Through the Nasca and Cañete Valleys, Part 1

On one of my frequent visits to Lima I made the acquaintance of a company promoter named Jackson. He had formed the idea that a large tract of country, lying between the great river Appurimac and the Nasca and Cañete valleys, was admirably adapted to grow sugar and various other crops. He wanted some one to explore the old viaduct that had been constructed by the Incas in days gone by, to conduct the waters of the Appurimac to this stretch of country; and to report on its condition before he approached the Government of Peru for a concession. Jackson wished to avoid laying out much money on preliminaries but, nevertheless, offered me £200 if I would take the job on, with a promise to supplement it with a 10 per cent. holding in the company he intended to form, in the event of matters turning out satisfactorily. I mentioned the subject to Bailey, the manager of the Cable Company, in the course of conversation, and he scouted the idea.

“Do you mean to say,” he exclaimed, “that you are going to risk riding through that vast desert, for a paltry £200, on spec?”

“Yes, and glad of the job,” I said. “It will only take me about a fortnight, and will afford me the chance of seeing one of the old bridges made by the Incas.”

“Man, you are mad!” he rejoined. “You’ll never get through. You will see nothing but heaps of human bones lying about; and mind you don’t add yours to them. In the first place, where will you find a horse that will carry your lump of a carcass?”

“Never mind about the horse part,” I said. “I think Golondrina and Tony will be equal to the task. Anyhow, I intend taking them and Francisco Caro with me.”

“Ah,” he agreed, “if you choose to take the best hurdler in Chile and the finest chaser, together with one of your best stable-lads, that alters the complexion of affairs. Still, I wish you well out of the job. You’ll find it is no picnic.”

This conversation didn’t daunt me in the least. I had calculated my chances very carefully, and felt convinced that the task was not beyond my powers. Accordingly the following July (i.e. July, 1900) saw my little party safely embarked on the Guatemala, en route for Cerro Azul. On arriving there we left the steamer and pushed on to Cañete, where we put up for a day at a house belonging to the British Sugar Co., in which corporation Leguia was interested financially.

Next morning we started on our adventurous ride. The first portion lay through a beautiful valley, luxuriant with grass and alfalfa, and dotted here and there with gorgeous tropical flowers. Only a few stunted trees were visible, but they were full of bloom. I was particularly attracted by some lovely pale blue and cream convolvulus creepers. (When I described them the other day to an acquaintance, a Mr. Reynolds, who had been formerly head gardener at one of England’s historic mansions, he classified them as weeds. I dare say he is right in a way, but to me their simple daintiness appeals more powerfully than many a choice specimen of the florist’s treasure house.) We made good progress, and reached the end of the valley before nightfall. There we came across an Indian homestead, the proprietor of which very civilly expressed his willingness to let me a small hut for myself, with a kitchen outside and an open thatched barn made of adobe bricks for the horses. His charge for two nights and a day was very moderate—only 2 sols in fact. He supplied us with a plenitude of provisions, such as paltas, chirimoyas, peaches, plantains, and other vegetables, and fowls’ eggs. Paltas grow wild in this valley, and indeed, in many other parts of Bolivia and Peru. West Indians call them Abogada* pears. At 2 cents apiece they were very cheap. The chirimoya I identified as the sugar apple of the West Indies. Those our landlord supplied us with were much finer, however, than any I had seen before. I paid for them no more than for the paltas. They were mostly larger than a cricket ball—some with rough skins, others perfectly smooth. I preferred the variety last described. The price was but 2 cents each! As for vegetables such as yams, sweet potatoes, etc., they cost me next to nothing.

Before we started on our first stretch of desert, I made very careful arrangements. I packed up a cooked fowl, some bread and a quantity of beef sandwiches, and placed them, together with a flask of whisky and a bottle of water, in the saddle-bags. These I slung on one side of Francisco’s mount. On the other side I fixed up two bottles of beer for the horses, and five pounds of oats, mixed with a little green alfalfa cut up fine. Then, after partaking of a substantial breakfast, we bade the Indian good-bye, and made for the narrow track that leads across the desert to the next valley, fifty-six miles away.

*Written “Avocada.”

Tales of the Turf, Part 6

Piccione, the Italian I have referred to in connection with Huacachina, owned a famous racehorse in the Argentine, named Pippermint. Pippermint was sired at Saturnino Unsue’s haras Indesis by St. Mirin. When put up at the usual yearly auction, he failed to fetch the reserve placed upon him, so George Attucha took him over on racing terms, i.e. if the horse, within a year, won an amount in stakes and other prizes equal to his reserve price, he then became Attucha’s property. Pippermint paid for himself many times over, his winnings amounting, I believe, to something like 140,000 dollars. At the finish of his racing career Attucha parted with him for £10,000 to Piccione, who wanted a stallion for his place in South Africa.

