Jan.  2,  1893.] 
THE  TROPICAL  AGRICULTURIST. 
461 
Brown  who  occasionally  writes  to  the  Observer  (which 
I should  also  be  glad  to  do  if  I only  could  find  some 
spare  time),  and  Mr.  T.  H.  Lloyd  who  recently  joined 
the  administration  as  surveyor. 
Trusting  you  will  be  able  to  give  us  a helping  hand 
and  to  hear  from  you  soon,  believe  me,  yours  sin- 
cerely, A.  Whyte,  Naturalist  to  B.C.A.A. 
TRAVELS  IN  PERU  AND  THE  UPPER 
VALLEYS  OP  THE  AMAZON. 
By  Arthur  Sinclair. 
Past  II. 
(Continued  from  porje  176.) 
From  Guayaquil,  Payta—' our  next  port  of  call  and 
first  introduction  to  modem  Peru — is  reached  in  one 
day,  and  never  was  a more  complete  transformation 
seen.  Last  night  we  were  sailing  down  a noble 
river,  lined  on  either  side  by  banks  of  the  densest 
vegetation;  today  not  a particle  of  vegetable  life 
is  to  be  seen,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.  From 
Aden  to  India  the  transition  is  eqally  remarkable; 
but  that  takes  a week  to  accomplish.  Here,  in  a 
few  hours,  the  scene  changes  from  moist  luxuriance 
to  an  arid  waste ; from  a damp,  relaxing  climate  to 
a dry,  bracing  air;  from  dark  chocolate  soil  to 
light  driven  sand.  “And  this  is  a fair  sample  of  what 
you  will  see  for  the  next  2,000  miles  along  this 
forsaken  coast,”  says  our  captain. 
The  fact  is,  we  have  passed  the  dividing  line  which 
separates  the  rainy  from  the  rainless  locality,  and 
let  me  say  at  once  1 prefer  the  latter.  Refreshing 
as  the  rain-drops  are  to  the  thirsty  soil  and  flagging 
plants,  and  taught,  as  we  long  have  been,  to  look 
upon  the  gentle  rains  as  blessings  falling  upon  the 
just  and  unjust  alike,  still  it  is  not  only  found  possible 
to  live  and  enjoy  good  health  in  an  absolutely  rainless 
country,  but  the  soil  can  be  rendered  even  more 
productive — as  will  be  seen  by-and-by — where  the 
agriculturist  does  not  directly  depend  upon  these  fitful 
supplies  of  moisture  from  the  clouds. 
It  is,  perhaps,  not  strictly  correct  to  speak  of 
Payta  as  an  absolutely  rainless  district,  as  occasiona'ly 
they  do  get  the  tail-end  of  a shower  here — “About 
once  in  nine  years,  ” said  the  local  weather  clerk, 
and  then  there  is  a rush  of  vegetation  marvellous  to 
look  upon;  plants  growing  where  seeds  were  never 
known  to  be  cast ; and  particularly  one  was  described 
to  me,  belonging  to  the  Cucumber  family,  but  con- 
taining a sponge  and  soap— a formidable  rival  to 
Pears — of  which  the  inhabitants  here  stand  much  in 
need.  But  the  most  valuable  plant  of  the  interior 
of  this  locality— for  nothing  is  to  be  seen  on  the 
coaBt — is,  doubtless,  the  perennial  Cotton-tree,  a 
very  superior  variety,  surpassing  anything  of  the  kind 
growing  in  North  America,  and,  no  doubt,  with 
ordinary  industry  and  judicious  irrigation,  the  cul- 
tivation of  this  valuable  product  might  be  greatly 
extended. 
The  next  port  of  call  to  which  I would  like  to 
introduce  the  reader  is  Salaverry;  about  300  miles 
south  from  Payta,  and,  as  seen  from  the  sea,  an 
equally  bleak  and  altogether  unprotected  coast.  To 
land  here  without  being  drenched  is  next  to  impossi- 
ble. The  poor  rickety  place  itself  is  chiefly  noto- 
rious for  the  inquisitiveness  of  the  not  overworked 
Custom  House  officials,  who  will  examine  the  toe  of 
every  stocking,  and  even  peer  into  the  tins  of  Swiss 
milk  purchased,  perchance,  at  Payta,  and  charge 
duty  thereon.  And  while  you  haggle  over  the  ex- 
orbitant demands,  ten  to  one  you  lose  the  only  train 
for  the  day,  by  which  you  hoped  to  reach  Trixillo. 
It  is  better,  perhaps,  under  the  circumstances,  to 
calmly  submit  to  a little  extortion  than  run  the  risk 
of  being  left  in  the  lurch  in  such  a place. 
Trixillo  lies  about  nine  miles  inland ; was  founded 
by,  and  named  after  the  birth-place  of  Pizarro;  a 
sort  of  third-rate  Lima,  containing  about  15,000 
inhabitants,  many  great  and  garish-looking  churches, 
and  a few  more  or  less  empty  hotels,  all  slowly 
falling  into  decay.  On  the  roughly-paved  streets  we 
J19W  and  again  meet  a decaying  sample  of  the  dignified 
Spaniard ; while  the  only  busy  man  in  the  place — the 
Chinese  cook,  to  wit — comes  to  his  door  for  a breath 
of  fresh  air  or  to  look  for  a fresh  customer.  In 
the  Plaza — which  corresponds  to  our  public  square 
— young  Peru  may  be  seen,  leafing  against  the  rail 
of  the  little  central  garden,  smoking  cigarettes  and 
looking  languidly  at  the  few  brilliant  crotons, 
poinsettia  and  vincas  which  surround  the  fountain. 
