossed the river and we proceeded along its south bank. The mountains were still barren but were beginning to show unmistakable signs by the increased number of bushes on their slopes that we were approaching a wetter climate. The river itself had all the attractions of a clear, rushing mountain torrent working its way among the rocks and bowlders; its banks of shale rock were steep and thickly clothed with vegetable life of many species. Among the latter were wild verbenas of the brightest scarlet, purple begonias, several varieties of fern, wild tobacco plants, and a creeper much like the wild cucumber. An hour beyond Palca we arrived at the hill of Carpapata down whose sides the road zigzagged in many windings. The natives have made a short cut between the zigzags which saves a couple of kilometers but which is too steep to be descended in comfort. Up and down this short cut they drive their llamas which take readily to its steepness like mountain sheep. Arrived near the bottom of the hill the road leads along the ledge of a cliff high above the turbulent river. To look down or up is apt to cause giddiness. This is the famous scene that is portrayed in the geographies of half a century ago where a llama train is meeting a mule train on a curve at the side of a precipice. The view with the river flowing at the bottom of the gorge is truly impressive. The mountains on either side are sheer and rocky, their upper slopes covered only with grass, their bases clothed with shrubs. Straight before us leading to a veritable land of promise lay the road, threading its way on a gentle downward grade, perpetually alternating from the convex to the concave on the ledge of the mountains. Ahead of us on the other side of the canyon a single mountain appeared clad with forest trees up to its very summit, the first that I had seen in Peru. As we drew nearer it became a scene of enchanting beauty, with its colorings of light green and gray. From the underbrush near its summit there was poured forth a large waterfall, which dashed down its entire height in three separate cascades for several hundred feet.

Towards evening we reached the rest house named the Huacapistana Hotel, at an exact altitude of 5600 feet above sea level. This is the real gateway to the tropics. The hotel, owned by an Italian, is built on a narrow shelf of land in a flowery meadow above the river and below the road. It is a clean well-kept two-story building with half a dozen guests' rooms. Adjoining it and separated from the meadow by a stone wall is a barn and a corral for horses and llamas. The climate is fresh but it is much warmer than at Tarma. A mist gathered over the river that night which made the atmosphere rather chilly. This is frequently the case and it does not lift until the sun is well out the next morning.

We got an early start the next day and found the road, which was now smooth, wet, and slippery from the mist. The tree trunks and branches were rich in symbiotic life, with ferns, lianas, and orchidaceous plants of many species. The wild cotton trees were laden with festoons of roseate blossoms, and from the extremities of their slender branches would be seen hanging large wasps' nests. Other nests such as those of bees and ants of a gray color spotted the rocks or any available bare space on the smooth bark of a tree. The effect of the giant tree fern spreading its graceful fronds over the path was enchanting; beneath its shade grew seemingly every other species of fern which one has ever noticed in hothouses at home. We passed several small coffee plantations; in the clearings near the houses were banana, orange, and papaya trees. The tit-shaped fruit of the latter is so common that it is left unpicked for the birds to feed on. The pods attain maturity in regular sequence from the lowest to the highest, swelling in size, changing from green to yellow, and becoming soft and possessing an insipid sweetish odor. In the matter of vegetation generally, the above description may be fairly said to characterize the whole region; orchids, scarlet cannas, the broad-leafed caladium or elephant's ear, purple, white, and pink begonias, scarlet verbenas; creepers, ferns, and mosses; forest trees, reeds, grasses, and plant life generally, interspersed with huge bowlders and masses of weatherbeaten rock of a chalky whiteness, all contributing to the formation of the most perfect fairy scene imaginable.

Occasionally one would meet with a blaze of color from some wild cotton trees, laden with flowers, pink, yellow, and even blue; and equally striking was the effect of a species of wild runner bean with dark green leaves and thick bunches of vermilion flowers hanging in tresses, and appearing to nearly smother the tree which gave it support.

The road made a sudden double turn to reach a lower level by the side of the river, and then became a low-roofed passage cut beneath an immense wall of overhanging rock, open and unsupported on the river side, and in plain view of the turbulent stream below. The softest and most luxuriant vegetation covers this rock, and it is overhung in many places with the graceful tape fern, and the snakelike roots of trees. Here I saw a large toucan fly across the ravine and its brilliant plumage of scarlet and black added a still further charm to the scene. The next view after passing beneath the rocky projection is one which can never fail to arrest the attention. At a distance ahead, sufficient to enable one to take in the whole picture, rises the Pan de Azucar (Sugar Loaf), a mountain in the middle of the now broadened river bed. Its marvelous shape and mantle of green forest trees, which extend to its summit, remind one of the Pitons at Castries, St. Lucia, although on a much smaller scale. We came to a place where there used to be a swinging bridge but which was some time ago abandoned because the road crosses the river by a new stone one farther down. Here on turning around in our saddles is a view different in character but equally impressive and grand. This is a great perpendicular patch of white rock regularly stratified but wrinkled and most strangely contorted into the form of an elliptical curve.

