In the latter part of April or the very first of May, 1896, W. L. Hardison returned to Santa Paula from South America. He had gone in quest of oil fields, but found instead a gold mine. He was so elated with the richness of the mines and his success in floating the proposition that he was able to fill a number of Santa Paula people with some of his enthusiasm, and among them, ourselves. So on May 9, 1896, my husband and myself, with our two children, Helen, aged two and one-half years, and Warren, about seventeen months, left Santa Paula for Bradford, Pa. There we spent a few days with the family of C. P. Collins, a large shareholder in the new mining scheme.

As we were about to take the train to leave Bradford for New York, Helen disappeared. After much searching we discovered that she had slipped through the fence into a neighboring yard. Mrs. Collins insisted that she (Helen) knew it was best for us not to go, and that she didn't intend to go.

We joined Mr. and Mrs. Chapman of Salina, Kan.; Mr. J. K. Gries of Nordhoff, Cal., and Mr. Emery of Bradford, Pa., in New York. Mrs. Chapman went as the company's bookkeeper, and Mr. Chapman and Mr. Emery were also in their employ. Mr. Gries was going on sort of a pleasure trip, being an old friend of W. L. Hardison's and invited by him to make the trip as he had recently lost his wife.

We boarded the S. S. "Advance" just before the luncheon hour. To this day I can remember just what we had for luncheon, and how deathly sick I was as we were piloted out of the harbor. This seemed most unnecessary as the ocean during the whole trip was as smooth as a mill pond.

Our seven-day trip to Colon was wholly uneventful with the exception of meeting one or two vessels on their way back to New York, one of which we presumed was the S. S. "Alliance," upon which Mr. W. L. Hardison and his party had sailed the week before.

Land, unseen for seven days, surely looked good to us as we steamed into the harbor at Colon. Here we had plenty of time to get our luggage transferred and to take the train for Panama.

As we passed through the inland towns it was not an unusual sight to see children five and six years old, sometimes older, dressed in nature's clothing, while few babies wore anything else.

The Isthmus was attractive to me because of its tropical appearance and the fresh aspect it presented, as does any place after a shower. The streams were all muddy looking, but I soon learned that they were never anything else.

At the station in Panama we were greeted by cries of "carriage, sir?" These carriages were heavy affairs, such that in the United States we would have considered two good sized horses necessary to draw them, but there only one small horse, hardly larger than a Shetland pony, was used.

When all had secured carriages there began a race to the Hotel Grand Central. The drivers started their horses off at a gallop. After ten minutes or so-it seemed ages-of locking wheels with first one then another of the carriages, bumping into street cars, over the cobblestones and up onto the sidewalks, through the narrow streets, we thankfully reached the hotel.

We spent several days in Panama, waiting for our boat to take us south. It was there I had my first experience in the use of foreign money, nor did we see American money from that time on.

About the fourth morning out of Panama we were sailing up the Quayaquil river, where we were soon met by the pilot boat carrying the port inspector, who demanded our ship's papers, etc.

It took but a short time to anchor and the men of our party immediately went ashore to see the sights of Quayaquil. The one and only thing I recall was Mr. Gries' description of the municipal bath house. It was such a rainy country the water was naturally very roily, and he didn't approve of mud baths.

After leaving Quayaquil we were in one or more ports every day. The first of these was Payta, I believe; at least it was the most important. At none of these places did we go to a wharf, but anchored quite a way from shore and the cargoes were brought out in lighters, or huge row boats, requiring a man to each oar. Here we saw the cattle loaded and unloaded by putting a rope around the horns and raising and lowering them by means of a hook put into the rope. It seemed very inhuman. At each of these ports also one or two boats came out from shore carrying native women and children, who came on board with fruits and trinkets and Panama hats to sell. The most common of the fruits was the orange. The oranges are grown in the valleys back from the coast. They differ greatly from ours; the skins are very thin, of fine texture, and of a pale lemon color; the fruit is quite juicy but of rather insipid flavor.

The principal port was Callao. Here we went into dock and our party went ashore for several days, which we spent in Lima.

Upon arriving in Peru we went upon a diet of meat (and wine), very few vegetables, almost no desserts. Bread was always served in the form of rolls, and tasted very much like French bread. Here we had our first taste of "camerones"- shell fish which resemble shrimps. The lights in our rooms were candles, for which we were charged extra. It was here also that we attended a bull fight-on Sunday, too,-but Sunday is the day on which they are always held. It was not as bloody and inhuman as I had anticipated. But I have never cared to see another.

