Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 60, No. 370, August 1846

Here dwelt, of jealous fears the prey, in pomp of moody state,
A King, by realms and cities fair, and conquest's laurels great;
His glance bespoke the tyrant soul to pity ne'er subdued;
His words were chains and torments – his characters were blood!

Once to these lordly towers at eve approached a tuneful pair,
Of reverend silvery tresses one, and one with golden hair;
The old man on a palfrey sate – his harp, the Minstrel's pride,
He bore – his comrade, young and blithe, tripped lightly at his side.

Thus to the youth the old man spoke – "My son, it boots to-day,
To try our deepest melodies, our most impassioned lay;
With cunning'st art essay the notes of blended joy and pain;
Perchance this royal heart may own the magic of the strain."

Soon in the pillared regal hall, amid the courtly throng
Of belted knights and beauteous dames, they range the sons of song: —
The King, in fearful majesty, recalled the meteor's blaze;
His spouse, with beaming loveliness, the moonlight's gentle rays.

The old man swept the chords – and quick, responsive to the tone,
Through all the train each heart confessed the spell of power unknown;
And when a clear angelic voice chimed in with youthful fire,
'Twas like the unseen minstrelsy of some ethereal quire!

They sang of Love's delightful spring – of the old golden time;
Of knightly leal, and maiden's truth, and chivalry sublime;
Of each high thought that stirs the soul informed with heavenly flame;
Of man's exalted destinies – of freedom, worth, and fame!

They paused: – in rapt attention hushed, the crowd had clustered near;
The courtier smoothed the lip of scorn, the warrior dropped a tear;
The Queen, with trembling extasy, took from her breast a rose;
And see! at the young Minstrel's feet the guerdon flower she throws.

"Ha!" shrieked the King – "my lieges first, with your detested lays,
Ye have seduced – and now my Queen their witchery betrays;
Die, tuneful minion!" – at the youth he hurled the gleaming sword,
And from the fount of golden strains the crimson tide was poured.

While scared, as by the lightning's flash, all stood in mute dismay,
The boy on his loved master's breast had breathed his soul away: —
The old man round the bleeding form his mantle wrapped with speed;
Raised the dear victim in his arms, and bound him on his steed.

The portals passed, he stood awhile, and gazed with tearful eyes —
And grasped his harp – the master harp – of thousand harps the prize:
Then frantic on a column's base he dashed the useless lyre,
And thus the curse of Poesy spoke with a prophet's fire!

"Woe! Woe! proud towers – dire House of blood! thy guilty courts among,
Ne'er may the chords of harmony be waked – the voice of song;
The tread of silent slaves alone shall echo mid the gloom,
Till Ruin waits, and hovering fiends of vengeance shriek thy doom!

"Woe! Woe! ye blooming gardens fair – decked in the pride of May,
Behold this flower untimely cropped – look – and no more be gay!
The sight should wither every leaf – make all your fountains dry,
And bid the bright enchantment round in wasteful horror lie!

"And thou, fell Tyrant, curst for aye of all the tuneful train —
May blighted bays, and bitter scorn, mock thy inglorious reign!
Perish thy hated name with thee – from songs and annals fade —
Thy race – thy power – thy very crimes – lost in oblivion's shade!"

The aged Bard has spoken – and Heaven has heard the prayer;
The haughty towers are crumbling low – no regal dome is there!
A single column soars on high, to tell of splendours past —
And see! 'tis cracked – it nods the head– this hour may be it's last!

Where once the fairy garden smiled, a mournful desert lies —
No rills refresh the barren sand – no graceful stems arise —
From storied page, and legend strain, this King has vanished long;
His race is dead – his power forgot: – such is the might of song!

THE MINE, THE FOREST, AND THE CORDILLERA.[8 - Peru.Reiseskizzen aus den Jahren, 1838-1842. Von J. J. Von Tschudi. Volume the second.]

The silver mines of Potosi, the virgin forests, and mighty cordilleras of South America, are words familiar and full of interest to European ears. Countless riches, prodigious vegetable luxuriance, stupendous grandeur, are the associations they suggest. With these should be coupled ideas of cruelty, desolation, and disease, of human suffering and degradation pushed to their utmost limit, of opportunities neglected, and advantages misused. Not a bar of silver, or a healing drug, or an Alpaca fleece, shipped from Peruvian ports to supply another hemisphere with luxuries and comforts, but is the price of an incalculable amount of misery, and even of blood – the blood of a race once noble and powerful, now wretched and depraved by the agency of those whose duty and in whose power it was to civilize and improve them. The corrupt policy of Spanish rulers, the baneful example of Spanish colonists and their descendants, have gone far towards the depopulation and utter ruin of the richest of South American countries. How imprudent and suicidal has been the course adopted, will presently be made apparent. Those who desire evidence in support of our assertion, need but follow Dr Tschudi, as we now propose doing, into the mining, mountainous, and forest districts of Peru.

