There is great trouble in getting a fire; the dead wood is so much soaked by rains that José has to inflate his cheeks till the tears run out of his eyes. Every man carries a flint and steel with him. Arrieros sleep soundly with their heads in the rain and feet in the ashes.
On the evening of the 7th May, we reached the Espiritu Santo; following it for some distance we came to a lonely house, situated in a beautiful and romantic spot. Standing at the door, looking up the ravine, through which a stream dashes, the great Andes appear in might, wrapped in their misty robes. The freshness of the foliage and thickness of the leaves present different shaped clusters, so heavy and massive that there seemed to be a difficulty on the soil for the crowds of trees and little saplings to find room to grow. At the foot of the steep hill on which the Indian's hut stood, a small piece of flat land, by the side of the stream, was thickly planted with sugar canes. We gathered some tobacco seed which was ripening on stalks nine feet high. The Indian was a Quichua; his only comfort appeared to be in chewing coca, and his only companions three tamed turkey hens. His house was well built, the sides being open work, and roof well thatched with wild palm leaf. A stick of wood with notches leaned in one corner towards the loft. This was his stairway. As we sling our hamacs in the lower story, the old man went up to bed. I told José to inquire why he slept up there, and we found he was in the habit of doing so not to be at home to the tigers, who troubled him by repeated and unwelcome visits during the night. He had no objection to their calling in the day time, as then he was ready to trade saltpetre and lead for a tiger's skin, which became valuable at the Pacific coast.
Looking down the ravine we saw the Espiritu Santo descending with the land, thickly coated in green. The forest trees are not so large as we expected them; none of them are equal to the oaks of North America. The old Indian pointed out the cinchona leaf on the opposite side of the ravine, but said there were few trees in his neighborhood, that the bark gatherers entered the woods farther towards the northwest of us.
The descent here is not near so precipitous as to the east of Cuzco, though the difference in height between it and the last ridges we crossed was very small. The road near the Espiritu Santo is over ridges of hills which run parallel with the range of mountains, decreasing as we descend. We rise up a short distance, and then descend on the long side, like a boat forcing its way seaward through the rollers of the coast, which, as they approach the land, become mere breakers. We passed a comfortable night in the hut, which protected us from heavy rains accompanied with lightning.