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 many opportunities of seeing not only the Andes, but other interesting features of the country. On the 7th June, he anchored off Arica, and on landing found the town almost completely deserted, and exhibiting in every part marks of having been recently the scene of military operations. In the evening of the 9th, he had a fine view of the Cordillera, or highest ridge of the Andes, not less than between 80 and 100 miles off. On the 12th, he anchored at Ylo, a town which, as well as Arica, is often celebrated in the voyages of Dampier and the old Buccaneers. “We landed,” says he, “at a little sandy beach, sheltered from the swell of the sea by a reef of rocks, on which the surf broke with prodigious violence, and covered half the bay with foam. We were greeted by two men and a woman: the lady was evidently a native: her two companions also were deeply dyed with aboriginal blood; one was a young and active man, the other an old ragged beggar-like person. I asked the first to point out the Alcaldé’s house. ‘This is the Alcaldé himself,’ said he, pointing to his aged companion; and certainly, of all the constituted authorities whom we had to deal with on the shores of the Pacific, the ‘Alcaldé or Mayor’ of Ylo was the least like what the imagination conceives of a chief magistrate. But things must be judged with reference to their mutual fitness; and in this view, our shabby Alcaldé was appropriate to his office; for in his town we encountered only three living things – a half-dressed wild-looking patriot soldier – an Indian from the mountains, asleep in the middle of the street – and a lean, half-starved, solitary jack-ass. On our way back, the Alcaldé told us the cause of the present deserted state of the town, and described the miseries of the war in language which showed him worthy of a higher office. We invited him to go on board the Conway, but could not prevail upon him to accompany us.”

“In the morning of the 13th June, we anchored in the open roads of Mollendo, for there are no harbours on this coast; in circumstance nearly immaterial, since the wind is always so gentle, that ships anchor and lie exposed in perfect security. The water being deep, vessels are obliged to approach the shore, within a quarter of a mile, before they can find 