Some folk seem extraordinarily lucky. Attucha, for instance. I met him once at Mar-del-Plata, where I had taken Simpleton, hoping the sea-water would strengthen his leg. He had broken a small bone just below the joint, and it had not long been set. Attucha was enjoying himself among the bathers; varying this pleasant pastime with an occasional visit to the roulette tables. I accompanied him one night to the rooms. We each took with us about £10. Attucha staked his money on number 32. I placed mine on number 33. We had agreed that whoever of us won, should return the other his original stake capital. Round and round went the little ball, darting hither and thither, until it finally came to rest in number 32. Attucha raked in his winnings, and gave me back my £10. Once bit, twice shy, I didn’t risk it again, for I never loved gambling, not even on the Turf, and rarely backed a horse outside my own stable.

Don Jorge, however, decided to see his run of luck out. By the end of the week he had increased his gains to 56,000 dollars!

Attucha owned the famous French mare Siberie. I last saw him at Newmarket July meeting, about 1912. He had brought over a flier from the Argentine, but failed to capture anything with him.* Attucha also purchased Perrier, one of the late King Edward’s horses, giving £2100 for him, if I remember aright.

At Mar-del-Plata on another occasion I was accosted by one of Argentine’s biggest racing men. He was hard up, having mortgaged his house and shares. “I want to have a flutter,” said he. “Lend me five dollars, old pal.” I complied with his request, and he vanished into the roulette room, to reappear an hour later with 1000 dollars. Some years later I ran up against him in London. He was very pleased to see me, and said the little loan I made him brought him luck. He had played his winnings up, and eventually turned the original five dollars into 40,000. With this sum he paid off his mortgages, and then, like a sensible fellow, chucked roulette for ever and ever, Amen.

Although, as I have said before, I seldom chanced my luck at the tables, yet I must admit that the fickle goddess was once not too unkind to me. During my stay at Mar-del-Plata with Simpleton, I took a prominent English Church official to the roulette room. He wouldn’t play, he simply wished to look on and gather material for a speech he had to make at Buenos Ayres.

I for my part bought £1 worth of chips, and started backing Attucha’s lucky number. It was good enough to turn up, so I went on, and couldn’t do wrong. Within about an hour I won £300. I then left the tables, and took good care not to trouble them again.

With my winnings I paid all my expenses at Mar-del-Plata, including all Simpleton and my hacks had cost me, and even then landed back in Buenos Ayres with £200 in my pocket. So I considered I had a very cheap holiday!

*In my racing reminiscences I shall advance my theory for the failure of Argentine horses to show their proper form in England.

Tales of the Turf, Part 5

Some twelve miles after leaving Pisco we came across a lovely little oasis, in which there grew the biggest and most delightful heliotrope bush I have ever seen. It quite recompensed me for all the monotonous stretch of desert which we had traversed.

Ica is a charming little town, with houses built mostly of adobe brick, painted blue and white. I put up at a nice little hotel, where I secured, for a very reasonable sum, a room for myself and a shed for Caro and the horses. In the neighbouring district cotton is grown on a pretty extensive scale. Piccione and Co. have a spinning mill here which employs a large number of hands. Piccione himself was a great racing man, and a notable rider “over the sticks” in Italy. I met his good lady and child at Pisco, staying there for the sea bathing. Mrs. Piccione took a great fancy to Golondrina, who was in foal to Springtide, and offered me £100 for her. I said, “You can have the mare if you like; but I want the foal. You can have the mare six months after the foal is born.” This arrangement didn’t suit her. She wished to take over the mare directly I returned from visiting Huacachina. But though we failed to agree, that circumstance didn’t affect our friendship, and when I moved off for the lake I took with me a letter to the caretaker of several little houses P. owned in the vicinity. Piccione had had these built for the benefit of people who go to Huacachina to take the waters, in token of his gratitude for having been cured of a very serious malady.

It was the day after we arrived at Ica, that I rode Golondrina over to the lake. The going was fine until we neared the end of our journey. Then we had to negotiate a hill 3000 ft. high, composed of hard sand. When we had surmounted this obstacle, we had to clamber down another steep path for 1000 ft., and at the foot of this declivity lay Huacachina.

Near Lake Huacachina. Illustration from Adventures in Peru.

The lake is bordered by a tiny beach, some fifteen yards wide. Green trees surrounded it, and a flat-bottomed boat is kept for the use of visitors. Many people of my acquaintance, besides Piccione, have been greatly benefited by a visit to this famous lake.*

I bathed in the lake every day, not that there was anything the matter with me, but just that I might say I had tried the waters. Sulphur, potash, magnesium, and calcium, were, I found, the principal ingredients. One can’t sink, and I could never get farther down than my armpits.

