One of the conditions on which we had based our decision to visit Choqquequirau was that the Prefect was to see to it that animals should be ready for our departure as soon as we got back, and that his officials along the road should facilitate our progress in every possible manner. To his credit be it said that he kept his promise faithfully, notwithstanding all the rules in the books to the effect that a South American rarely remembers his promise.

The next day after our return to Abancay, we spent in re-arranging our luggage and making ready for a rapid march to Ayacucho. The Prefect sent in an official request for a report on the ruins of Choqquequirau. Not being a Latin-American, I was unable to sit down and dash off a “thorough satisfactory official report” in an hour and a half and had to explain that it would take days and even weeks to draw plans from the data in our field-books and from the ten dozen negatives we had exposed.

On the following day, much refreshed in body and mind, we succeeded in getting an early start. We were accompanied out of town by a score of enthusiastic friends whose interest in our undertaking was perfectly ingenuous and of whom we had learned to be very fond. They not only decided to extend

the customary “mile of courtesy” to a dozen or more, but later they followed us up with congratulatory telegrams speeding us on our way.

Our cavalcade clattered gayly out of town on a fine brisk morning when for some reason or other it did not happen to be raining. A short stop at Yllanya to enable us to pay our respects to the kind Letona family, who had given us a pleasant banquet the week before, was rewarded by the young master of the house having his horse saddled at once and insisting on taking us by a short cut through his own canefields. These looked prosperous enough, but a swarm of locusts that had just made their appearance was pointed out to us, and the planter feared greatly for his crops.

At ten o’clock we reached the river Pachachaca, the first large affluent of the Apurimac. We crossed it on a stone bridge whose magnificent single arch was erected under the direction of a Jesuit architect, two hundred and fifty years ago. It is said to be one of the longest spans in the Andes. Here we stopped to have a round of drinks and to enjoy the scenery.

It was a beautiful spot: green mountains on both sides of a valley filled with waving sugar-cane through the midst of which ran a roaring, rushing torrent. A few miles farther up this valley there are a number of small Indian towns in which General Sucre had his headquarters a few weeks before the battle of Ayacucho.

An hour’s brisk trot brought us to Auquibamba, a sugar mill and plantation, owned by Don Federico Martinelli who was unfortunately ill in bed and not able to see us, although his engineer and manager did the honors most hospitably. Quantities of delicious oranges were brought to appease our appetites while an elaborate lunch was being prepared for the dozen more people than had been expected.

After lunch we all mounted at once. The custom of taking a siesta does not seem to prevail at this altitude, 7000 feet. After all were on horseback, affectionate good-bys had to be said, and notwithstanding the nervousness of some of the more high-strung animals, their riders succeeded in embracing the departing guests with true Spanish fervor.

Our road from Auquibamba led through a charming country until it gradually climbed out of the valley and across a pass, at an altitude of 11,700 feet, where there was a small lake but no signs of tropical vegetation.

We saw no llamas at all. Mules, horses, and burros were the pack animals that we met carrying out kegs of aguardiente and loads of sugar and bringing in foreign merchandise. Thanks to the rainy season, the fields were covered with flowers, many varieties of which have been imported for our own gardens at home. Wonderfully large begonias, excelling in size anything I had ever seen before, lupins, cosmos, and many others added great charm to the scene and partly made up for the frightful condition of the roads.

Every one with whom we talked expressed surprise that we should attempt a journey at this season of the year when all good Peruvians stay at home. Not only are the roads positively dangerous in places, but the heavy rainfall insures a thorough daily drenching unless one is so fortunate as to be protected by a very heavy rubber poncho. As the natives depend almost entirely on woolen ponchos for protection against the rain, it may be imagined that they get well soaked after two or three hours’ riding, notwithstanding the fact that the best and most expensive vicuÑa ponchos are beautifully and closely woven and will shed an ordinary shower.

