There are several ways of going from Cuzco to Lima. The easiest and most frequented now is by rail to Mollendo and then by steamer to Callao, the seaport of Lima. Before the days of railroads the common route was by mule via Ayacucho, Pisco, and the Coast. Since the building of the Oroya railroad and more particularly since the extension of the line south to Huancayo, instead of going west to the coast from Ayacucho the overland traveller continues north to the Jauja valley until he meets the railway. It was this road that we proposed to take.

For centuries the overland trail from Cuzco to Huancayo and the north was the most celebrated highway in Peru. The Incas used it in their conquests and improved it. When Atahualpa fell into the clutches of Pizarro, the largest part of his golden ransom was brought over this road. After the death of the Inca, Pizarro in his march on Cuzco found this road most convenient for his little cavalcade. During the civil wars that followed the conquest this highway was repeatedly the scene of action. For three hundred years it was replete with historic incident. Finally, the road that had seen the beginnings of Spain’s conquest, was destined to see the

bitter end. For, in 1824, it witnessed the last campaign, the final act in the drama of Spain’s Colonial Empire, when La Serna, last viceroy of Peru, was defeated by the patriot forces under General Sucre in the battle of Ayacucho.

In journeying over the three hundred miles of this historic highway, I should have preferred to have hired mules for the whole trip, but nobody was willing to undertake the contract. We were told that “in the good old times” before the railway came to Cuzco, it was very easy to hire mules; and arrieros were willing enough to go anywhere, but now there was so little demand for this sort of thing that the supply had stopped. The best we could do was to get an arriero to take us to Abancay, the capital of the next Department.

Two American civil engineers whom I had met in Arequipa had told me that the journey from Cuzco to Huancayo would be full of trouble and countless difficulties, as a large part of the region was uninhabited! They said that if it were possible to buy a tent in Cuzco, to do so, by all means, as we should otherwise be obliged to spend many nights in the open, exposed to rain and snow. They had not been over the road but had lived for months in Cuzco and had “heard all about it.” I mention this merely as an instance of the difficulty of finding out the truth about South America by hearsay.

We now learned from those who had actually been over the road that while there were no inns to be encountered anywhere except in Ayacucho, it would be only owing to extremely bad luck if we failed to reach the shelter of a village every night. Accordingly we contented ourselves with a few canned goods and kitchen utensils and found them to be all that was necessary.

In the Peruvian highlands the rains commence in November and continue until the end of March. February is supposed to be the worst of all. During that month the discomfort of travelling over the bridle-paths of the Andes is so great that the natives never undertake a journey for pleasure and stay at home as much as possible. Yet it was February that we had chosen for our march. It was “Hobson’s choice,” but I was not sorry. Several travellers have given a picture of the region as it appears in the dry season when the roads are comparatively good. We were to have an opportunity of seeing what they could be like in the worst of the rainy season, and we were further favored by the fact that this particular February turned out to be “the rainiest month of the rainiest season that any one remembered to have experienced in Peru for at least twenty-five years.” In a word, we were to see the mountain trails at their worst.

We left Cuzco on the morning of the first of February, 1909. The day promised ill. Rain fell in torrents. The preceding day we had received calls from a number of local dignitaries, all of whom assured us that they would be on hand in the morning to escort us out of town. But the continuous downpour overcame their conscientious scruples. Even the Prefect’s polite orderly, who had been unremitting in his attention, was glad enough to take our hint that we were sufficiently honored by his accompanying us for three blocks from the hotel.

The Prefect had been very solicitous about our welfare and, although we assured him that we preferred to travel without a military escort, he insisted that a sergeant and at least one soldier should accompany us as long as we were in his Department. I never discovered why he was so insistent. There was no danger, and highway robbery is unheard of in Peru. Possibly he was afraid that the delegados might otherwise go hungry at villages where inhospitable, half-starved Quichuas would say that there was no food to be had; or he may have thought it undignified for us to travel without an escort. Whatever his reasons, he meant well and it was not a case of graft, for the soldiers were ordered to accompany us at the expense of the government.

We started off in a northwesterly direction, leaving Sacsahuaman on the right. After climbing out of the Cuzco valley we descended gradually to the great plain of Anta, famous as the scene of numerous battles in the wars of the Incas. We crossed it by the ancient Inca road, a stony pathway five or six feet wide, with ditches and swamps on either side. The Peruvians have allowed it to fall into decay, and for a good part of the distance it has disappeared. At noon we reached Puquiura, a village with a plaza very like that of Tiahuanaco. At half past three, after making a long detour in order to avoid the swamps and ponds that in the wet season cover the direct road, we crossed a little stone bridge and rode into the dismal plaza of the old Indian town of Huarocondo. This is only a few miles from Urubamba, and the remarkably interesting ruins of Ollantaytambo, which have been so graphically described by Squier.