On the surface the water was quite warm, but underneath it struck very cold to one’s feet. That peculiarity, of course, is attributable to the potash.

The country round about Huacachina is noted for its cotton, and alfalfa. Sugar cane is also grown, but it doesn’t succeed so well there as it does along the coast of Peru. The soil is not so rich. Most people picture the desert as a never-changing waste of sand. But when I passed through the Peruvian wilderness, it was all asmother with bulbous flowers of great beauty. The blooms resembled petunias, and they were all the colours of the rainbow. This phenomenon occurs every winter, and continues for a period of six or eight weeks, till the sun regains its full power. Then the exquisite picture vanishes, almost as swiftly as a soap bubble passes away. The desert extends all along the coast. This is Peru’s chief detriment. But even so, it is barred, like the staves of a piece of music, with lovely, fertile valleys, every twenty or thirty leagues or so. In these almost anything that grows can be cultivated with the expenditure of little energy, except cotton and sugar, for these two things require to be constantly irrigated. Nevertheless the sugar mills in these parts can crush sugar every week-day for forty-nine weeks of every year, the remaining three weeks being devoted to the annual overhaul. An admirable system of irrigation has now been adopted, consequently the mills are not dependent on the rain. Saline deposits abound. There are several salt lakes within easy distance of Ica. Borax is to be found farther north, at Chimbote and Pacasmayo.

*Vide Adventures in Bolivia.

Tales of the Turf, Part 4

On one occasion I travelled from Chile to Lima with a mare and a stallion for A. B. Leguia. I had to deliver them at his beautiful estate, ten miles beyond a place called Pisco, where Leguia’s breeding establishment—a model, up-to-date affair—was situated, vast breadths of the adjoining land being devoted to the raising of sugar and cotton. Springtide, the lord of the harem, was a remarkably fine horse, as was only to be expected when one considers that he numbered among his distinguished progenitors game old See Saw. Springtide was bred by Mr. A. C. Barclay out of his mare Noyau, and was disposed of to a rich Frenchman, named Dreyfus, for £5000 as a three-year-old and subsequently presented by him to Admiral Lynch, who was often in the public eye during the Chilian and Peruvian war. Finally the horse became Leguia’s property.

Well, after I had accomplished my mission, I found I had a fortnight to wait before I could get a steamer from Pisco to Chile; so I put in a week with Mr. Leguia’s father, a dear old gentleman who was never happier than when riding round his son’s estate, to keep an eye on the various workmen, wagons, and trucks. Leguia’s brother Robert was manager of the estate. He was fond of cock-fighting, and told me that the great cock-fight of the year would be held at Ica, forty-four miles the other side of Pisco, across the desert. Within sixteen miles or so of Ica there is a famous lake, called Huacachina, which I had often desired to see, so I determined to miss the next boat, and board one due at Pisco a week later. Thus I purposed to kill two birds with one stone. This programme I adhered to. On the occasion of my visit to Huacachina, I took with me my two hacks, Tony and Golondrina.

Just a word about these horses. The latter, a well-known steeplechase mare by St. Blaise II. out of a Cleveland coaching mare, H. had bred at Madame Cousino’s Macul estate in Chile. During the Chilian and Peruvian war, St. Blaise II.’s predecessor at the stud was turned loose with a number of thoroughbred mares, in the great Aconcagua valley, in order that he should not fall into the hands of the Peruvians, if they won. In this same valley was a batch of Cleveland mares, belonging to the same estate, under the guardianship of a very fine Cleveland stallion. Three Cleveland mares strayed away, and got mixed up with the thoroughbred queens. Two were in foal, but one was not. The progeny of this mare became Golondrina’s mother. Don Emilio Brunel, Madame Cousino’s master of horse and head coachman, gave me these particulars. Subsequently, several Cleveland mares were put to St. Blaise II., in order to get high-class cavalry remounts. Every year it was the custom of the Cousino people to sell by auction a number of blood horses sired by St. Blaise II., together with several Cleveland bays and high-class hackneys. At one of these sales my friend Schmidt, the head of a big wholesale and retail firm, bought Golondrina for 130 gs., the mare being then four years old. Schmidt kept her two years, during which period she gave him every satisfaction. But ill-luck overtook him, and his firm went smash. So he came to me and said, “Prodgers, will you do me a great favour?” I said I would if I could. “Well, it’s like this. When the judge orders delivery of our assets, I shall be very short of ‘ready.’ Now there’s Golondrina, my trotting hackney, named after the Minister of the Interior’s famous trotting stallion Spofford, a dog-cart I gave £60 for in England, and a good set of harness. You can have the lot for £200.” It is perhaps needless to say I closed with him without one moment’s hesitation. Golondrina thus became my property. She was a very big jumper, was very safe, and could stay for ever at her own pace. Tony was by Nobility, and cost, as a yearling, the equivalent of £500. He developed a savage temper, and nearly killed a man; so his owner was glad to sell him to me for £50, on the understanding that if I ever got him steady enough to trust in a race, I would let his old master know when I thought he had a winning chance. In my hands Tony became as obedient and as docile as a child. He won for me twice on the flat, and seven times over hurdles, before I retired him as my hack.