The bridges over the river which we had to cross at different stages of the journey deserve a word of praise for their construction, combining lightness with strength. They are of the suspension type, built of strong cables with plank footboards, and sufficient to meet the needs of the present light and limited mule traffic. When crossing, it is advisable to dismount and walk, because they sway considerably and are open at the sides. One such bridge some twelve miles below Huacapistana leads to the hacienda of Naranjal, a sugar plantation. The only bridge that I know of in North America similar to these swinging bridges of Peru spans Capilano Canyon near North Vancouver, in British Columbia. Naranjal has an old-fashioned garden with a fountain surrounded with mango and orange trees, the latter giving the name to the place. Three miles below Naranjal is the ranch house of Milagro, belonging to a man named Horquiera.

San Ramon is a little village situated in the heart of the Chanchamayo district. The country is here more open and is surrounded at varying distances by undulations and rounded hills, thickly covered with virgin forest; their lower slopes were, however, cleared for sugar, coffee, and cocoa plantations. After the mist had cleared in the early morning, the day had been hot, but full of novel interest, and although we had made an early start we had progressed at a speed not exceeding three miles an hour and had now only completed fifteen miles. The settlement of San Ramon although somewhat scattered consists chiefly of one street, the houses on which are no more than huts. They are built of wood and have thatched roofs, the latter slanting downward in front from the ridge of the pole. The hotel is the only substantial building of the village. It is a two-story stone and adobe building set back from the road in a field which is somewhat overrun with castor beans.

The six miles between San Ramon and La Merced was over fairly level ground and through less imposing scenery. On the way we passed through several hamlets inhabited by Chinamen and cholos, and small _chacras_ on which grew papayas and other fruits. All the buildings were of mud or cane, thatched and of that rustic and simple character which not only harmonizes with a natural environment, but suits the country and climate and seems in every way to meet the needs of a primitive population. Over the door of one such edifice was the sign which denoted that it was used as a school. At the time of our passing, the only scholars visible were a boy and a girl, who with their backs to the open door, sat at a desk gazing at a monstrous colored diagram demonstrating the evil effects of alcohol upon the human system. We crossed the very fine Herreria suspension bridge and two hours after leaving San Ramon entered La Merced.

La Merced is situated on a flat-topped eminence and commands a good view of the surrounding country, but in itself it does not seem to possess any characteristics of special interest. It is merely a small country town with typical parish church and plaza and is in telegraphic communication with the outside world. The inhabitants of the town have suffered considerably from malaria which is visible on their wasted and parchment-colored countenances. Leaving La Merced it took us three hours to reach the Peruvian Corporation's headquarters. This is located at the junction of the rivers Paucartambo and Chanchamayo, the combined river taking the name of Perené. The road, which was fair, wound around the left bank of the Chanchamayo, now a river of considerable breadth, and the scenery once more became increasingly beautiful. Tree ferns and tree palms of different kinds were again abundant; from one of these species, fanlike in leaf, is made the local straw hat, but little inferior to the so-called Panama variety. Butterflies, both large and small, were omnipresent. The whole distance from La Merced to the Peruvian Corporation's headquarters is about fifteen miles. The bridge over the Colorado River, a tributary stream, was under repair, so leaving the path we saved time and distance by fording it. In the rainy season this would have been an impossibility, for it becomes a raging torrent, as evidenced by the huge rounded boulders, and width of its bed, along which we had to ride. This part, bordered by tall reeds, towering above our heads, was now dry and led us to another arm of the river, where a fairly strong flow of water wet our mules up to their bellies. Regaining our path, we eventually regained the Paucartambo, which we crossed by the means of a primitive log raft, while the guide took the mules across by a bridge a mile down the river.