Unfortunately we had no time to visit them and took instead the road to the southwest. Skirting the hills north of the plain of Anta, we passed several great terraces a third of a mile long and fourteen or fifteen feet high, and towards evening entered Zurita, a small Indian town. Here we were directed to the house of a hospitable Gobernador where we found that two Peruvian travellers had preceded us.

As in other houses of the better class in this vicinity, the entrance was through a large gate into a courtyard. Opposite the gate was a two-story building with a balcony running the length of the second floor. On another side of the court were smaller structures one of which had a wide stone verandah where the arrieros and the soldiers piled up the saddles and bags and spread their blankets for the night. Two unfortunate parrots, cold, sickly, and bedraggled, had their perches attached to the posts of the verandah.

An hour after our arrival, four Indian alcaldes and tenientes carrying silver-tipped canes as symbols of office, presented themselves in the courtyard in answer to the summons of the Gobernador. When that official appeared on the balcony, they humbly removed their hats and stood in silence while he told them how many bundles of fresh barley straw to bring for our mules. An hour later they returned with other Indians who, acting under their orders, brought the cebada. The conversation was carried on in Quichua, which we were unable to follow, but the Gobernador said that for the fodder the alcaldes wanted one sol, a Peruvian silver dollar worth forty-eight cents. This we cheerfully gave him, whereupon, in a most unabashed manner, he put the sol in his pocket, took out a few small coins worth about half a sol and threw them down into the courtyard where they were gratefully picked up by the alcaldes.

We left Zurita the next morning, accompanied by the Gobernador and our fellow lodgers. They were all well-mounted on excellent horses. The horsemen of this vicinity affect a bit of harness that seems to be a relic of the trappings of Spanish war horses. The crupper is covered with a V-shaped piece of solid leather elaborately stamped and marked. From it hang hip straps supporting very loose breeching that dangles almost to the points of the hocks and actually rests on the ham strings. Although it is of no use whatever, and in fact, actually impedes the horse’s action, the effect is rather picturesque.

Leaving the arriero and his pack mules to follow in charge of our military escort, we pushed on at a good pace with our friends and found ourselves at noon at Challabamba on the divide that separates the waters of the river Urubamba from those of the Apurimac. In marked distinction to the grassy, treeless plain of Anta from which we had just ascended, we saw before us deep green, wooded valleys.

The trail, a rocky stairway not unlike the bed of a mountain torrent, led us rapidly into a warm tropical region whose dense foliage and tangled vines were grateful enough after the bleak mountain plateau. Beautiful yellow broom flowers were abundant. The air was filled with the fragrance of heliotrope. Parti-colored lantanas ran riot through a maze of agaves and hanging creepers. We had entered a new world.

A steep descent brought us to the town of Limatambo where there are interesting terraces and other evidences of an Inca fortress. The valley of the Limatambo River is here extremely narrow and the fortifications were well placed to defend an enemy coming against Cuzco from the west and north.

Rain had been falling most of the day and the river Limatambo had risen considerably. The ford was quite impassable, and we were obliged to use a frail improvised bridge over which our mules crept very cautiously sniffing doubtfully as it bent under their weight. Soon afterwards we crossed the river Blanco and left the old trail, which goes through the Indian village of Mollepata, described by Squier as “a collection of wretched huts on a high shelf of the mountain with a tumbled-down church, a drunken Governor who was also keeper of a hovel which was called the post-house, and a priest as dissolute as the Governor ... a place unsurpassed in evil repute by any in Peru.” Fortunately for us, since the days of Squier’s visit, an enterprising Peruvian has carved a sugar plantation out of the luxuriant growth on the mountain side, at La Estrella. Here we were given an extremely cordial welcome although Sr. Montes, the owner,—the fame of whose hospitality had reached even to Cuzco,—was not at home. Our military escort did not arrive until nearly three hours later, with a sad story of wretched animals and narrow escapes.

We were considerably surprised to find here at La Estrella an excellent piano in fairly good tune. It had been brought from Cuzco on the shoulders of Quichua bearers. This seems extraordinary enough, but before the days of the railroad, pianos were formerly carried by Indians all the way from the Pacific Coast to Cuzco. The next time I saw five stalwart Irish truckmen groaning and shaking under the weight of an upright piano which they had to carry fifty feet from the truck into a house in New Haven, I wondered what they would think of half-starved Indians who could carry it from sea-level over mountains fourteen thousand feet high.

The presence of the piano at La Estrella meant that here as everywhere else we were to be favored with the strains of the “Tonquinoise” and “Quand L’Amour Meurt.” This is the kind of music that most appeals to the South Americans. Wherever there was a piano in the heart of Peru or Bolivia, it mattered not whether the place was PotosÍ or Arequipa, these tunes were everlastingly drummed into our ears.

