THE PERUVIAN SAND-COAST.

    Its desolate Character—The Mule is here the ‘Ship of the Desert.’—A Shipwreck and its Consequences—Sand-Spouts—Medanos—Summer and Winter—The Garuas—The Lomas—Change produced in their Appearance during the Season of Mists—Azara’s Fox—Wild Animals—Birds—Reptiles—The Chincha or Guano Islands.

Between the Cordilleras to the east and the Pacific to the west extends, from 3° to 21° S. lat., 540 leagues long and from 3 to 20 leagues broad, a desert coast, the picture of death and desolation. Traversed by spurs of the mighty mountain-chain, which either gradually sink into the plain, or form steep promontories washed by the ocean, it rises and falls in alternate heights and valleys, where the eye seldom sees anything but fine drift-sand or sterile heaps of stone.

Only where, at considerable intervals, some rivulet, fed by a glacier or a small mountain lake, issues from the ravines of the Andes to lose itself after a short course in the Pacific, green belts, like the oases of the African desert, break the general monotony, and appear more charming from the contrast with the nakedness of the surrounding waste. The planter carefully husbands the last drop of water from those scanty streams; for, as the tribes31 of the Sahara can only, by dint of constant industry, preserve their date-palm islands against the waves of the surrounding sand-sea, thus also the inhabitant of the Peruvian coast can only by perpetual irrigation protect his plantations from the encroachments of the neighbouring desert! But the fruits which he reaps and garners are very different from those which are produced by the African oasis; for, while none of the plants of the Peruvian sand-coast has ever found its way to the Sahara, the sycamores and tamarinds of the latter are equally unknown on the eastern shores of the Pacific. Cotton and sugar, maize and batatas, manioc and bananas, here take the place of the date-palm of the Arab, and thrive only so far as the limits of irrigation extend.

In the surrounding wastes, where for miles and miles the traveller meets no traces of vegetation, and finds not one drop of water, the mule performs the part of the African camel; for, satisfied with a scantier food than the horse, it more easily supports the fatigues of a prolonged journey through the sand, and in Peru is fully entitled to be called the ship of the desert. The horse cannot support hunger and thirst longer than forty-eight hours without becoming so weak as hardly to be able to carry its rider; and if the latter is imprudent enough to urge it on to a more rapid pace, it falls a victim to his obstinacy, as it will obey the spur until it sinks never to rise again. Not so the mule, which, on feeling itself unable to advance, stands still, and will not move an inch until it has rested for a time; after which it willingly continues its journey. Yet, in spite of these excellent qualities, many mules succumb to the fatigues and privations of the desert; and as in the Sahara the caravan-routes are marked by camel-skeletons, so here long rows of mule-skulls and bones point out the road along the Peruvian sand-coast. Woe to him whom a shipwreck casts on these desolate shores; for he is almost inevitably doomed to destruction!

In general, a healthy man can withstand hunger and thirst during four or five days, but only in a temperate climate and when the body is at rest; while in the burning deserts of Peru, the want of water during forty-eight hours, combined with the fatigue of wading through the deep sands, can only end in death. Thirst can, undoubtedly, be supported ten times longer in the moist sea-air than in the thoroughly desiccated atmosphere of a tropical waste.

32 The dangers of these solitudes are increased by the great mobility of the soil. When a strong wind blows, huge sand-columns, rising like water-spouts to a height of eighty or a hundred feet, advance whirling through the desert, and suddenly encompass the traveller, who can only save himself by a rapid flight. Such is the instability of the soil, that in a few hours a plain will be covered with hillocks or Medanos, and recover after a few days its former level. The most experienced muleteers are thus constantly deceived in their knowledge of the road, and are the first to give way to despair, while seeking to extricate themselves from a labyrinth of newly-formed medanos. These constant transformations and shiftings in the desert, which Tschudi graphically calls ‘a life in death,’ take place more particularly in the hot season, when the least pressure of the atmosphere suffices to disturb the dried-up sands, whose weight increases during the winter by the absorption of moisture. The single grains then unite to larger masses, and more easily withstand the pressure of the wind.

The summer, or dry season, begins in November. The rays of the vertical sun strike upon the light-coloured sands, and are reflected with suffocating power. No plant except the cactuses and tillandsias, which manage to thrive where nothing else exists, takes root in the glowing soil; no animal finds food on the lifeless plain; no bird, no insect, hovers or buzzes in the stifling atmosphere. Only in the highest regions the condor, the monarch of the air, is seen sailing along in lonely majesty.

In May, which in these southern latitudes corresponds to our October, the scene changes. A thin, misty veil extends over the sea and the coast, and, increasing in density during the following months, only begins to diminish in October. At the beginning and the end of this damp season the mist generally ascends between nine and ten in the morning, and falls again at about three in the afternoon; but in August and September, when it is most dense, it rests for weeks immovably over the earth, never dissolving in rain, but merely descending in a fine, penetrating drizzle, called ‘garua’ by the inhabitants. In many parts rain has not been known to fall for centuries, except only after very severe earthquakes, and even then the phenomenon is not of constant occurrence. The mist seldom ascends to a vertical height of more than 1,200 feet, when it is replaced by violent33 showers of rain; and, remarkably enough, the limits between both can be determined with almost mathematical precision, as there are plantations, one half of whose surface is invariably moistened by garuas and the other by rain.