With these two dependable horses then and Francisco Caro, one of my stable-lads, acting as second horseman, I embarked for Pisco. We arrived there at noon, and next day continued our journey to Ica.

Tales of the Turf, Part 3

Seven pounds a month was my remuneration when I commenced as foreman, but three months later I was drawing £25 a month as assistant engineer. I soon realized, however, that I should not make my fortune at this work, and Mr. Boggs, General Manager of the Entre Rios line, told me there was not the least chance of promotion, unless one had a big backer. Even then things were not all honey, for contractors were heavily penalized if they failed to complete their sections within the specified time.

Young H., for example, with whom I worked as assistant, invested £5000 of the money his father left him with a Brazilian firm of contractors. These people took on a stretch of line, and had to stake £20,000 that it would be constructed by a certain date. Indian labour was all they had to depend upon, and the dusky gentlemen served them as their fellow-countrymen served me at Sicasica and elsewhere. They worked only as long as they cared to work, and then they went off. So the contractors were unable to complete their contract to time, and consequently lost their £20,000.

This kind of thing didn’t appeal to me, so I decided to apprentice myself to a trainer of race-horses at Buenos Ayres, and see if I could make money on the Turf. Brett was considered a pastmaster of his craft. He had had a more than passing acquaintance with some of the most famous racing establishments in England, and was exceptionally clever at treating foundered horses. He taught me all he knew of this important subject, during the time I officiated as his secretary and assistant trainer. Subsequently I picked up many useful wrinkles from the Medicine Men of various tribes of Indians with whom I came in contact on my exploring trips.

A few months after I started with Brett, the black galloway before mentioned became mine, to dispose of as I thought fit. About this time I received news of my sister’s impending marriage to H. G. Ley (who has since succeeded to the baronetcy), so I decided I couldn’t give her a better wedding present. I had broken the galloway to harness, and he was a really smart trapper.

I shipped him aboard the Nile, and everything went well until the boat arrived two days off the English coast. Then, as Captain Spooner subsequently told me, she ran into a bad storm. The sea raged mountains high, and the horse-box broke loose from one of its moorings, and was washed about hither and thither. When the storm abated, and the sailors were able to restore the box to its original position, they found the galloway still standing up, but showing signs of the terrible experience he had been through. At Southampton he was carefully examined, and found to have sustained very serious injury across his loins. My father had him conveyed by easy stages to his place, and called in the best vet. in Wiltshire. Much to everybody’s regret that gentleman decided the horse must be shot.

Before this order was put into execution, the late Duke of Beaufort drove over and had a look at the poor animal. There was no better judge of horseflesh in the whole wide world. As his Grace turned away, he said to my father, “Prodgers, next time you write to your son, tell him this is the finest galloway I have ever seen.”

When I began training on my own, my stables were located not far from the racecourse near Belgrano. One day there arrived a gaucho, or native cattle-man, bringing with him a half-bred percheron, about six years old. He wanted £2 for it, and produced the official papers which have to be procured when one wishes to pass a horse on to some one else. He said he had bought it al corte, with twenty-nine others out of a herd, or troupillo, which consisted of 500 animals, tamed and untamed. The lot cost him £60. I was curious to learn why he was willing to part with the percheron at the same price he gave for it. It seemed a great strong horse, if somewhat clumsy. The gaucho explained that it was because “the rotten swine,” as he called it in his picturesque lingo, wouldn’t stand for anybody. Several times when he had been riding around, and had had occasion to dismount for a minute or two, the animal had cleared off and left his luckless master stranded many miles from camp! Well, I agreed to take the percheron at the price named. Six months later I sold him to the Belgrano Tramway Company for £20.

Tales of the Turf, Part 2

Previous to being engaged on construction work on the railway, where I was boss over 200 men and responsible for 56 kilos of permanent way, I served as a broker on the Stock Exchange. One has to remain in the Outer Ring a couple of years, to qualify for admittance to the Inner Ring. If, at the end of that period, there is no black mark against you, a place in the Inner Ring is yours, providing you can produce two sureties in £2000, or one in £4000.

