Lost City of the Incas (Phoenix Press) (20 page)

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 ‘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, the capital of the Province of Apurímac.

Although his establishment was a primitive one, it was charmingly situated on the edge of a deep ravine. The dining-room was an old veranda 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 Apurímac.

The next morning we finally managed to bid our cordial host good-bye, but not until he had accompanied us for a long distance up the deep valley. The weather had been unspeakably bad and heavy clouds had hemmed us in. Today, as we climbed the ascent under a bright sun, a wonderful panorama spread itself out behind us, the snowy peaks of Mt Salcantay and Mt Soray gleaming in the distance.

However, we soon left the region of luxurious vegetation, lantanas, cacti, and tropical plants, and again ran into a chilly drizzle, at an elevation of 13,000 feet. Then we descended, came out of the rain, and had a delightful ride over a trail lined with masses of blue salvia. We were on the borderline between the tropics and the temperate zone. We were in sight of the climate of the poles and the equator. We could see great glaciers and snow fields as well as the lovely light green fields of sugar-cane that have made Abancay famous throughout Peru. To one familiar with the broad cane fields of Hawaii or the great plantations of Cuba and Puerto Rico, the fame of this rather small district was surprising. But after spending weeks in the bleak highlands of the Central Andes and experiencing the chill of the mountain climate, one readily appreciates why a warm, rich valley, 8,000 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 countryside. 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 gaily into town and were taken at once to the Prefecture. Here the genial Prefect gave us a cordial reception and apologized for the fact that he could not give us suitable sleeping quarters in the Prefecture, since he had a large family. 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.

That night Prefect Nuñez gave us an elaborate banquet, to which he invited fifteen of the local notables. After dinner we were shown the objects of interest that had been found at Choqquequirau, including several Inca shawl-pins and a few nondescript metallic articles. The most interesting was a heavy bronze
champi
15 inches long and rather more than 2 inches in diameter, square, with round corners, much like the wooden clubs with which the Hawaiians beat
tapa
.

The next afternoon, amidst a heterogeneous mess of canned provisions, saddles, rugs, and clothes, we packed what we expected to need on our little excursion, 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. A few have travelled abroad.

The next morning, accompanied by a large cavalcade, we set out. Most of our escort contented themselves with a mile or so, and then wishing us good luck, returned to Abancay. We did not blame them. Owing to unusually heavy rains, the trail was in a frightful state. Well-nigh impassable bogs, swollen torrents, avalanches of boulders and trees, besides the usual concomitants of a Peruvian bridle-path, cheered us on our way.

All day long through the rain and heavy mist that broke away occasionally to give us glimpses of wonderfully deep green valleys and hillsides covered with rare flowers, we rode along a slippery path that grew every hour more treacherous and difficult. In order to reach a little camp on the bank of the Apurímac river that night, we hurried forward as fast as possible although frequently tempted to linger by the sight of acres of magnificent pink begonias and square miles of blue lupins. By five o’clock we began to hear the roar of the great river 7,000 feet below us in the canyon.

The Apurímac, which flows through the Ucayali to the Amazon, rises in a little lake near Arequipa, so many thousands of miles from the mouth of the Amazon that it may be said to be the parent stream of that mighty river. By the time it reaches this region, it is a raging torrent 250 feet wide, and at that time of the year, over 80 feet deep. Its roaring voice can be heard so many miles away that it was long ago given by the Indians its Quichua name, Apu-rímac, which means the ‘Great Speaker’.

Our guide, the enthusiastic Lt. Caceres, declared that we had now gone far enough. As it was beginning to rain and the road from there on was ‘worse than anything we had as yet experienced’, he said it would be better to camp for the night, in an abandoned hut near by. His opinion was eagerly concurred in by two of the party, young men from Abancay, who were having their first real adventure, but the two
Yankis
²
decided it was best to reach the river if possible. Caceres finally consented, and aided by the dare-devil soldier, Castillo, we commenced a descent that for tortuous turns and narrow escapes beat anything we had ever seen. We were about to discover what it means to go exploring in the wild region where the Incas were able to hide from the conquistadors in 1536.

The sun had long since set behind the walls of the canyon when we encountered a large tree which had fallen across the path so as completely to block all progress. An hour’s work enabled us to pass this obstacle, only to reach a part of the hillside
where an avalanche had recently occurred. Here even the mules and horses trembled with fright as we led them across a mass of loose earth and stones which threatened to give way at any moment. To cheer us up, we were told that two weeks previously two sure-footed mules attempting to cross here had started a renewal of the avalanche, which had swept the poor animals along with it down into the bottom of the canyon.