Difficult and dangerous as a journey through the maritime provinces of Peru undeniably is, it is mere railroad travelling when compared with an expedition into the interior of the country. In the former case, the land is level, and the sun, the sand, and the highwayman, are the only perils to be encountered or evaded. But a ramble in the mountains is a succession of hairbreadth escapes, a deliberate confronting of constantly recurring dangers, to which even the natives unwillingly expose themselves, and frequently fall victims. The avalanches, precipices, gaping ravines, slippery glaciers, and violent storms common to all Alpine regions, are here complicated by other risks peculiar to the South American mountains. Heavy rains, lasting for weeks together, falls of snow that in a few moments obliterate all trace of a path, treacherous swamps, strange and loathsome maladies, and even blindness, combine to deter the traveller from his dangerous undertaking. All these did Dr Tschudi brave, and from them all, after the endurance of great hardship and suffering, he was fortunate enough to escape.

At a very short distance from Lima, the traveller, proceeding eastward, gets a foretaste of the difficulties and inconveniences in reserve for him. Whilst riding, through the vale of Surco, or through some other of the valleys leading from the coast to the mountains, he perceives a fountain by the road side, and pauses to refresh his tired mule. Scarcely is his intention manifest, when he is startled by a cry from his guide, or from a passing Indian – "Cuidado! Es agua de verruga!" In these valleys reigns a terrible disease called the verrugas, attributed by the natives to the water of certain springs, and for which all Dr Tschudi's investigations were insufficient to discover another cause. Fever, pains in the bones, and loss of blood from cutaneous eruptions, are the leading symptoms of this malady, which is frequently of long duration, and sometimes terminates fatally. It seizes the Indians and lighter castes in preference to the white men and negroes, and no specific has yet been discovered for its cure. Mules and horses are also subject to its attacks. In no country, it would appear from Dr Tschudi's evidence, are there so many strange and unaccountable maladies as in Peru. Nearly every valley has its peculiar disease, extending over a district of a few square miles, and unknown beyond its limits. To most of them it has hitherto been impossible to assign a cause. Their origin must probably be sought in certain vegetable influences, or in those of the vast variety of minerals which the soil of Peru contains.

In the mountains, the shoeing of mules and horses is frequently a matter of much difficulty; and it is advisable for the traveller to acquire the art, and furnish himself with needful implements, before leaving the more civilized part of the country. Farriers are only to be found in the large Indian villages, and it is common to ride fifty or sixty leagues without meeting with one. In the village of San Geronimo de Surco, the innkeeper is the only blacksmith, and Dr Tschudi, whose horse had cast a shoe, was compelled to pay half a gold ounce (upwards of thirty shillings) to have it replaced. This was one half less than the sum at first demanded by the exorbitant son of Vulcan, who doubtless remembered the old Spanish proverb, "for a nail is lost a shoe, for a shoe the horse, for the horse the horseman."[9 - "Por un clavo se pierde una herradura, por una herradura un cavallo, por un cavallo un caballero."] The doctor took the hint, and some lessons in shoeing, which afterwards stood him in good stead. It is a common practice in Peru, on the sandy coast, and where the roads permit it, to ride a horse or mule unshod for the first four or five days of a journey. Then shoes are put on the fore feet, and a few days later on the hinder ones. This is thought to give new strength to the animals, and to enable them to hold out longer. On the mountain tracks, the wear and tear of iron must be prodigious, as may be judged from the following description of three leagues of road between Viso and San Mateo, by no means the worst bit met with by our traveller.