I served the best part of twelve months in the Outer Ring. My first two weeks were extraordinarily lucky ones, for I made 1500 dollars (gold, not paper), in commission; but during the next six months I only made sixty! Then a very big job came my way. A Mr. M. H. commissioned me to report on a large farm, six leagues in extent, which he owned in Paraguay, on the banks of the Itapicuru River (called Tippicure by the natives). He wished to sell it, and required a sketch and plan to show to prospective buyers. “Do this,” he said, “and I will give you anything that it realizes over 2500 dollars a league.” As luck would have it, a friend of mine named E. had lived on a farm belonging to his father and the Consul, which ran alongside M.’s; he was therefore able to describe its various features so accurately to me, that I didn’t need to leave my office!

E., by the way, was a bit of a “lad.” How he came to leave Paraguay, is worth relating, if only to throw light on one of the native customs. The women of this interesting country are famed for their great beauty—up to the age of thirty years, anyhow. In 1862, through the covetousness of Francisco Lopez, who wanted to filch from the Argentine 500 miles of Brazilian territory—nearly as far as La Plata—Paraguay became involved in a most terrible war. During its progress she lost so many men, that when, at last, peace was proclaimed, the women outnumbered the males by eleven to one. (The population was reduced from 340,000 to 200,000.) To remedy this preponderance, it was enacted that a man should be free to marry as many women as he liked, so long as he could afford to keep them. He was not, however, allowed to take them out of the country on any pretext whatever. Now E. married a very pretty Paraguayan, about ten years younger than himself. After a while he thought he would like to visit his parents, and take his wife with him. Accordingly they put their traps on a steamer, and in due course arrived at Villarica, situate on the Parana River. Here E. went ashore to watch some women loading up oranges. When he returned to the boat, after an absence of two hours, he couldn’t find his wife anywhere. She had left a note for him, in which she stated that her parents had sent her two brothers, and three friends, to compel her to return to Paraguay. They had arrived at Villarica before the steamer, had watched E. go ashore, and then abducted the girl. “It would not be wise,” she wrote, “for you to seek me out, for a year or so; after then, if you come back and apologize to my people, and to the Chief, promising not to offend again, all will be well.”

This communication put E. in a blue funk. He feared all sorts of things would happen to him; so he took good care to give the girl and her home a very wide berth. Ultimately, I believe, he married another woman at Buenos Ayres.

Banking on E.’s information, I didn’t trouble to visit M.’s farm, but stayed in my office, waiting for clients who never came, busying myself meantime in making a sketch-plan of the Itapicuru estate from the material E. had supplied. It was about four feet square, and didn’t look so bad when I had finished it. M. was very pleased. Two months later, a Mr. T. came along, saw the sketch and was so taken with it that he decided to view the farm it was supposed to represent. His wealthy father had given him £10,000 with which to buy an estate in the Argentine.

T. visited M.’s place, and found it very much to his liking. On his return, he praised my sketch, and said he would like to buy the place. “What was the figure?” Taking my courage in both hands, I quoted 4500 dollars a league. T. thought this was dirt cheap, and wrote a letter to M. to that effect.

So soon as M. received T.’s communication, he came to me and said,

“What! 4500 dollars a league, and you to get a cool 2000 a league out of it! No, no, my young sir, I have under-estimated its worth. My price is now 5500 dollars a league. When I get that, I’ll see you receive your rightful commission.”

T. wouldn’t go to that figure, so the deal fell through. But he bought another farm at 4500 dollars a league, and was instrumental in obtaining 500 dollars for me from the owner. He told him that but for me, he would have bought a place in the Bragado district of the Argentine Republic. Subsequently, M. sold his estate, and sold it well, too, for he received 7000 dollars a league for it. That was fifteen or so years ago, but from that day to this I have never fingered even one of the 12,000 dollars that I was entitled to. I quote this incident, just to show the great pull an Inner Ring broker has over his Outer brother. The Committee of the Stock Exchange protect the Inner Ring man, and see that he gets his rights. The poor Outer Ringer, they leave to his own devices. After such an experience can it be wondered at, that I chucked the Stock Exchange, and turned my attention to another sphere of enterprises, viz. railway construction work?

Tales of the Turf, Part 1

I have pleasant recollections of Buenos Ayres, because when engaged in training race-horses there, I cured an Edward the Confessor horse, named Egbert, whose tendons had been badly sprung. I got him all right for his owner, who won a big classic race with him subsequently. This gentleman was ever so delighted, and to mark his appreciation, gave me over and above my fee (the odds to 50 dollars) a pup by Shropshire Joe out of Lancashire Witch. He had paid £100 for the sire, a second prize winner at the Crystal Palace, and £60 for the dam, also a successful competitor.

The Witch had a litter of beautiful puppies, all of which were easily disposed of—the dogs at £20 apiece and the bitches at £15—all, that is to say, except the one I received, and another which was given to Brett. I named the dog Sloper after the immortal Ally. Those readers who may feel curious as to what became of him, will find mention of him in my Racing reminiscences in connection with Never Mind, one of the gamest bits of horseflesh that ever looked through a bridle.

