CHUNCHO SAVAGES. 



51 



After our breakfast of boiled rice, we turned, and on our way saw the 

 bracks of five Chunchos on the sands. Their feet are very small, and 

 they walk with toes much turned in. They hunt in small parties of 

 from five to seven, always accompanied by a woman, who carries their 

 fish and game, cooks and does all the hard work, while they stroll along 

 with their bows and arrows. They are very bitter against the Peruvi- 

 ans, and give them no quarters ; waylay them on the roads to Porco- 

 tambo, and turn up their noses at all offers of friendship. We are on 

 their hunting grounds. Here they find large fish, wild turkeys, and a 

 species of pheasant, the size of guinea fowls. It is said they worship 

 brave animals and reptiles, such as tigers and poisonous snakes ; are 

 generally smaller men and women than the Indians on the Andes. The 

 inner corners of their eyes are turned down ; they walk with their heads 

 hanging ; the expression of face is morose, without the least sign of a 

 smile. Such are the reports of the men with me. 



"We halted at Chapemayo, which joins San Miguel, to see the old 

 Indian safely in the hands of his wife, who had been told by the Indians, 

 when we returned without him, that he was murdered by the Chunchos. 

 The meeting was a very modest one. 



Jose was delighted ; the old man had expressed great fears that he 

 would never see us again. The mules were in good pasture, but very 

 much bitten by vampire bats, which strike them at night in the' skin of 

 the neck, and they bleed so much as to weaken them. The padre was 

 v«ry sad at the result of our reconnoissance. He was kind enough to 

 give me an extract from a meteorological table he is in the habit of 

 keeping. Three crops of corn may be raised here in one year, yet the 

 people do not descend the Andes to settle in this productive country. 



The* farmer labors under great disadvantage. He never leaves his 

 house in the morning to cultivate the field without fire-arms. They are 

 at the expense of keeping a watch constantly stationed, lest they be 

 surprised by the Chunchos. People are afraid to pass from farm to 

 farm alone. Some have been murdered; others died from sickness 

 brought on by fatigue, a hot sun by day, and loss of sleep at night. 

 The coca planter generally leaves his wife and children behind him in 

 Porcotambo when he enters upon his ordinary duties on this montana. 



I am told there are some cleared lands a short distance to the east of 

 these four farms which have been abandoned, or rather nearly all were 

 murdered by the Chunchos some years ago, and others have not ventured 

 there since. 



Upon gaining the top of the Andes, we found the barometer tube had 

 been broken on the way. A hole was cut in the top of our coffee pot, 