At half past four we began the descent into the pretty cultivated valley of Huancarama. The descent was steep and the path extremely slippery, and we were paying so much attention to the manner of our going that we barely noticed the cavalcade of eight horsemen riding at full gallop up the valley. The Gobernador had been informed of our approach by the kind-hearted Prefect, and had brought with him half a dozen of his friends to do us honor. We were taken at once to his house, a small adobe hut, and treated most courteously. The priest of the village and two of the leading citizens were urged to remain and dine with us, which they readily consented to do. After dinner we were piloted through the muddy streets to the plaza where a room, evidently used for various governmental purposes, was placed at our disposal. All went well until the next morning when we were told that one of the animals which the Prefect had furnished us belonged to the Gobernador, who had lent it to the Secretary of the Department for the expedition to Choqquequirau, and he was unwilling to have it go any farther. He said that “one of his friends” had an excellent horse which he would rent us for that day. The Gobernador was firm, and as he had sent the animal to pasture, he had more than “nine points of the law” on his side. Anyhow we had no desire to impose on him, and requested him to have his “friend’s horse” brought around. There seemed, however, to be some sort of an understanding between the Gobernador and his “friend,” as the horse, a fairly good-looking beast, was brought out from the Gobernador’s own backyard. We suspicioned that the “friend” was probably a confederate in graft, if not actually a servant. The price asked for the use of the horse for one day was five dollars. Evidently we were considered to be “easy.” We appealed the matter to the soldier who had been sent as our escort, but he would only shake his head sadly and shrug his shoulders. So we told the Gobernador the price was outrageous and that rather than pay it, we would settle down in Huancarama and live at his expense. With this terrible alternative staring him in the face he sent his servant to another “friend” with orders to bring up another animal. This time the price asked was only $1, and although the soldier said that was twice as much as the regular charge, we preferred to pay it rather than be delayed any longer.

The day was very rainy. It may have been for this reason, or it may have been because he was disappointed at his unsuccessful attempt at “legitimate graft,” that the Gobernador did not assemble his friends and escort us out of town. In either case we did not blame him. It was rather a relief to escape the oft-repeated expressions of sincere sorrow at departure which one can make two or three times, but which somehow lack spontaneity and sincerity when they must be repeated to a cavalcade of sixteen.

The road was no improvement on that of the day before. A long climb through the rain and sleet, a long descent through the clouds into the valley of the river Pincos, whose tantalizing roar helped us to realize what magnificent scenery we were missing; a little glimpse of green fields, a dilapidated village, an old bridge, and another long steep ascent led us finally to a bleak paramo where we were as uncomfortable as cold winds and drenching rain could make us.

Just before four o’clock we were gladdened by the sight of a good-sized town and hoped that it was Andahuaylas, our destination, but our escort said it was only San Geronimo, a suburb of Andahuaylas. We found it to be a densely populated Indian town of the usual type. Before we had much of an opportunity to take in its points of interest, however, we were surrounded by twenty horsemen, including the sub-Prefect of Andahuaylas, the secretary of the province, and their friends who had ridden to meet us. Much as we appreciated their courtesy and the liquid refreshments they brought with them, we were still more gratified by being asked to dismount and allow the soldiers to put our saddles on two fresh horses. It may have been because the rain had stopped its torrential downpour, or because our tired, jaded animals had made us lose all sense of proportion, or it may possibly have been that those two horses really were the finest animals in Peru; whatever the cause, we both of us agreed that we had never enjoyed any ride so much as that last mile to Andahuaylas, and that we had never ridden such magnificent, fiery steeds that so closely resembled the high mettled war-horse that one usually sees surmounted by General Bolivar either in bronze or in historical paintings.