Talking of dogs recalls to mind a curious incident. Several Peruvian families claim to be lineal descendants of the Incas. A member of one of these, Señora Hernandez, lived in an old quinta about three miles outside Lima, on the road leading to Pisco. We became acquainted as follows. My horses had been doing fast work, and were being rubbed down, preparatory to having their white sheets put on them, when a half-breed came up to me. He had a beautiful dog with him, the size of a poodle. It was “cobby” made, and covered with lovely long, curly, cream-coloured hair, fine as silk. It had large black eyes. Its muzzle, and the edges of its ears, were also of dusky hue.

The Indian addressed me.

“You are a lover of horses, sir?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“You love dogs, too?”

Again I answered in the affirmative.

“I have a dog to sell. Will you buy it? I want 40 sols for him.”

I recognized the animal, at once, as being an Inca poodle, a breed that was almost extinct. A specimen figures in the painting of Atahualpa and his wives on their way to Caxamarca, which hung in Zervallo’s picture gallery. The dog the Indian offered me I knew must be worth £40 at least, so I came to the conclusion that he had stolen it. I told him as much, and added, “I will give you 15 sols—no more, no less. You can take that and walk off; or I’ll blow my whistle to summon the police, and have you detained until the ownership of the dog is cleared up.” The man asked me to make it £2, but I said, “Not me, not a cent more than 15 sols.” Finding me obdurate, he gave in, handed over the dog, and scuttled off.

I took my purchase home, and later on that day consulted my friend the Chief of Police. He told me that by the laws of Peru I was entitled to keep the dog until it was claimed. If, at the end of six months, no one had lodged a valid claim, then the animal belonged to me absolutely. In the event of the rightful owner’s turning up, he would have to pay me such out-of-pocket expenses as the Chief of Police considered reasonable, plus the sum I had given the Indian. This law also holds good in regard to stolen horses and cattle, practically all over South America.

Once when engaged on construction work on the Bassavilvaso and Gualeguaychu line, I was offered a black four-year-old galloway, standing about fifteen hands, for the sum of £4. As there was a lot of Arab blood about the animal, I jumped at the chance. To protect myself, in case it had been stolen, I rode into Gualeguaychu, a distance of eighteen miles, and notified the Chief of Police. Subsequently, when I took up my residence in Buenos Ayres, I followed the same course. The galloway came in very useful as a hack.

The City of the Kings, Part 3

Lima has always been noted, and justly so, for her beautiful women. They are very partial to oranges, which are known to have a beneficial effect on the complexion. I brought this fact to the notice of a lovely Englishwoman, and was rather tickled to note when I lunched with her on several subsequent occasions, that she invariably finished up with a couple of oranges. This charming lady had a most delightful complexion, which she retained till the day of her death. Whether she owed it all to the diet of oranges, I do not know. The fact remains that the ladies of Lima swear by this delicious fruit, and their facial beauty is remarkable.

To an Englishman there are few more interesting objects than the Dog Market. Many Chinese—chiefly small shopkeepers—have made Lima their home. As is well known, they are very partial to dog-meat. Some of these people have determined never to return to their native land, and they can be easily recognized by their cropped hair. For a Chinaman would never dream of going back to China minus his pigtail. There is a hairless dog, about the size of a poodle, and coloured blue-grey, or slate, which is not allowed to touch meat or bones. Chinamen love the flesh of this little animal. It is fed on yams, sweet potatoes, milk, boiled plantains, etc. Plantains, a species of banana, are treated by the natives of all tropical countries as vegetables, and not as fruit. Boiled with rice, or stewed with mutton, they are very appetising. Fried with butter they are not to be despised. I visited the Dog Market with my old friend, McNeil, Permanent Secretary of the American Legation, and saw quite a lot of little carcasses hanging up, looking for all the world like tiny porkers. They were scraped white like pork. Some birds were also on show, but no other kind of meat. The market where pork, beef, mutton, etc., are sold, is some distance from the Dog Market.

The Peruvian authorities are very particular, and rule these markets very strictly. Many of our colonies might take a tip from them—Trinidad and the West Indies, for instance. All meat exposed for sale, whether in the markets, or in the butchers’ shops, must be hung in rooms lined with marble slabs, to keep everything cool. To ensure an ample supply of fresh air, one side is quite open, but screened off with wire mosquito netting.