"The valley frequently becomes a mere narrow split in the mountains, enclosed between walls of rock a thousand feet high. These enormous precipices are either perpendicular, or their summits incline inwards, forming a vast arch; along their base, washed by the foaming waters of the river, or higher up, along their side, winds the narrow and dangerous path. In some places they recede a little from the perpendicular, and their abrupt slopes are sprinkled with stones and fragments of rock, which every now and then, loosened by rain, detach themselves and roll down into the valley. The path is heaped with these fragments, which give way under the tread of the heavily laden mules, and afford them scanty foothold. From time to time, enormous blocks thunder down the precipice, and bury themselves in the waters beneath. I associate a painful recollection with the road from Viso to San Mateo. It was there that a mass of stone struck one of my mules, and precipitated it into the river. My most important instruments and travelling necessaries, a portion of my collections and papers, and – an irreparable loss – a diary carefully and conscientiously kept during a period of fourteen months, became the prey of the waters. Two days later the mule was washed ashore; but its load was irrecoverably lost. Each year numerous beasts of burden, and many travellers, perish upon this dangerous road. Cavalry on the march are particularly apt to suffer, and often a slip of the horse's foot, or a hasty movement of the rider, suffices to consign both to the yawning chasm by their side. At the inn at Viso I met an officer, who had just come from the mountains, bringing his two sons with him. He had taken the youngest before him; the other, a boy of ten years of age, rode upon the mule's crupper. Half a league from Viso, a large stone came plunging down from the mountain, struck the eldest lad, and dashed him into the stream."

Although frequently ill-treated by the Creoles, and especially by the officers, the Indians in most parts of Peru show ready hospitality and good-will to the solitary traveller. Those in the neighborhood of San Mateo are an exception; they are distrustful, rough, and disobliging. When a traveller enters the village, he is instantly waited upon by the alcalde and regidores, who demand his passport. Has he none, he risks ill-treatment, and being put upon a jackass and carried off to the nearest prefect. Luckily the ignorance of the village authorities renders them easy to deal with; it is rare that they can read. On one occasion, when Dr Tschudi's passport was demanded, the only printed paper in his pocket was an old playbill, that of the last opera he had attended before his departure from Lima, and which he had taken with him as wadding for his gun. He handed it to the Indian regidor, who gravely unfolded it, stared hard at the words Lucia di Lammermoor, and returned it with the remark, that the passport was perfectly in order.

Any thing more wretched in their accommodations than the tambos or village inns, can scarcely be imagined. So bad are they, that the traveller is sometimes driven to pass the night in the snow rather than accept of their shelter, and at the same time submit to the nuisances with which they abound. One of these villanous hostelries, in which Dr Tschudi several times attempted to sleep, is described by him with a minuteness that will rather startle the squeamish amongst his readers. Vermin every where, on the floor and walls, in the clothes of the Indian hag officiating as hostess, even in the caldron in which a vile mixture of potatoe water and Spanish pepper is prepared for supper. For sole bed there is the damp earth, upon which hosts, children, and travellers stretch themselves. Each person is accommodated with a sheepskin, and over the whole company is spread an enormous woollen blanket. But woe to the inexperienced traveller who avails himself of the coverings thus bountifully furnished, swarming as they are with inhabitants from whose assaults escape is impossible. Even if he creeps into a corner, and makes himself a bed with his saddle-cloths, he is not secure. Add to these comforts a stifling smoke, and other nauseous exhalations, and the gambols of innumerable guinea-pigs, common as mice in many parts of Peru, who caper the night through over the faces and bodies of the sleepers, and the picture of a South American mountain inn will be as complete as it is uninviting. But these annoyances, great though they be, are very trifles compared to the more serious evils awaiting the traveller in the higher regions of the Cordilleras. At about 12,600 feet above the level of the sea, the effects of the rarefaction of the atmosphere begin to be sensibly and painfully felt. The natives, unacquainted with the real cause of the malady thus occasioned, and which by them is called puna, by the Spanish Creoles veta or mareo, attribute it to the exhalations of metals, especially of antimony. Horses, not bred in the mountains, suffer greatly from the veta, and frequently fall down helpless. The arrieros adopt various cruel means for their revival, such as cutting off their ears and tail, and slitting up their nostrils, the latter being probably the only useful remedy, as it allows the animal to inhale a large volume of air. To preserve them from the veta, chopped garlic is put into their nostrils. With human beings, this state of the atmosphere causes the blood to gush from the eyes, nose, and lips, and occasions faintings, blood-spittings, vomitings, and other unpleasant and dangerous symptoms. The sensation somewhat resembles that of sea-sickness, whence the Spanish name of mareo. The malady, in its most violent form, sometimes causes death from excessive loss of blood. Of this, Dr Tschudi saw instances. Much depends on the general health and constitution of the persons attacked. The action of the veta is very capricious. Some persons do not experience it on a first visit to the mountains, but suffer on subsequent ones. Another singular circumstance is, that it is much more violent in some places than in others of a greater altitude. This affords ground for a supposition, that other causes, besides the diminished pressure of the atmosphere, concur to occasion it. These as yet remain unknown. The districts in which the veta is felt with the greatest intensity, are for the most part very metallic, and this has given rise to the Indian theory of its cause.