The good people of Andahuaylas had heard by telegraph of the banquet which had been “tendered us” in Abancay and of the enthusiasm with which the Prefect had welcomed us back from Choqquequirau. They determined not to be outdone. If an additional reason was needed to spur them on to do their utmost, it came in the press despatches that day which stated that Chile was about to throw down the gauntlet to Peru by definitively announcing her permanent occupancy of the provinces of Tacna and Arica. To the minds of the older Peruvian generation who had felt the cruel lash of the Chilean conqueror in 1883 and had witnessed the burning of the Lima Library and the stabling of Chilean horses in Peruvian churches, there seemed little hope of a satisfactory settlement of the dispute and no desire to engage in another war. Their one idea seemed to be that the United States, with its love of fair play, would see to it that Chile did not take advantage of the weakness of Peru to rob her of her southernmost province. As we were the only Americans in sight, and as there was about us a certain reflected glamour of officialdom, we were treated as though we were diplomats, instead of being, as they knew perfectly well, merely a delegate to a Scientific Congress, and his “secretary.” Anyhow, they had done their best to provide a banquet that should eclipse the glories of Abancay; the table was set for forty-five and it may safely be assumed that most of the leading citizens of Andahuaylas were present. Little American flags, made for the occasion, were crossed with Peruvian flags on the walls of the room. Portraits of President Roosevelt and President Leguia, suitably framed, decorated the wall immediately behind us. “Ice cream,” made of snow brought from the Nevada of Chillihua on the backs of llamas, was on the menu. There was enough food and drink to last until 2.30 A.M. Unfortunately I had to leave early for I was simply used up with the amount of “entertainment” that I had had to undergo during the preceding week.

Our hosts came to call rather late the next morning and looked pretty mournful. It was not due entirely to the fact of the pouring rain. Nevertheless the sub-Prefect was most kind, and had us take all our meals at his house, a picturesque old compound whose large patio was surrounded by one and two-storied buildings. The roofs, with their heavy old-fashioned mission tiles, had long ago lost any straight line they ever possessed. To add to their beauty, rain and sun and mosses had given them every variety of color. In a corner of the patio, an Indian man-servant and a little girl were busy grinding meal by rocking one stone upon another in the same fashion as did the builders of Choqquequirau and with stones almost the exact counterparts of those we found there.

In the afternoon, our friends felt a little better, and the rain held up enough for us to be shown the sights of the town. A well-proportioned stone church, designed by the same architect who had built the bridge near Abancay, testified again to the excellent crafts that the Jesuits taught in this country two hundred and fifty years ago. Some of the booths on the plaza were extremely picturesque, the various colored wares offered for sale being protected from the sun by umbrella-shaped shelters rudely made from old sticks covered with faded ponchos or with the dried skins of animals, cured with the hair on.

Some one with a great fondness for Lombardy poplars had lived here years ago and the view of the town which we got from the heights across the river was most attractive. On the side of a mountain to the north were many farms. The fields of corn divided from each other by hedges gave a very pleasing background; the roaring rapids of the little river formed the foreground; while in the middle distance the red-tiled roofs, white walls, poplar trees, and fine old stone church made a charming picture.

The sub-Prefect and his secretary, who had most generously placed his own very comfortable quarters at our disposal, took great pleasure in showing us two new alamedas or avenues which had been laid out recently under his direction. It is pleasant to remember these signs of progress even though we also remember a little old street through which we had to pass after leaving the alameda. The old street, scarcely as wide as the sidewalks of the new, had no conveniences whatsoever for foot-passengers. Owing to the recent downpour, part of it had been converted into a pond, and we had an amusing and not altogether successful time getting across dry-shod.

All our friends promised to be on hand the next morning to accompany us out of town although we assured them that it was quite unnecessary. When they woke up and saw the rain coming down in sheets, they decided we were right. The sub-Prefect came through the downpour to bid us good-by, but was still suffering from dyspepsia and excused himself for not mounting his horse. By his orders, the Gobernador of the neighboring town of Talavera, through which we passed half an hour after leaving Andahuaylas, accompanied us on our way.

Talavera is noted for the manufacture of the finest grade of VicuÑa ponchos. Mr. Squier gave it a bad name and was impressed by the evil looks of its inhabitants, but we saw nothing to differentiate it from the other crowded little towns of the interior. Wherever possible, the land is occupied. There is, in fact, very little evidence that there was a much larger population in Peru before the arrival of the Spanish conquerors. Although it is true that some of the irrigating ditches have been destroyed, it does not seem likely that this region could ever have supported a much more numerous population than lives here to-day. Those writers who believe that the Peruvian Indians were reduced “from upwards of thirty millions to three millions within the space of two centuries,” must have forgotten to make allowances for the fondness for exaggeration in the Spanish chronicles. The country is actually as crowded to-day as its resources will allow. In fact, most of the Indians are half starved all the time. It is difficult to believe that twice as many, to say nothing of ten times as many Indians, could find support on these bleak highlands, even when they were forced to practice an extensive cultivation of the soil by Inca laws and usages, which provided for almost every action of their lives.