Every morning at 7 a.m., Don Pablo, the official Chief Veterinary Surgeon, used to go the round of the markets and shops. I sometimes accompanied him, when my horses were not doing fast work. Don Pablo examined every joint and carcass thoroughly. If he noticed any detriment, such as congealed blood, or a bruise, the whole portion of meat was condemned. “Give it to my soldiers,” he used to say, referring to the scavenger vultures, highly valued, and rightly so, by the authorities, because they keep the beautiful city of Lima free from disease, by clearing away all the garbage and rubbish. For Lima, although bang in the Tropics—she is, in fact, on the 10 line—is acknowledged to be one of the most healthy tropical cities in the whole wide world. And so she has been ever since Manco Capac’s time.

The vultures are very tame and plump. Often, when I have been out riding with my racers, a couple would spring up from the ground, seeming to come almost from under the horses’ feet. They appeared to know they were perfectly safe. No one ever dreams of killing them, for the simple reason that they are protected by the wise Government of Peru. In this matter especially the Peruvian statesmen are shrewd, far-seeing men; for they have decreed that a fine of 10 sols shall be imposed on any man, woman, or child, who wilfully kills one of the scavenger birds. As a natural consequence they are a familiar sight in and around Lima, sitting about upon the housetops, or hovering over the place where the condemned meat is thrown.

The Fish Market is regulated in the same thorough manner. No fish is allowed to be taken in after 9.30 a.m., and none sold after 3 p.m. All fish then left on hand is deposited on the dump-heap. Hence one can always depend on getting nothing but what is fresh and healthy. There is no such thing as fish being caught and put on ice, and held over till the next day, as often occurs elsewhere in the Tropics.

Neither does the Government permit traders to take advantage of the poor. A Market Master regulates the price of everything; he allows the salesmen and butchers to sell at a living profit, and no more.

Bubonic plague is one of the terrors of the Tropics. The enlightened Government of Peru fights it in a most intelligent manner. It is caused by filth, and is conveyed from place to place by fleas that live on sewer rats. It stands to reason that if you can get rid of the rats, you’ll check bubonic. To cope with any disease one must first eliminate the cause. In large cities, at least, the Peruvian laws of sanitation are very strict; and their method of dealing with the rat menace is excellent. For every female rat they offer 2½ cents (gold), and for each buck rat, 5 cents. In this way bubonic is kept at arm’s length. Other South American Governments have adopted these measures with good results. They were certainly in vogue at Buenos Ayres when I was there.

The City of the Kings, Part 2

Another great sight is the Bull Ring. Here some of the most famous Spanish matadors and toreadors are engaged six months of every year. I knew the principal matador very well. Although an old man—he told me he was seventy-two—his skill was marvellous. He always despatched his bull with one thrust, and not with two or three like some of the less skilled matadors. When the great beast made his rush, old Mariano didn’t run about all over the ring as some do; no, he just turned elegantly on his heel, and then got in his stroke as the bull plunged past him. He made the killing of the animal look a very simple matter, and one of the softest jobs imaginable. Really it is a very difficult operation, and attended with great danger.

The bull-fight at Lima. Illustration from Adventures in Peru.

Some of the best pacing horses in Peru participate in the Lima bull-fights. The ritual observed at these functions is as follows: When the toreadors, matadors, and horsemen enter the ring, the master of the ceremonies—always magnificently horsed—rides up to the President’s box, and makes a profound obeisance. The bull-fighters all follow suit, the President having previously taken his place, heralded by a flourish of trumpets. Two trumpeters, stationed at the entrance, now sound a blast, the big door of the enclosure beneath the boxes is flung open, and out rushes a fierce beast into the arena. It is an Andalusian bull, one of a breed originally imported from Spain, and is credited with being one of the fiercest creatures on earth. If one shows any lack of courage, he is hooted out of the ring. A bull, in 1900, cost 700 sols, i.e. £75. It is doubtful whether its value has increased since then in the same proportion as a sheep at Lambourn, Berkshire, England, where a local butcher tells me he now has to pay £7 10s. for what used to cost him 37s. 6d.

Bull-fights are often condemned as dangerous, but in most of the rings in South America the fighters are so adept that although they ride close up to the bull, and excite him to fury by flaunting a red cloth, it is seldom that they, or their steeds, sustain any hurt. The only ones who get into the wars are the new, or raw hands.

In my opinion Mariano was the prince of all the matadors. He was a great lover of pacing horses and Cleveland bays. He used to ride a fine pacer, and was often to be seen driving a pair of Clevelands that he had bought at Milton’s yard in London. He told me that he had retired from the ring ten years before I saw him in 1900; but was obliged to return to the scenes of his former triumphs, because he found it so difficult to teach would-be matadors how to act. They wouldn’t study hard enough to suit him; and when in the ring were inclined to rush matters. Mariano, on the contrary, took things very coolly. Nothing seemed to ruffle him. He was indeed a champion. Every year a big silver shield is presented to the owner of what is considered the best pacing stallion that has participated in the fights. I was present on this gala day, one July, when the awards were made. The principal prize, on this occasion, went to a beautiful chestnut horse that had one white leg, and one white foot, and also a white star on his forehead. The present very popular President of Peru, A. B. Leguia, then Minister of Hacienda, sent him as a gift to George Lockett, one of the principals of the British Sugar Company, a man noted for his fine four-in-hand of greys.