The next morning we descended from the canefields of La Estrella by an extremely precipitous winding trail. In places it seemed as though our heavily-laden mules must surely loose their footing and roll down the fifteen hundred feet to the raging Apurimac River below. At length, however, we came to an excellent modern bridge which we were actually able to cross without dismounting, something that rarely happens with the bridges of Peru.

In the old days a wonderfully lofty suspension bridge made by the Indians in the Peruvian fashion, was the only means of crossing this river. Vivid pictures of it, no two alike, are given in Squier’s “Peru,” Markham’s “Cuzco and Lima,” and Lt. Gibbon’s “Exploration of the Valley of the Amazon.” Although they all differ as to its height above the water and its length, all were greatly impressed by the remarkable caÑon that it crossed. Gibbon says “the bridge was ... 150 feet above the dark green waters”; Sir Clements Markham, who crossed the bridge two years later says, “the bridge spanned the chasm in a graceful curve at a height of full 300 feet above the river.” As he crossed it in the middle of March just at the end of the rainy season when it may be supposed the waters were high, while Lt. Gibbon crossed it in August, the middle of the dry season, when the river is very low, the contrast between their estimates of the height of the bridge above the river is all the more striking. Unfortunately it has disappeared and travellers can no longer dispute over its dimensions.

The scenery to-day was superb; the great green mountains piling up on one another, their precipitous sides streaked with many lovely waterfalls. Green parrots overhead and yellow iris underfoot lent additional color to the scene. To add to our joy

the sun shone all day long. A comparatively easy journey over steep but well-travelled mountain-trails brought us to the town of Curahuasi where we were met by Lt. Caceres, who had been directed to act as our escort, and who proved to be a most genial and exceptionally spirited young Peruvian, a member of an old and distinguished family.

Immediately on our arrival at Curahuasi we were taken to the local telegraph office where Caceres sent off an important message announcing the approach of the “distinguished visitors”! To recompense us for waiting while he wrote the messages, bottles of stout were opened and toasts solemnly proposed. We expected to spend the night in the town, but found that the Gobernador, who desired us to be his guests, lived a couple of miles up the valley at Trancapata on the road to Abancay.

Although his establishment was a primitive one, it was charmingly situated on the edge of a deep ravine. The dining-room was an old verandah overlooking the gorge, and we enjoyed the view and the generous hospitality quite as much as though the villa had had all modern conveniences. In fact, neither of us had ever before experienced such a cordial welcome from a total stranger. We were to learn, however, before we left the Department, that such friendliness was characteristic of nearly every village and town that enjoyed the over-lordship of the genial Prefect of Apurimac.

The next morning when we finally managed to bid our cordial host good-by, it was not until he had accompanied us for a long distance up the deep valley. As we climbed the ascent under a bright sun, a wonderful panorama spread itself out behind us, the snowy peaks of Mt. Sargantay gleaming in the distance. We soon left the region of luxurious vegetation, lantanas, cacti, and tropical plants, and ran into a chilly drizzle at an elevation of thirteen thousand feet. Then we descended, came out of the rain, and had a delightful ride over a trail lined with masses of blue salvia and pink begonias.

At last we caught glimpses of the fields of sugarcane that have made Abancay famous throughout Peru. To one who has seen the broad canefields of Hawaii or the great plantations of Cuba and Porto Rico, the fame of this rather small district would be surprising. But after passing over the bleak highlands of Peru and experiencing the chill of the mountain climate, one feels more ready to appreciate that a warm, rich valley, eight thousand feet above the sea, where sugar can be easily raised, is a matter for profound congratulation.

A long descent down a very bad road brought us into a charming region. A mile from Abancay itself we were met by the sub-Prefect and a dozen sugar planters and caballeros who had taken the trouble to saddle their horses and come out to give us a fitting welcome. After an interchange of felicitations, we clattered gayly into town and were taken at once to the Prefecture. Here Hon. J. J. NuÑes, the genial Prefect, gave us a cordial reception and apologized for the fact that he had quite a large family and could not give us suitable sleeping quarters in the Prefecture. As it was, he placed the local club entirely at our disposal. We were only too glad to accept, for the club’s two pleasant rooms overlooked the little plaza and commanded a very pretty view of the ancient church and steep hills beyond.

Hardly had we had time to turn around in our new quarters before the Prefect came to make a formal call. He at once broached the subject of the ruins of Choqquequirau and begged us to visit them.

It seems that in Quichua, the language of the Incas, still spoken by a majority of the mountaineers of Peru, Choqquequirau means a “Cradle of Gold.” Attracted by this romantic name and by the lack of all positive knowledge concerning its last defenders, several attempts had been made during the past century to explore its ruins and to discover the treasure which it is supposed the Incas hid here instead of allowing it to fall into the hands of Pizarro with the ransom of Atahualpa. Owing to the very great difficulty of reaching the site of the ruins a tradition had grown up that the Incas built a great city that once contained over fifteen thousand inhabitants, high up on the mountain-side, six thousand feet above the river Apurimac. That the tradition had a basis of fact had been demonstrated occasionally by bold mountain-climbers who succeeded in reaching a part of the ruins.

