boatmen, the porters, and the nondescript hangers-on about the quays of a port, formed a strange and motley assemblage, in whose countenances three very distinct types of humanity – the European, the negro, and the South American Indian – were mingled in the most varied proportions, scarcely one denoting an unmixed origin. The arrangements at Callao are convenient for strangers. The custom-house officers, though unbribed, gave no trouble, and the rather voluminous luggage of six English passengers was entrusted to a man who undertook for ten soles (about thirty-three shillings) to convey the whole to the chief hotel in Lima. No time was left to see anything of Callao. A train was about to start; and in half an hour we were carried over the level space – about seven and a half miles – that separates Lima from the port of Callao.
Occupied by the forces of her victorious rival, and shorn of most of the almost fabulous wealth that once enriched her inhabitants, Peru can, even in her present ruined state, show a capital city that impresses the stranger. It is true that the buildings have no architectural merit, that most of the streets are horribly ill-paved, and that at present there is little outward appearance of wealth in the thoroughfares; in spite of all this the general aspect is novel and pleasing. Although violent earthquakes have rarely occurred in this region, slight shocks are very frequent, and remind the inhabitants that formidable telluric forces are slumbering close at hand. Hence, as a rule, the houses have only a single floor above the ground, and cover a proportionately large space. As in Southern Spain, all those of the better class enclose a patio, or courtyard, partly occupied by tropical trees or flowering shrubs. Fronting the street, or the plaza, a long projecting balcony, enclosed with glass, enables the inmates to enjoy that refuge from absolute vacancy which is afforded by gazing at the passers-by, and which seems to supply the place of occupation to much of the population even in Southern Europe.
With scarcely an exception, the numerous churches are vile examples of debased renaissance architecture, fronted with stucco ornamentation in great part fallen to decay. Not long before our arrival, I believe under the Chilian administration, they had been all freshly covered with whitewash, cut into rectangular spaces by broad bands of bright blue. In the streets near the great plaza there was much apparent animation during the day; but the shops were closed an hour before nightfall, and after dark the city was hushed into unnatural silence. The fair Limeñas, as to whose charms travellers have been eloquent, and who used to throng the public drives and walks towards sunset, were no longer to be seen. To exhibit themselves would be to display indifference to the misfortunes of their country. Some might be observed, indeed, during the morning hours, plainly dressed in black, going either to church or on some business errand; but they were so closely wrapped up in a manta as to be completely disguised.
CHOICE OF A ROUTE TO THE ANDES.
On landing in Peru, the one question which completely engrossed my mind was whether or not it would be possible for me, in the present state of the country, to reach the upper region of the Andes.
To a naturalist this great chain must ever be the dominant feature of the South American continent. To its structure and its flora and fauna are attached questions of overwhelming importance to the past history of our planet, and, however little a man may hope to effect during a flying visit, the desire to gain that degree of acquaintance which actual observation alone can give becomes painfully intense. I was aware that what had formerly been a long and rather laborious journey had of late years been reduced to a mere excursion by the construction of two lines of railway, leading from the sea-coast to the upper region. That which, if free to choose, I should have preferred starts from the coast at Mollendo, and, passing the important town of Arequipa, traverses the crest of the Cordillera, and has its terminus at Puno, on the Lake of Titicaca, in the centre of the plateau which lies between the two main ridges of the Andes. The region surrounding this great lake, which here divides Peru from Bolivia, must offer objects of interest only too numerous and too engrossing for a traveller whose time is counted by days. Although the level of the lake is some 12,800 feet above the sea, the peaks of Sorata rise above its eastern shores to a further height of nearly 10,000 feet; and lake steamers give access to most of the inhabited places on its shores – no slight matter when it is remembered that the lake measures more than a hundred miles in length.
The second line, which, starting from the city of Lima, is carried nearly due east along the valley of the Rimac, was designed to open communication by the most direct route between the capital and the fertile region on the eastern slopes of the Andes – called in Peru the Montaña– as well as with the rich silver region of Cerro de Pasco. The crest of the Cordillera, or western ridge of the Andes, is scarcely eighty miles from Lima in a direct line, but the most practicable pass is somewhat higher than the summit of Mont Blanc. The road was to pierce the pass by a tunnel 15,645 feet above the sea-level, and thence to descend to the town of Oroya on the high plateau that divides the two main ridges. As the line was laid out, the distance from Lima to the summit-level was only 97 miles, and that to Oroya 129 miles.
Considered merely as engineering works, these lines, which owe their existence to the enterprise of an American contractor and the skill of the engineers who carried out the undertaking, may fairly be counted among the wonders of the world. The Oroya line, the more difficult of the two, unfortunately remained unfinished. Although the loans contracted in Europe by the Peruvian Government more than sufficed to defray the cost of all the industrial undertakings that they were professedly intended to supply, it is scarcely necessary to say that a large portion disappeared through underground channels, leaving legitimate demands unprovided for. The stipulated instalments due to Mr. Meiggs, the great contractor, remained unpaid, and, in the midst of the difficulties in which he was thus involved, his death put a final stoppage to the works. The line had been completed and opened for a distance of about eighty miles from Lima, as far as the village of Chicla, 12,220 feet above the sea. From that time forward Mr. Meiggs devoted his energies to the boring of the tunnel at the summit, probably under the impression that if that were once finished the Peruvian Government could scarcely fail to provide the funds necessary to complete the line on either side.
UNFINISHED ANDEAN RAILWAY.
I had found it impossible to ascertain before leaving England what had been the fate of these magnificent works since the ravages of war had devastated the region through which they are carried. Various quite inconsistent stories had reached me through the passengers from Panama, Guayaquil, and Payta. Traffic, said some, continued on both lines just as before the war; traffic, said others, had been completely stopped by order of the Chilian authorities; others, finally, asserted that the Oroya line had been so damaged by either belligerent as to be rendered permanently useless.
Before I had been many hours on shore, I was able to get authentic information which relieved my mind from further anxiety. The southern line, from Mollendo to Puno, was open; but Arequipa, the chief place on the way, was still in possession of the Peruvians, who occupied it in some force. With permits, to be obtained from the commanding officers on both sides, it might be possible to go and return, supposing no fresh outbreak of hostile movements of the troops on either side. The news as to the Oroya line was even more satisfactory. The whole line was occupied by the Chilian forces, there being a detachment at Chicla, with outposts on the farther side of the pass. The line had been for some time closed to traffic, but had been re-opened a few days before our arrival. With a permit, to be obtained from the chief of the staff in Lima, there would be no difficulty in proceeding to Chicla.
My decision was speedily taken. Under the most favourable circumstances, the time necessary to reach Puno and return to the coast, with the not improbable risk of detention, was more than I could afford. Further than this, as Puno lies on the plateau remote from the mountains, I should see but little of the characteristic flora of the Andes, unless I could reach some place on the eastern shore of the Lake of Titicaca, whence access could be had to the flanks of the Sorata Andes.
Some description of the Lake of Titicaca which I had read as a boy still dwelt in my mind, and the memoirs and conversation of the late Mr. Pentland had long made the peaks of Sorata objects of