Here among the clean-washed stones of the river bed, I got my first view of the uncivilized Indian. This was a male Chuncho native, rifle in hand, returning from an unsuccessful hunt. At first he hid behind some brushwood but was finally induced to come out. He was a well-built, sturdy fellow of medium height, attired in a loose brown robe of native manufacture. His skin was of the same hue, and his head of thick black hair was encircled and held in place by a plain band of cane. Sunday is a market day at the Peruvian Corporation's camp; it was then that I saw more of these Indians. From them I obtained for a few centavos several of their chains of colored seeds, and monkey teeth, and ultimately procured a complete outfit, headband, more aboriginal ornamental finery, parrots' wings with feathers attached which serve as a loin cloth, bows and arrows. They are painted with a facial adornment of vermilion, with the occasional addition of grease to keep the flies and insects off. This red paint is found ready made in the seeds of the achote, a bush of two varieties which produces maroon-colored pods and which grows wild in the chacra clearings. These Indians who live in the neighborhood of the settlements are mild, peaceful, and intelligent, skilled in domestic industries which is the manufacture of bows and arrows. They are excellent marksmen. They are somewhat small in stature but well built. They take readily to the water and learn to swim, and are cleaner in their habits and customs than the cholos and mountain Indians. Filial affection is a not deeply implanted instinct with them, and among them human life is but lightly esteemed. While few serious crimes are committed among them, murder is accounted as nothing. If a widow with a young family remarries, it is the all but universal practice for the second husband to kill her children by a previous marriage. It is also a common occurrence for a family to throw their parents into the river when, through the infirmity of advancing years, life becomes a burden, either to themselves, or to those on whom they should look for support. The manager of the Peruvian Corporation's headquarters told me that on one occasion he had the greatest difficulty in restraining some Chunchos from throwing into the Perené, a man who was suffering from a bad abscess, and who was eventually cured by having it lanced. This is the fate they mete out to all members of their tribe who are suffering from diseases which they consider incurable.

Eighty miles below the camp, where the rivers Perené and Ené unite to form the Tambo, dwell a colony of Campas Indians known as the Ungoninos. Owing to the outrages perpetrated upon them by the rubber gatherers, they offer a stout resistance to the approach of a stranger, for they have learned not to trust the white man. Though they are not cannibals, it is impossible to enter their territory, and in making the cross-country journey to Iquitos, it is necessary to go by the way of Puerto Jessup and Puerto Bermudez if one wishes to escape with one's life. The Cashibos, on the other hand, are a distinct race of Indians who inhabit the plains on the left bank of the Pachitea. They are cannibals. These people wear no clothes, shave their heads, and wage continual warfare on all the surrounding tribes. Their cannibalistic propensities have been explained in the attempt on the part of the Cashibo to absorb into his system qualities of the white man which he considers to be superior to his own. They, like other tribes, have undoubtedly been made worse by the shocking treatment they have received at the hands of the caucheros (rubber gatherers), some of whom are the lawless descendants of European immigrants whose ostensible occupation is the gathering of rubber, but who, at the same time, carry on a lucrative trade in the sale of human beings. From what I have heard, there prevails a state of affairs which in its recorded and unrecorded atrocities, falls nothing short of the darkest page of slavery practiced in the days of Leopold II. in Belgian Congo. The Cashibos have been a fierce and warlike tribe; now they have learned what the crack of the carbine means and quickly get out of the way when they hear it. They are, however, very treacherous, and a small party traveling through their country would run a great risk of serving as a banquet for them. They kill off all the men of the other tribes down the Ucayali and sell the women and children whenever they can get a market for them. The method may not be humanitarian but it is at least practical and remunerative to them.

Coffee does not grow at the Peruvian Corporation's headquarters camp but at a half-dozen different chacras some distance from it. This plan was adopted to obviate the possible exigencies of blight, but it is an unfortunate one, because not only does it augment the difficulties of transport but militates against anything like direct personal supervision. These haciendas, which produce the most excellent coffee and cocoa, are known as La Magdalena, La Margarita, and San Juan. These are the largest and most important as well as being the farthest away. The difficulties of intercommunication are increased by the character of the roads which in the rainy season are nearly impassable on account of the mud. The road to La Magdalena needs constant clearing to prevent it from becoming an overgrown track; those leading to La Margarita and to San Juan are toilsome zigzagging ascents which after heavy rains furnish stretches of mire and clay knee deep. In addition to this, streams cross the road in many places, and when swollen frequently wash it entirely away. All the haciendas are in the Perené division of the country, bounded on the south by the main river and on the west separated from the Chanchamayo region by the Paucartambo. From here eastward stretches two hundred miles of hilly land before the general level of the Brazilian plains is reached, and the whole is covered with a dense forest, uninhabited excepting by wild Indians. It is a wonderful country, stored with natural wealth and capable of immense development when it will be opened up. Its climate and general conditions are, with the exception of malaria and blackwater fever, healthy, and there are but few drawbacks in the way of insect pests.