The tickets of admission to the bull ring are 4 and 5 sols, i.e. 5s. and 10s., for seats on the shady side of the arena. For those on the other side (which are exposed to the blazing sun) 2 sols or 2½ sols, i.e. 4s. or 5s., is the charge. Boxes are £2 or £4 each, and orchestra seats, 10s. (There are no boxes on the sunny side.) I rather favoured the latter, but frequently was honoured with a seat in the President’s box.

Part 1

Peru is one of the most interesting countries in the world. The climate is ideal. The sun shines all day long and the weather is always fine. Yet there is no lack of water, for the rivers are fed by the snow which dissolves on the Andes, the mighty range of mountains that runs parallel with the coast from end to end of this delightful country. All kinds of fruit grow to perfection on the slopes of the Cordilleras—fruits of every clime, and the ordinary necessaries of life can be obtained for next to nothing. Perpetual Spring prevails in the valleys.

Up to 1824, what is now called Bolivia was included in Peru. In consequence of Sucre’s victory over the Spaniards on the plains of Ayacucho, December 9, 1824, the country gained her independence, and was divided into two separate Republics, viz. Upper Peru, or Bolivia, and Lower Peru, now considered Peru proper.

The mention of Peru makes one’s thoughts naturally turn to Lima, accounted the most fascinating city of South America, next to Mexico, and well named the City of Kings. I became acquainted with it, in the first instance, when I brought some horses over from Chile for Zervallo, C. Watson, and A. B. Leguia. To visit Lima had been to me a long-cherished wish.

Among the many interesting objects that attract attention is the beautiful cathedral, built by Pizarro, so it is said, after he had conquered the Incas. Queen Isabella of Spain sent him a fine statue of Santa Rosa, the patron saint of Lima, to place therein. Adjacent to it were a barrow of silver, worth 1000 marks, thirteen arrows, equalling 1002 marks, and twelve lamps, valued at 732 marks. The altar front was of silver, worth 297 marks, and 411 marks’ worth of the same precious metal was used to make the Virgin’s throne. Santa Rosa is rather more than life-size, and is reputed to be made of pure gold. 39,500 ounces of silver were distributed over this wonderful figure, in addition to 1406 diamonds, 624 rubies, 1179 emeralds, and a bewildering galaxy of amethysts, pearls, and topazes. Many of these gems have disappeared, filched from their resting place. Pizarro fenced the statue round with pure silver, taken from the Incas at the time of Atahualpa’s murder, the space thus set apart being about 20 ft. square.

Pizarro’s remains are preserved in a glass case in the cathedral, the door of which is mahogany. The conqueror of the Incas is shown dressed in full uniform, the head being secured to the body with silver wire.

No visitor should miss Zervallo’s fine picture gallery, which was bequeathed to him by his father, a grandee who had to leave Spain, because his political views clashed with those of the Government then in power. In his will the old nobleman stipulated that his son should never part with the collection for a less sum than £100,000. He was not to sell one picture, or two, or three; it must be the whole lot, or none, the sum thus realized to be invested, and held in trust for the Zervallo family. The collection is housed in a large building. Some of the most interesting pictures refer to incidents in the conquest of Peru by Pizarro. One, fresh in my memory, represents Atahualpa being carried on a litter to Caxamarca. It is a matter of history, that his great ancestor, Huayna Capac, built a wonderful road from Cuzco to Caxamarca, a distance of 1500 miles, levelling mountains and filling up valleys to do so. In places it was 40 ft. wide, and is to this day regarded as affording incontrovertible proof of the astounding engineering skill of the Incas.

An American once offered Zervallo £600 if he would give him the first refusal of the paintings, and close the picture gallery six months, in order that he, in the meantime, might try to induce his people in New York to purchase the contents. Zervallo complied with the request, but, much to the American’s regret, the deal never matured.

The captain of the Ingomar, a vessel I frequently travel upon, told me that, however often he called at Callao, he never failed to visit the Zoo at Lima for the purpose of seeing what he deemed the most magnificent lion he had ever cast eyes on. I quite agree with him. I have seen many lions in various public and private collections—including those in the Zoological Gardens, London—and in their native state in South Africa, but none to compare with the Lima specimen. Doubtless the lovely climate has a lot to do with it, for it suits him down to the ground. This majestic creature has a most imposing head and mane. His skin is sleek as silk, and, although he must be very old, he exhibits not the slightest trace of mange. I have known him twenty-two years, and more.