The  priests,  like  great  black  beetles,  creep  stealthily 
along  in  twos  and  threes,  entering  or  emerging 
from  the  always-open  churches,  from  which  we  can 
hear  what  is  intended  for  sweet*  seductive  notes  of 
music.  But  we  must  push  on.  A run  of  twenty  miles 
brings  us  to  the  centre  of  one  of  the  most  flourish- 
ing groups  of  sugar  estates  in  Peru.  The  Casa 
Granda  Estate,  which  I specially  visited,  is  aii 
admirably-managed  property  of  some  thousands  of 
acres;  more  luxuriant  cane,  or  cane  richer  in  sac- 
charine juice,  could  scarcely  be  found,  and  yet  this 
is  an  absolutely  rainless  district.  Men  live  and  die 
here  without  having  once  seen  a shower  of  rain,  and 
wonder  to  hear  of  the  haphazard  agriculturists  of 
other  lands,  who  simply  plant  or  sow  their  seeds, 
and  wait  for  the  fitful  clouds  to  water  them.  Here 
the  chief  work  and  art  of  cultivation  consist  in 
applying  water,  when  absolutely  necessary,  and 
withdrawing  it  the  moment  it  would  prove  injurious, 
and  unquestionably  a richer  cane  is  raised  by  this 
means  than  is  possible  in  the  rainy  region  of  the 
tropics.  The  labour  here  is  exclusively  Chinese — ex- 
perts at  this  particular  work — and  I doubt  if  equally 
good  results  could  be  obtained  by  any  other  class  of 
labourers.  The  maturing  of  the  cane  is  so  managed 
that  there  is  a daily  supply,  sufficient  to  produce 
500  cwt.  of  the  finest  sugar.  The  machinery  is 
one  of  the  most  modern  description,  and  the  whole 
works  and  yards  are  thoroughly  lighted  up  by  elec- 
tricity. There  are  several  other  equally  w'ell-managed 
estates  in  the  same  valley,  and  the  cultivation  might 
well  be  indefinitely  extended  for  hundreds  of  miles. 
It  is  nearly  a question  of  capital  and  suitable  labour. 
But  we  must  now  resume  our  voyage  for  about  100 
miles  further  along  the  coast,  our  next  port  of  call 
being  Chimbote,  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Santa,  the 
largest  Peruvian  river  on  the  western  side  of  the 
Andes.  This  was  the  farthest  point  reached  by 
Pizarro  on  his  first  memorable  voyage  of  discovery. 
He  was  satisfied  with  what  he  had  seen  that  the 
country  was  not  only  worth  the  conquest,  but  rich 
beyond  his  wildest  dreams,  and  from  here  he  was 
induced  to  return  to  tell  the  story  of  his  adventures 
to  his  avaricous  masters.  But  however  prosperous 
the  district  of  Santa  may  have  have  then  been,  it  is 
now  a poor,  abandoned  place;  and  yet  with  such  an 
ample  supply  of  water,  it  might  vie  with  the  richest 
spots  on  the  coast  of  Peru  in  productiveness.  As  it 
is,  it  is  chiefly  interesting  to  the  antiquarian.  The 
remains  of  Inca  roads,  rivalling  anything  the  Romans 
ever  built  in  Britain,  the  marvellous  aqueducts,  and 
more  particularly  the  hauchas,  or  mounds,  scattered 
over  the  country  at  irregular  intervals.  When 
opened,  these  hauchas  proved  to  be  burial  places, 
and  besides  the  bones,  various  curious  utensils  are 
often  found,  chiefly  water  chatties,  of  which  I 
secured  a number  of  specimens.  The  bay  of  Chimbote 
itself  is  remarkable  as  the  best  sheltered  bay  on  the 
coast  of  Peru,  protected  by  a semi-circle  of  rocky 
islands  which,  though  here  lacking  the  vegetation 
that  adorns  the  islands  around  the  Bay  of  Panama, 
supply  the  means  of  vegetation  to  many  an  unfertile 
spot  on  the  earth’s  surface.  Those  sea-lions  which 
so  startled  us  with  their  roar  as  we  were  coming 
ashore,  and  myriads  of  seals  frequent  these  islands 
daily,  to  bask  in  the  sun.  It  is  their  refuse,  and 
not  the  refuse  of  birds,  as  generally  supposed,  that 
forms  the  bulk  of  Peruvian  guano. 
We  make  no  further  calls  till  we  reach  Callao, 
the  chief  commercial  port  of  Peru,  where,  however, 
iu  the  most  uncommercial-like  way,  we  were  kept 
waiting  two  hours  for  the  captain  of  the  port,  who 
was  supposed  to  be  at  a cock-fight.  Our  own  dig- 
nified old  English  salt  is  a Christian  gentleman  and 
not  a swearing  man;  but  as  he  nervously  paced 
the  bridge  he  looked  so  uncommonly  like  a may 