We were told that the first man to reach there went and came alone. All he saw was a stone wall which he reached late in the afternoon, exhausted and without food. He slept in its shelter, left his gun as proof that he had been there, and came away early the next morning, anxious only to get home. A generation later a small party of adventurers succeeded in reaching the ruins with enough food to last them for two days. They excavated two or three holes in a vain effort to find buried treasure and returned with a tale of sufferings that kept any one from following their example for twenty years. They brought back reports of rocky “palaces, paved squares, temples, prisons, and baths,” all crumbling away beneath luxuriant tropical vegetation. Then a local magistrate, dreaming of untold riches, so ran the tale, endeavored to construct a path by which it might be possible to reach Choqquequirau and to maintain a transportation service of Indian carriers who could provide workmen with food while they were engaged in making a systematic effort to unearth the “Cradle of Gold.” This man had at his disposal the services of a company of soldiers and a large number of Indians, and it is said that he expended a large amount of time and money in his quest. He succeeded in reaching the top of the ridge 12,000 feet above the river and 6000 feet above Choqquequirau, but was unable to scale the precipices that surround the ruins, and all his labor came to nought. Others tried to utilize the path that he had made, but without success, until the present Prefect of the department of Apurimac, Honorable J. J. NuÑes, assumed office and became interested in the local traditions. Under his patronage, a company of treasure-seekers was formed and several thousand dollars subscribed.

The first difficulty that they encountered was the construction of a bridge over the frightful rapids of the Apurimac. All efforts failed. Not a Peruvian could be found willing to venture his life in the whirlpool rapids. Finally “Don Mariano,” an aged Chinese peddler, who had braved the terrors of the Peruvian mountains for thirty years, dared to swim the river with a string tied to his waist. Then after much patient effort he succeeded in securing six strands of telegraph wire from which he hung short lengths of fibre rope and wove a mat of reeds two feet wide to serve as a foot path for a frail suspension bridge. Once on the other side, the company was able to use a part of the trail made twenty years ago, but even with that aid it took three months of hard work to surmount the difficulties that lay between the river and Choqquequirau. Cheered on by the enthusiastic Prefect and his aide, Lieut. Caceres, an exceptionally bold officer, the task which had defied all comers for four hundred years was accomplished. A trail that could be used by Indian bearers was constructed through twelve miles of mountain forest, over torrents and precipices, and across ravines from the river to the ruins.

With these and similar stories we were regaled by one and another of the local antiquarians, including the president of the treasure company and our friend the Prefect.

We felt at first as though we could not possibly spare the week which would be necessary for a visit that would be worth while. Furthermore we were not on the lookout for new Inca ruins and had never heard of Choqquequirau. But the enthusiasm of the Prefect and his friends was too much for us. The Prefect held it out as an extra inducement that no foreigners had ever visited Choqquequirau, a statement that I later found to be incorrect. Finally he said that President Leguia of Peru, knowing that we were to pass this way, had requested the company to suspend operations until we had had a chance to see the ruins in their original condition. In short so urgent were the Prefect’s arguments, and so ready was he to make it easy for us, that we finally consented to go and see what his energy had uncovered.

That night he gave us an elaborate banquet to which he had invited fifteen of the local notables. After dinner we were shown the objects of interest that had been found at Choqquequirau, including several ancient shawl-pins and a few nondescript metallic articles. The most interesting was a heavy club fifteen inches long and rather more than two inches in diameter, square, with round corners, much like the wooden clubs with which the Hawaiians beat tapa. It has a yellowish tinge that gave rise to a story that it was pure gold. Unfortunately we had no means of analyzing it, but I presume it was made, like the ancient Inca axes, of copper hardened with tin.

The next afternoon, amidst a heterogeneous mess of canned provisions, saddles, rugs, and clothes, we packed, and received distinguished guests. Almost everyone who called told us that he was going to accompany us on the morrow, and we had visions of a general hegira from Abancay.

In the evening we were most hospitably entertained at one of the sugar estates. To this dinner a genial gathering came from far and near. The planters of Abancay are a fine class of caballeros, hospitable, courteous, and intelligent, kind to their working people, interested both in one another’s affairs and in the news of the outside world. Many of them spend part of each year or two in Lima, and a few have travelled abroad.

One of our hosts had recently made an excursion to Choqquequirau, which “nearly killed him.” He lost one mule: it slid down a precipice. He lamed another badly. On the whole, although urged to do so by his friends, he decided not to offer to go with us on the morrow. At least one man proposed to stay in Abancay!