An hour after dark we came out on a terrace where the roar of the river was so great that we could scarcely hear Caceres shouting that our troubles were now over and that ‘all the rest was level ground’. This turned out to be his little joke. We were still 1,000 feet above the river. A path cut in the face of a precipice had yet to be negotiated. In broad daylight we should never have dared to ride down the tortuous trail that led from the terrace to the bank of the river, but as it was quite dark and we were innocent of any danger, we readily followed the cheery voice of our guide. The path descended the wall of the canyon by means of short turns, each 20 feet long. At one end of each turn was a precipice, while at the other was a chasm, down which plunged a small cataract which had a clear fall of 700 feet. Halfway down the path my mule started trembling and I had to dismount, to find that in the darkness he had walked off the trail and slid down the cliff to a ledge. How to get him back was a problem. There was no way to back him up the steep hill and there was scarcely room in which to turn him round. It was such a narrow escape that when I got safely back on the trail I decided to walk the rest of the way and let the mule go first, preferring to have him fall over the precipice alone, if that were necessary. Two-thirds of the way down the descent the path crossed the narrow chasm, close to and directly in front of the little cataract. There was no bridge. To be sure, the waterfall was only about 3 feet wide, but in the darkness I could not see the other side of the chasm. I did not dare jump alone, so remounted my mule, held my breath, and gave him both spurs at once. His jump was successful.

Ten minutes later we saw the welcome light of the master of the camp, who came out to guide us through a thicket of
mimosa trees that grew on a lower terrace just above the river. The ‘Great Speaker’ made so much noise we could not hear a word our host said. But we were glad to have arrived safely.

The camp consisted of two huts, 6 feet by 7, built of reeds. Here we passed a most uncomfortable night, and the next day our explorations of Manco Inca’s hideout began.

We had arrived at the river bank in the night and could see nothing, although the terrific roaring of the ‘Great Speaker’ made us wonder what lay before us. We were told the river was over a hundred feet deep. As soon as it was light we scrambled out of the tiny hut and stood in complete amazement at the sight of its tumultuous rapids, 250 feet across, tearing through the canyon at a fearful pace, throwing up great waves like the ocean in a north-east storm. An incredible mass of water was dashing past us. We learned that the river had risen more than 50 feet on account of the recent heavy rains. When the frail little bridge was built it was 80 feet above the surface of the current. Now it was scarcely 25.

The bridge was less than 3 feet wide but 273 feet long. It swayed in the wind on its six strands of telegraph wire. To cross it seemed like tempting fate. So close to death did the narrow cat-walk of the bridge appear to be, and so high did the rapids throw the icy spray, that our Indian bearers crept across one at a time, on all fours and obviously wishing they had never been ordered by the Prefect to carry our luggage to Choqquequirau. It had been brought as far as the bridge on pack animals but mules could not use the new trail.

As has been said, the Incas had learned a thousand years ago to build good suspension bridges, using the tough lianas of the jungle to make powerful cables. Otherwise they never could have extended their empire as they did in the Andes, where bitterly cold water from the glaciers makes it extremely difficult to cross the streams that unite to form the great affluents of the Amazon. No one thinks of learning to swim in the Central Andes. A mis-step in fording one of the small rapidly flowing rivers usually means death. The mountain Indians are very cautious about taking such risks. The behaviour of our carriers was
understandable, therefore, especially as they were not acquainted with the tenacity of telegraph wire. It must have seemed to them the height of folly for any one voluntarily to use this bridge. The river at this point is about 5,000 feet above sea level. Our guide pointed out that the ruins were more than a mile above us. We had had little practice in mountain climbing, except on mule-back, for many months. It seemed a pretty serious undertaking to attempt to climb up a slippery little trail for 6,000 feet, to an elevation twice as high as the top of Mount Washington. We were out of condition, so that what would have been only a simple matter for the accustomed climber was anything but easy for us.

Our patient, long-suffering Quichua bearers, coming of a race that is in the habit of marching great distances at these altitudes, bore their burdens most cheerfully. At the same time even they gave frequent evidence of fatigue, which was not at all to be wondered at under the circumstances. Our
aide
, the enthusiastic Lt. Caceres, kept shouting ‘Valor’ at the top of his lungs as evidence of his good spirits and in an effort to encourage the others. The two
Yankis
had a hard time of it and were obliged to stop and rest nearly every 50 feet. Anyone who has attempted to walk fast at an elevation of 8,000 feet will know how we felt trying to climb at 10,000 feet.

At times the trail was so steep that it was easier to go on all fours than to attempt to walk erect. Occasionally we crossed streams in front of waterfalls on slippery logs or treacherous little footbridges. Roughly constructed ladders led us over steep cliffs. Although the hillside was too precipitous to allow much forest growth, no small part of the labour of making the path had been the work of cutting through dense underbrush and bamboo thickets.

As we mounted, the view of the valley became more and more magnificent. Nowhere had I ever witnessed such beauty and grandeur as was here displayed. The white torrent of the Apurimac raged through the canyon thousands of feet below us. Where its sides were not sheer precipices or scarred by recent avalanches, the steep slopes were covered with green foliage and
luxuriant flowers. From the hilltops near us other slopes rose 6,000 feet above to glaciers and snow-capped summits. The whole range of the White Mountains or the Great Smokies of Tennessee and North Carolina could have been placed on the floor of this great valley and not come much more than halfway to the top. In the distance, as far as we could see, a maze of hills, valleys, tropical jungle, and snow peaks held the imagination as though by a spell. Such were our rewards as we lay panting by the side of the little path when we had reached its highest point.