ANIMALS AYMARA INDIANS. 



99 



rush grows thick on these shoals, which gives them a meadow-like ap- 

 pearance. 



The road lies along the foot of the hills, very near to the water. 

 There are a few potatoes planted in the sand ; the patches extend to the 

 road, which is just at high-water mark in the wet season. The potato 

 plant is the only water gauge available ; wherever the ground allows, the 

 Indian carries his row, far from the rocky base of the hills, towards the 

 lake, and the height of the eastern edge of his potato patch, above the 

 level of the lake, is one foot. The potatoes are just coming up, sometimes 

 accompanied by beans. A pig's tail was seen sticking out, as he had 

 rooted down after the seed. The potatoes are small, but good. 



The blue-winged teal, black diver, white and black gulls, feed in the 

 water. Large and small snipe skim along the beach before us ; while 

 the tall white crane, with beautiful pink wings, legs and tail, with a 

 black bridged bill, proudly strolls through the water. Green rushes and 

 different colored feathers present a refreshing contrast to the dry rocks 

 and dusty hills. In the small gullies may be seen a scrubby bush, some 

 dry tufts of grass, and by very close search we did succeed in adding 

 two specimens of flowers to our small botanical collection, which we 

 hoped to have reported. 



The Indians are going to town to celebrate the birth -day of the Pre- 

 sident of the Republic ; old men are mounted on stunted little horses ; 

 young ones carry drums, fifes, and large feathered head-dresses, of pink 

 and white, plucked from the crane ; while the old women carry babies 

 slung in cotton ponchos over their shoulders. The young girls bring 

 provisions ; and donkeys loaded with live chickens, to be sold in the plaza, 

 jog along ahead of the families. On the lake a rush balsa, with a rush 

 mat for a sail, loaded with fish and potatoes, presses on to meet the load 

 of the donkey. An old woman is at the helm, which is a long pole ; 

 the wind seems a little too fresh for her ; as she broaches to, her sail 

 lifts, she loses command, and has to pole out of the rushes. The land 

 party laugh at her, but she pushes and works with a will, though the 

 heaving and setting of the craft makes it rather wet work, she finally 

 smoothly sails into port. 



From the small town of Chuiento we see the snow-capped mountains 

 in Bolivia, on the other side of the lake — the loftiest mountains in the 

 New World ; with their silvery heads they cool the eastern winds ; we 

 are bewildered amidst these great works, while looking on with awe. 

 Jose cannot understand the language of these Indians. We are among 

 the Aymara tribe, who were subdued by -Capac Tupanqui, the fifth 

 Inca, but never adopted the Quichua language. Jose thinks there is 