Since writing the above I have been reading Prof. Bandelier’s remarkable book, “The Islands of Titicaca and Koati,” and am glad to notice that he says, p. 27: “The conclusion is reached that the Indian population, of that district (Chucuito) at least, has not at all diminished since the early times of Spanish colonization, but has rather increased. It shows how unjustified is the hue and cry about extermination of the natives of Peru by the Spaniards. I could easily furnish more examples of the kind from all over Peru and Bolivia.”

It is pleasant to have my amateurish opinions substantiated so unexpectedly and from such a high authority.

In the valleys above Talavera there was abundant pasturage and we saw many flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. Some of the sheep had very long curly horns, reminding one of the Rocky Mountain

goats, while others were distinguished by having four horns instead of two. From Talavera the road turned northward and followed for some distance the valley of the Andahuaylas River, then crossed it and climbed out of the valley, passed the ruins of a tambo at a place called Monobamba, and surmounted an exceedingly bleak plateau, a veritable paramo bravo where the barometer showed an elevation of 14,500 feet. The neighboring hills, the summits of the Andes, were covered with snow. More snow began to fall before we left the paramo.

The descent to Chincheros was particularly difficult owing to the fact that a little mountain torrent, usually easy to ford, had become very much swollen. Furthermore, the mud was so deep in places that we should have found it impossible to proceed had it not been for our excellent guide, the Gobernador of Talavera, who knew how to avoid the worst places and was able to pilot us across stretches of treacherous pasture-land where the soggy soil barely sustained the weight of our animals.

It was a long forty-mile ride. The Gobernador of Chincheros, who had come out, with a dozen of his friends, to meet us two miles from his town, had been waiting in the shelter of a hut for more than an hour before we appeared. Nevertheless our tardy arrival in no wise interfered with their welcome, and the long wait had not even induced them to make any lighter the load of the Indian servant who had brought on foot a basket-load of bottled beer and coÑac. We had learned by this time, from sad experience, that our stomachs, well emptied by a long day in the saddle, would rebel at being treated to fire-water even though it was “the custom of the country.” Although a refusal would have been misunderstood, no objection was offered to the fact that we merely touched the fiery draft and did not drain the glass. With the kindly escort was an officer who had been sent all the way from Ayacucho bearing a letter of welcome from the Prefect of that department, with orders to attend to our comforts on the way. We felt as though we were in the hands of our friends, but at the same time we were not prepared for what was to follow.

After paddling painfully along for a mile or so through awful mud and slush, we came to a roadside inn whose proprietor had stretched a line of flags across the road and erected a primitive framework for them. As it was late in the afternoon, we did not tarry long to return his courteous greetings but trotted on down the valley. A sudden turn in the road brought us into view of a charmingly situated town. Deep green valleys, high mountains, and pleasant trees gave a fine setting to picturesque Chincheros with its little old church and its red-tiled roofed houses. We had to cross a stone bridge just before entering the town, and here we were met by an Indian bearing on a pole an enormous flag. Although it had less than twenty stars and only eight stripes, it was unmistakably intended to be “Old Glory.” Welcoming us with a loud shout, the bearer turned about and marched at the head of our cavalcade. Flags fluttered from every house. The streets were thronged with people, many of whom showered us with rose-leaves! As we entered the plaza, the church bells, which had been ringing ever since we rounded the turn in the road, redoubled their noise; the shouts increased, and we were almost carried from our horses on the shoulders of the crowd. We realized perfectly the spirit with which our arrival was celebrated, and knew that it was merely an expression of cordial goodwill toward the United States, arising from a mistaken idea that we were the official personification of that great country; but it was all we could do to keep our faces straight.