For four solid days, after arriving at the headquarters' camp, it rained, which kept us indoors or near the shelter of the buildings. The fifth day broke cloudless with the sun shining, and as we had spent enough time loafing about the buildings of the Peruvian Corporation, we decided to start out, and try to make the mission station of Jesus Maria at the junction of the Perené and the Pangoa Rivers in three days' time. From there we could hire some natives to take us in a canoe in three more days to Puerto Raimondi, a settlement on the Ucayali River at which place we thought it would be possible to board a steam launch to take us down the stream to Iquitos. We later on discovered that we were wrong because we had to canoe down the Ucayali as far as Cumaria a distance of one hundred miles below Puerto Raimondi. The trail down the Perené lay through level country, the mountains having somewhat receded from the river. Sometimes a spur would extend to the banks, but after the first day out they were for the most part several miles off to the north. They were diminishing in height, and those to the north were called the Cerros de la Sal. The guide that had come with us from Oroya returned home from the Perené Colony, but the manager at headquarters' camp, Señor Villalta, provided us with horses, and sent along with us as far as Jesus Maria, a half-breed and two native Indians. He did this because these Indians belonged to the tribe that lives beyond Jesus Maria, and through them we would be able to continue our journey in safety since they would procure for us at the mission station an escort which would see us through to the place where we were to board the launch. There were quite a few small chacras on the first two days' trip and both nights we managed to find lodging at one of them. The first night out, I noticed that the bag of Ica beans and most of the canned stuff which Sansoni had bought for us in Lima was missing. I spoke to Prat about this because he had carried the sack of beans with him on his mount. He professed surprise and gave out his theory that the cholo guide from Oroya had stolen them and had gone back home with them. I had my doubts about this because the Spaniard had been complaining a dozen times every day about the load that he had to lug along with him. I said nothing about it until five weeks later when we were in the hotel in Manaos awaiting a Brazilian Lloyd steamer to take us to Para. Prat was in the barroom slightly under the influence of vermouth and bitters, relating to Colonel Constantino Nery, governor of the State of Amazonas, our adventures in crossing the continent. The governor asked him how we had fared for food, to which Prat answered that we had done well considering that we were obliged to eat Indian concoctions that the ordinary white man would not sniff at. I added that we might have lived better if Prat had not left behind at the Perené Colony the sack of beans and the canned goods. The latter then went on to relate that the cholo guide from Oroya stole them. I interrupted saying that since the trip was now over and we had reached civilization safely that it did not matter what had become of them, but that I believed Prat had left them behind because he did not want to be bothered with them. The Spaniard called for another vermouth and then laughingly owned up that he had left them behind saying that the temperature was hot enough the way it was without being hampered with any burdens. Nery told him that he was quite right and that he would have done the same had he been there. This trick of leaving our provisions behind has always since appealed to Prat as a huge joke.

Our water trip from Jesus Maria to Para, thence to Cayenne, Paramaribo, Georgetown, Bridgetown, Willemstedt, and to Colon is full of enough material to fill another book which will appear in the near future. This book is only meant to deal with the southern countries of South America such as Chile, Argentina, and Paraguay. I have added to it a few chapters not dealing on the original subject, but which I refrained from leaving out as they were a series of consecutive travel. At Jesus Maria we hired a canoe which took us down the Rio Tambo to Puerto Raimondi which is situated on the west bank of that stream at its junction with the Urubamba which here forms the Ucayali. Behind us inland was the Cashobi country so in continuing our canoe trip to Cumaria we always camped on the right bank of the river. It took us one week of stiff paddling to reach Cumaria. One day our canoe capsized, making us lose everything we had with us, necessitating us to partake of such delicacies as stewed monkey and parrot which the Indian stomach craves for and which are nearly always to be purchased at the Indian encampments on the right bank of the Ucayali. Cumaria is the head of river navigation. It is an Indian settlement at which a few _caucheros_, or rubber gatherers, live. Here we were fortunate enough to become passengers of a gasoline launch which took us in a week to Contamana. We had been told at Jesus Maria that the launches were steam power, but were surprised when we arrived at Cumaria to find that they were gasoline ones, and this in the wilderness, many hundred miles from civilization. At Contamana we changed into another gasoline launch. Here we entered that part of the river which is called the Bajo or Lower Ucayali. It differs much from the Alto or Upper Ucayali in so far that the distant mountains have altogether disappeared, the stream is much broader, has many channels, and is filled with large islands some of them being fifty miles long. Also settlements are more plentiful, and at the docks near the hamlets crude rubber in balls is waiting for exportation. Two days before reaching Iquitos the Bajo Ucayali is joined by the Maranon and the Amazon itself is entered.