Another terrible scourge to the traveller in the Cordilleras is the surumpe, a violent inflammation of the eye, brought on by the sudden reflection of the sun from the snow. In those mountains the eyes are kept continually in an irritated state by the rarefied air and cutting winds, and are consequently unusually susceptible. Often the heavens become suddenly overcast, and in a few minutes the yellowish-green waste is one sheet of snow. Then out bursts the sun with overpowering splendour, a sharp burning pain is instantly felt in the eyes, and speedily increases to an unbearable extent. The eyes become red, the lids swell and bleed. So violent is the agony as to cause despair and delirium. Dr Tschudi compares it to the sensation occasioned by rubbing Spanish pepper or gunpowder into the eyes. Chronic inflammation, even total blindness, is the frequent consequence of the surumpe in its most intense form. In the Cordilleras it is no unusual thing to find Indians sitting by the wayside, shrieking from pain, and unable to continue their journey. The Creoles, when they visit the mountains, protect themselves with green spectacles and veils.

During five months of the year, from November till March, storms are of almost daily occurrence in the Cordilleras. They commence with remarkable punctuality between two and three in the afternoon, and continue till five or half-past; later than this, or in the night, a storm was never known to occur. They are accompanied by falls of snow, which last till after midnight. The morning sun dispels the cold mist that hangs about the mountain peaks, and in a few hours the snow is melted. "On the raging ocean," says Dr Tschudi, "and in the dark depths of the aboriginal forests, I have witnessed terrific storms, whose horrors were increased by surrounding gloom and imminent danger, but never did I feel anxiety and alarm as in Antaichahua, (a district of the Cordilleras celebrated for storms.) For hours together flash followed flash in uninterrupted succession, painting blood-red cataracts upon the naked precipices; the thunder crashed, the zigzag lightning ran along the ground, leaving long furrows in the scorched grass. The atmosphere quivered with the continuous roll of thunder, repeated a thousand-fold by the mountain echoes. The traveller, overtaken by these terrific tempests, leaves his trembling horse, and seeks shelter and refuge beneath some impending rock."

The hanging bridges and huaros are not to be forgotten in enumerating the perils of Peruvian travelling. The former are composed of four thick ropes of cow-hide, connected by a weft of cords of the same material, and overlaid with branches, straw, and agair roots. The ropes are fastened to posts on either side of the river; a couple of cords, two or three feet higher than the bridge, serve for balustrades; and over this unsteady causeway, which swings like a hammock, the traveller has to pass, leading his reluctant mule. The passage of rivers by huaros is much worse, and altogether a most unpleasant operation. It can be effected only where the banks are high and precipitous. A single strong rope extends from one shore to the other, with a wooden machine, in form of a yoke, slung upon it. To this yoke the traveller is tied, and is then drawn over by means of a second cord. In case of the main rope breaking, the passenger by the yoke is inevitably drowned. When rivers are traversed in this manner, the mules and horses are driven into the water, and compelled to swim across.

But a further detail of the dangers and difficulties of travel in Peru would leave us little space to enumerate its interesting results. Supposing the reader, therefore, to have safely accomplished his journey through the solitary ravines, and over the chilly summits of the Cordilleras, we transport him at once to the Cerro de Pasco, famed for the wealth of its silver mines. In a region of snow and ice, at an elevation of 13,673 feet above the sea, he suddenly comes in sight of a large and populous city, built in a hollow, and surrounded on all sides by lakes and swamps. On the margin of eternal snows, in the wildest district of Peru, and in defiance of the asperities of climate, Mammon has assembled a host of worshippers to dig and delve in the richest of his storehouses.

Some two hundred and fifteen years ago, according to the legend, a small pampa that lies south-east from Lake Lauricocha, the mother of the mighty river Amazon, an Indian, Hauri Capcha by name, tended his master's sheep. Having wandered one day to an unusual distance from his hut, he sought shelter from the cold under a rock, and lighted a large fire. The following morning he saw to his astonishment that the stone beneath the ashes had melted and become pure silver. He joyfully informed his employer, a Spaniard of the name of Ugarte, of this singular circumstance. Ugarte hastened to the place, and found that his shepherd had lit upon a vein of silver ore of extraordinary richness, of which he at once took possession, and worked it with great success. This same mine is still worked, and is known as la Descubridora, the discoverer. Presently a number of persons came from the village of Pasco, two leagues distant, and sought and discovered new veins. The great richness of the ore and the increase of employment soon drew crowds to the place – some to work, others to supply the miners with the necessaries of life; and thus, in a very brief time, there sprung up a town of eighteen thousand inhabitants.