After we were finally lodged in a comfortable room belonging to the little local club, we thought the crowd would disperse. Not at all. Nothing would satisfy them but that one of us should make a speech which, however feebly delivered, was received with great enthusiasm. More rose-petals were thrown, the bells were rung again, the flags waved, the people cheered, and we were made to know what it must be like to be a returning military chief and to hear the band play “Lo the Conquering Hero Comes!”

The little group of ChinchereÑos, whose public spirit had established the club, tendered us a banquet that evening. They had determined to outdo the celebrations which they had heard of as taking place in Abancay and Andahuaylas, but they insisted that the outside celebration was quite spontaneous, and that the Indians had taken it into their own heads to improve on that which the club had planned. After the banquet that evening, there was a display of fireworks consisting of a set piece fixed to a pole which was held by a poor Indian who did not seem to mind in the least the shower of sparks that fell on every side. To prolong his danger, the rain kept putting out the fuse so that it had to be lighted six or seven times. If he felt any pain, however, he failed to show it, and seemed only too delighted to be the centre of attraction.

The celebration had a strange witness. In the crowd that welcomed us near the bridge there was a haggard man with German features who called out in English, “Hurrah for the United States!” He soon came to call on us and told quite a tragic story.

He said his name was Emilio Smith (or Schmidt) and that his home was in DÜsseldorf on the Rhine. With three companions, he had made a wager in New York that they could walk from Buenos Aires across both continents to New York City without funds and without begging. He said that the New York “Herald” and the Buenos Aires “La Prensa” had offered a prize of five thousand dollars, if they would accomplish the feat. They had had no particular difficulty in crossing Argentina, but one of them succumbed at Tupiza soon after they reached Bolivia. Nothing daunted, the other three pressed on over much the same road that we had followed from Tupiza to PotosÍ and thence direct to the Antofagasta railway. At each place they had secured the signature of official witnesses to the effect that they were not riding and were not begging but were conducting their overland tramp fairly. They raised money by giving lectures and

entertainments in the towns through which they passed, and had frequently been given food and lodging by kindly disposed Indians, although often they had been very rudely received. They had walked around Lake Titicaca, and had reached Cuzco, followed the old trail to Lima, walked up the coast, and penetrated the equatorial rain-belt in Ecuador before disaster overtook them. Weakened by months of exposure, they were in no condition to encounter tropical fevers, and all were soon flat on their backs. Two of them never recovered and were buried in Ecuador. Smith, now alone, cabled to the New York “Herald” for instructions, stating that he was too weak to continue the journey alone, and had no funds. The answer came back: “Return to Buenos Aires.” Although he had been dismayed by the difficulties that lay ahead of him in Ecuador and Colombia, he knew enough of the road over which he had come to believe that he could safely get back to Buenos Aires and that then the “Herald” and the “Prensa” would probably reward him for his foolhardy excursion. Accordingly, he was retracing his steps, and had reached Chincheros that noon. He had intended to go along further in the afternoon, but hearing of the expected arrival of two Americans, and being invited to the banquet, he had stayed over.

It was a dismal story that he told, but he took great pride in it, and his eyes flashed as he recounted his exploits. The only bitter in the sweet was that he had lost his friends, and that we had not heard of him.

“What, you don’t know about me? Why, I am the foot-walker. I go from Buenos Aires to New York. I don’t get there. I go back to Buenos Aires. You haven’t heard of me? You haven’t heard of me, Emilio Smith, the foot-walker? That is very strange. And the Prefect of Abancay? He is a good fellow. Didn’t he tell you about me? Didn’t he show you my picture? My picture of me and my two friends?”

I think he felt that we really hadn’t been to Abancay after all. Poor fellow, living for months on the narration of his exploits, it was a hard pill for him to swallow that the only Americans he had seen who had come over the road where he had passed several months before, had never heard any mention made of his overland journey. The reason was not far to seek. He travelled on foot. No one but an Indian travels on foot. It is perfectly inconceivable to the Spanish mind that any one should do any feat of pedestrianism unless compelled to, either by poverty or the instincts of a vagabond. Poor people and vagabonds are too common to attract much attention. We never heard of him again. He left early the next morning.