Iquitos is a fever-stricken port of twelve thousand inhabitants on the left bank of the Amazon. It is built on the high banks above the river opposite to some islands of the same name, and not far above the confluence of the Nanay and the Amazon. Above the town is a fair-sized stream, the Itaya, which makes the city located on a peninsula. It is the capital of the Province of Loreto, which comprises the entire Peruvian Amazonian lowlands, and has a wireless telegraph communication with Puerto Bermudez (which is only a three days' trip from the Perené Colony). From Puerto Bermudez telegraph wires run to Lima via La Merced. Iquitos is the center of the rubber industry of the Upper Amazon and is a booming town in spite of the yellow fever which is nearly always prevalent. It has steamship communication with Manaos, Para, and the outside world.

Up to a decade ago, if a man in Lima had business in Iquitos, he was obliged to take a steamer to England, tranship to Para, and there tranship again to Iquitos. He had the alternative of going to Panama, across the isthmus to Colon and thence take a steamer to Barbadoes. From Barbadoes he would go to Para, and thence to Iquitos. These were long trips, several months being endured in the passage. Now Iquitos is reached across country from Lima; the trip takes anywhere from three weeks to six months, according to which route the traveler chooses. It has been done in sixteen days, but from four to five weeks is the average allowing time for misconnections. I believe that the shortest way to reach Iquitos from Lima is to take a steamer to Pacasmayo, which is a day and a half north of the capital. Thence go by rail and horseback to Cajamarca. From there go by horseback via Chachapoyas to Moyobamba. From Moyobamba one can go in two to three days to Yurimaguas on the Huallaga River, whence one can go by launch to Iquitos in a week and a half. I know a person who went from Cerro de Pasco to Iquitos. He followed the Huallaga to its mouth and it took him six months. The common way of reaching Iquitos from Lima is to go to La Merced; thence overland through Puerto Bermudez to Puerto Victoria on the Sampoya River down which one descends on a canoe to the Ucayali, taking a chance of making connection with the launch at Santa Rosa de los Canivos, which is about one third of the way downstream between Cumaria and Contamana. There is also a northern route which takes about five weeks. The eastbound traveler goes from Paita to Piura by rail; thence via Huancabamba to Jaen by horseback. Jaen is a day's stage from the Maranon which one must descend by canoe.

In the night after the day on which the steamer left Iquitos, the Napo River was passed. It flows into the Amazon from a northwesterly direction. One of its tributaries is the Curaray which rises in the Andes of Ecuador. Along its course live a tribe of head-hunting Indians. These savages after they capture a white man or an Indian of another tribe, behead them. They boil the head in a concoction which loosens the bones. These they take out and fill the cavity with hot stones. By some process of their own, they shrink the head until it becomes no larger than a large orange, yet retaining the features that the victim possessed during life. These they offer for sale, and are to be purchased in the curiosity shops of Lima and Guayaquil on the Pacific Coast, and even in Para at the mouth of the Amazon. From the savage to the curiosity shop proprietor they pass through many hands so that it is impossible to arrive at the source of the murder. A certain Swede once left Guayaquil for the interior on an exploring expedition. A year afterwards a head was purchased in that city which was found to be that of the Scandinavian. Since he was never heard of after he crossed the Cordillera, it is assumed that his party was beset by savages and he was murdered, his skull boiled down, and hawked about until it reached the hands of a Guayaquil dealer. The September, 1918, number of the _South American Magazine_ published in New York, has an article which says that there is believed to be a head factory in Guayaquil. The dealer in this sketch is undoubtedly in league with body-snatchers who supply him with corpses, which he beheads and boils down, having obtained the recipe from the Indians. These heads he places on sale. One of his relics was the head of an employee of the Quito-Guayaquil Railroad who had died the previous year of yellow fever in Guayaquil and was supposed to have been given a decent funeral. This horrid trick of the Indians cannot be eradicated until the law puts a stop to the purchase of these heads. By punishing the dealers and the middle-men, the Indians will cease to find a market for these gruesome souvenirs.