When the mists appear, the Lomas, or chains of hills which bound the sand-coast towards the east, begin to assume a new character; and, as if by magic, a garden is seen where but a few days before a desert extended its dreary nakedness. Soon also, animal life begins to animate the scene, as the Lomeros drive their cattle and horses to these newly-formed pasture-grounds, where for several months they find an abundance of juicy food, but no water. This, however, they do not require, as they always leave the Lomas in the best condition.

In some of the northern coast-districts, situated near the equatorial line, where the garuas seldom appear, the fertility of the land depends wholly upon the streams which issue from the mountains. The dew, which along the coasts of central and south Peru hardly moistens the soil to the depth of half an inch, is there so completely wanting, that a piece of paper exposed to the air during the night shows no sign of moisture in the morning; and so thoroughly does the dryness of the soil prevent putrefaction, that after 300 years the mummified corpses are still found unaltered, which the ancient Peruvians buried in a sitting posture.

Thus the aridity of the Sahara repeats itself in these American deserts, and is in some measure owing to the same cause, though their geographical position to the west of the Andes, whose eastern slopes absorb all the moisture of the prevailing trade-winds, chiefly accounts for their nakedness. Rain is wanting, as there is no vegetation of any great extent to condense the passing vapours; and, on the other hand, the want of moisture prevents plants from rooting on the unstable soil.

A glance at the animal world of the Peruvian coast shows us the same poverty of species as in the great African desert. A fox (Canis Azaræ) seems here to play the part of the hyæna and the jackal; and is found both in the cotton-plantations along the streams, and in the Lomas, where he is destructive to the young lambs. The large American felidæ, the puma, and the jaguar, seldom appear on the coast, where they attain a more considerable size than in the mountains. The cowardly34 puma is afraid of man; while the bloodthirsty jaguar penetrates into the plantations, where he lies in wait for the oxen and horses, and avoids with remarkable sagacity, the manifold traps and pitfalls that are laid for him by the hacienderos.

In the cultivated districts Opossums are found among the low bushes, in deserted dwellings, or in storerooms; armadillos (Dasypus tatuay) are sometimes shot in the fields, and wild hogs of an enormous size infest the thickets near some of the plantations.
OPOSSUM.

Instead of the antelope and the gazelle of the African deserts, the Venado, a species of deer, makes its appearance on the Peruvian coast. It chiefly lives in the low bushes, which are scattered here and there, and after sunset visits the cultivated fields where it causes considerable damage.

Besides the numerous sea- and strand-birds, the carrion vultures and the condor, often found in large numbers feasting upon the marine animals that have been cast ashore, are the most conspicious among the feathered tribes of the coast. A small falcon (Falco sparverius) is likewise often seen, and a small burrowing owl (Athene cunicularia) haunts almost every ruinous building. The pearl-owl (Strix perlata), performing the useful services of our own barn-owl, is protected and encouraged in many plantations, as it thins the ranks of the mice. Swallows are scarce; nor do they build their nests on the houses, but on solitary walls, far from the habitations of man.

Among the singing birds, the beautiful crowned fly-catcher (Myoarchus coronatus) is one of the most remarkable. Its head, breast and belly are of a burning red; its wings and back blackish brown. It always sits upon the highest top of the bushes, flies vertically upwards, whirls about a short time singing in the air, and then again descends in a straight line upon its former resting-place. Some tanagras and parrots, and two starling-like birds, the red-breasted picho and the lustrous black chivillo, that are frequently kept in cages on account of their agreeable song, are found in the coast-valleys; and various pigeons, among others the neat little turtuli and the more stately cuculi, frequent the neighbourhood of the plantations.

35 Among the lizard tribes large and brilliantly green iguanas are found on the southern coast; but much more frequently dull and sombre agamas lurk among the rocks and stones. Snakes, both venomous and harmless, are in general tolerably rare, and occur both in the fruitful lands and the sand-plains.

The animated sea-shore forms a striking contrast to the death-like solitude of the interior. Troops of carrion vultures gather about the large marine animals cast ashore by the surf; numerous strand-birds are greedily on the look-out for the shell-fish left by the retreating tide, or for the crabs and sea-spiders that everywhere draw their furrows about the beach; and sea-otters and seals sun themselves on the cliffs along the whole coast, except in the neighbourhood of the seaports where they have been extirpated or driven away by incessant persecutions.

To the north of Chancay, steep sand-hills rise to the height of 300 or 400 feet, abruptly verging to the sea. The road leading along the side of these hills, would be extremely dangerous but for the unstable nature of the soil. For though at each false step the mule slides with his rider towards the sea, it is very easy for him to regain his footing on the yielding sand. A large stone on one of these hills bears a striking resemblance to a sleeping sea-lion, and almost perpendicularly beneath it lies a little cove, inhabited by a number of seals. At night the bark of these animals, mixing with the hollow roar of the breakers, fills the traveller with a kind of involuntary terror.

Myriads of sea-birds breed on the small islands along the coast or swarm about the bays, where the fish supply them with abundant food. The number of these birds, a matter formerly of only local interest, is now a subject of general importance, as to them are owing the deep guano beds which have converted the sterile Chincha Islands5 into mines of wealth.

The want of rain, which renders the greatest part of the Peruvian coast so utterly barren, is of the utmost advantage for the production of the guano; for if the Chincha Islands, like the Orkneys or the Hebrides, had been exposed to frequent storms, or washed by unceasing showers, they would have been mere naked rocks, instead of affording the richest deposits of manure the world can boast of.