ORDER ESTABLISHED IN LIMA.
My reception by the Chilian general was all that I could desire. He at once expressed his readiness to assist my objects in every way, and carried out his promise by giving me a letter to the officer commanding the detachment at Chicla, with instructions to provide horses and guides and all needful protection for myself and my companion. I failed to detect in General Lynch any of the characteristics, usually so persistent, of men of Irish descent. The stately courtesy and serious expression, reminding one of the bearing of a Castilian gentleman, were not enlivened by the irrepressible touches of liveliness that involuntarily relieve even a careworn Irishman from the pressure of his environment. One particularity in the arrangements at head-quarters struck me as singular; but I afterwards understood that it was merely the transference to Peru of the ordinary habits of Chili. The head-quarters of the general were fixed in the former palace of the Spanish viceroys. A sentry in the street paid no attention as, in company with Mr. Graham, I entered the first court, and it appeared that every one, or, at least, every decently dressed stranger, was free to pass. Through an open door we entered the first of a suite of large rooms, and advanced from one to another without encountering a human being, whether guard or attendant, until in the last room but one, seemingly by accident, a secretary presented himself, who at once ushered us into the cabinet of the general. In the case of any public man in Europe, to say nothing of the chief of an army of occupation constantly assailed by the fiercest denunciations, and left thus easy of access, some fanatic or madman would speedily translate the popular hatred into grim deed.
Among the acquaintances made in Lima, I must mention the name of Mr. William Nation, a gentleman who, amidst many difficulties, has acquired an extensive knowledge of the fauna and flora of Peru, and has observed with attention many facts of interest connected with the natural history of the country. After my return from Chicla, Mr. Nation was kind enough to accompany me in two short excursions in the neighbourhood of the city, and I am further indebted to him for much valuable assistance and information.
Soon after eight a.m. on the morning of April 20, I started from the railway station at Lima, in company with my friend W – , who was fortunately able to absent himself for some days. The country lying between the coast and the foot of the Cordillera appears to the eye a horizontal plain, but is, in fact, a slope inclining towards the sea, and rising very uniformly about seventy feet per mile.6 This ancient sea-bottom extends for a distance of fully fifteen miles from Lima into the valley of the Rimac, which, in approaching the coast, gradually spreads out from a narrow gorge to a wide valley with a flat floor. At the same time the river gradually dwindles from a copious rushing torrent to a meagre stream, running in many shallow channels over a broad stony bed, until it is finally almost lost in the marshes near Callao. Its waters are consumed by the numerous irrigation channels; for it must be remembered that along the western side of the continent, for a distance of nearly thirty degrees of latitude, cultivation is confined to those tracts which can be irrigated by streams from the Andes. Keeping pretty near to the left bank of the Rimac, the railway runs between two detached hills, formerly islands when the sea stood a few hundred feet above its present level. That on the north side is called the Amancais, and another less extensive mass rises south of the river.
WINTER VEGETATION NEAR LIMA.
Throughout the greater part of the year these hills, as well as the lower slopes of the Cordillera, appear, as they did to me, absolutely bare of vegetation; but in winter, from June to September, slight showers of rain are not unfrequent, and the fogs, denser than in other seasons, rest more constantly on the hills, and doubtless deposit abundant night-dews on the surface. The seeds and bulbs and rhizomes awake from their long sleep, and in a few days the slopes are covered with a brilliant carpet, in which bright flowers of various species follow each other in rapid succession.
Alongside of the railway runs a broad road covered to a depth of a couple of feet with volcanic sand, with occasional loose blocks of stone. The struggles of the few laden animals that we saw in passing, as they toiled along this weary track under a scorching sun, suggested a thought of the wonderful changes which modern inventions have already effected, and are destined to effect in the future, throughout every part of the world. The track before our eyes was, until the other day, the sole line of direct communication between Lima and the interior of Peru. The passage of men and animals had in the course of centuries reduced the original stony surface to a river of fine sand, and by no better mode of transport had the treasures of Cerro de Pasco, and the other rich silver deposits of the same region, been carried to the coast to sap the manhood and energy of the Spanish settlers in Peru, and help to achieve the same result in the mother country.
The American railway car, which is not without its drawbacks for ordinary travellers, is admirably suited to a naturalist in a new country. No time is lost in opening and shutting doors. Standing ready on the platform, one jumps off at every stoppage of the train, and jumps up again without delay or hindrance. I was able to appreciate these advantages during this day, and to add considerably to my collections by turning every moment to account. At first the vegetation was, of course, extremely scanty; but I was interested by finding here some representatives of genera that extend to the hotter and drier parts of the Mediterranean region, such as Boerhavia and Lippia.
Not far beyond the station of Santa Clara, near to which is a large sugar-plantation, the slopes on either side of the valley become more continuous, and gradually approach nearer together. The first trace of vegetation visible from a distance was shown by one of the cactus tribe, probably a Cereus, and as we ascended I was able to distinguish two other species of the same family.
VEGETATION OF THE RIMAC VALLEY.
At many points in the valley, always on slightly rising ground, shapeless inequalities of the surface marked with their rough outline all that now remains of the numerous villages that in the days of the Incas were scattered at short intervals.
As we advanced, the slopes on either side became higher and steeper, but were still apparently nearly bare of vegetation until we reached Chosica, about twenty-six miles from Lima, 2800 feet above the sea. At this place it was formerly the custom to halt for breakfast, but since the line has been re-opened, the only eatables to be found are the fruits, chiefly bananas and granadillas, which Indian women offer to the passengers.
Henceforward the line is fairly enclosed between the slopes on either hand, everywhere rough and steep, but, as is the nature of volcanic rocks, nowhere cut into precipices. The gradient becomes perceptibly steeper, being about one in thirty-three in the space between Chosica and San Bartolomé – about thirteen miles. Here the change of climate begins to be distinctly marked. It is evident that during a great part of the year the declivities are covered with vegetation, though now brown from drought, and they show the occasional action of running water in deep furrows and ravines. Here the engineers engaged on the railway first confronted the serious difficulties of the undertaking. Following the line from San Bartolomé to Chicla, the distance is only thirty-four miles, but the difference of level is 7317 feet, and the fifty-one miles between this and the summit-tunnel involve an ascent of 10,740 feet. The gradient is very uniform, never, I believe, exceeding one in twenty-six, the average being about one in twenty-eight. Some of the expedients adopted appear simple enough, though quite effectual for the intended purpose. Very steep uniform slopes have been ascended by zigzags, in which the train is alternately dragged by the locomotive in front, and then (the motion being reversed), shoved up the next incline with the engine in the rear. In