The second morning after leaving Callao our ship anchored off the Port of Mollendo, where we were to disembark and take the train for the interior of Peru. As at previous ports, huge lighters came out to bring us cargo and carry it back. These served as passenger boats as well, for no small boat could live in the heavy swells off this port. Often they are even unable to load or unload because of the heavy seas, and disappear from sight as they go and come from the ship.

Getting ashore here was far more alarming than exciting to me. But after many attempts we were finally all landed at a small pier, and were once more on "terra firma." After breakfasting at Mollendo,-and it is always served about eleven in Peru,-we left immediately for Arequipa. About six hours of almost continuous climbing to an elevation of 8,000 or 9,000 feet brought us to the town of Arequipa, situated at the foot of El Misti.

At last we had overtaken the rest of our party: W. L. Hardison and son Guy, Mr. Moriarty, brother-in-law of W. L. Hardison; Charles Brown, formerly of Caribou, Maine, and Paul Younglin of Santa Paula, Cal.

After such a strenuous day we were all glad to get to bed as quickly as possible after dinner. During the night quite a severe earthquake occurred, but no damage was done.

At seven the following morning we were off by train with even a more strenuous day than the previous one ahead of us. After hours of climbing we reached Crucero Alto, a station of about 14,000 feet elevation. From there our ride was through a more level country,-wide pampas, where we saw many heads of cattle, alpaca and llamas, feeding. Occasional stations, where there were a few Indian houses, and an Indian hut or two in the distance, were the only signs of habitation. In passing from the lower to the higher altitudes many people,-and several of our party were among the number,-were affected by "serroclu," a sickness similar to sea sickness.

By evening we reached Juliaca, a small town between 11,000 and 12,000 feet in altitude. Here Mrs. Chapman, myself and the children spent six weeks while the men went on into the mines, leaving us the next morning after our arrival there. Had it not been for the kindness and hospitality of Mrs. Hawley, an American woman born in Syracuse, N. Y., and wife of Patrick Hawley, superintendent of the Puno division of the railroad, our long stay would have been almost unbearable.

All the houses are built Spanish style and with no equipment for heating them, as the natives do not believe in "fuego artificio." Therefore we were dependent entirely upon "El Sol" for warmth during the day, and went to bed early at night and stayed there late in the morning. It was here we learned the joy of breakfast in bed, always coffee and rolls. Fortunately the sun shone nearly every day, so we sat out in the patio in the sun, and the children played out there, for it is always cool at that elevation. Once it snowed, and we were awakened in the morning by someone repeating "O the snow, the beautiful snow." It was an English traveling man by the name of Fields, who had arrived by train the previous evening. Trains in that country only run daytimes.

At the end of six weeks Mr. W. L. Hardison, who had gone into the mine, came out and went to Arequipa. On his return from there Mrs. Chapman, the children and I were to go into the mines with him. We made our plans accordingly, and on the afternoon of the day following his return, set out by handcar, two Indians pushing it, for Tirapata, where horses and mules were to be procured for the rest of the trip. We would have made the journey to Tirapata by train rather than handcar had it not been that the trains ran only weekly, and but a short time remained before the rainy season set in, when it would be impossible for us to go into the mine.

When we were but a half mile out of Juliaca we discovered that we hadn't the five thousand (5000) soles we were to take with us. But in the meantime Mr. Hawley found the money, and seeing us stop-the country was so level one could see for miles-he sent it out to us by a "trusty," an Indian supposed to be reliable. Our trip was without further accident or excitement.

Arriving in Tirapata about nine o'clock we learned that Mr. A. C. Hardison had been at the station looking for us but had gone to a "tinka," or farm, about a mile away, where he could eat and sleep. There were no buildings whatever at this station at that time, but there were two box cars, so we slept in one of them. Word was sent to Mr. Hardison that night, so he came back and stayed there with us. We spent a couple of days at the "tinka," making arrangements for mules and other things necessary for our trip.

While in Arequipa, Mr. W. L. Hardison bought or borrowed a sort of saddle for the children. It had a basket arrangement on each side, but on trial it proved rather unsatisfactory, so we rolled up blankets on the pommels of our saddles and tied them, Mr. A. C. Hardison carrying Helen, and I, Warren.

About the middle of the forenoon of our third day there we started out. There were about a dozen mules in our train, carrying clothing, blankets, provisions and other necessities. It is something of a feat to start out with pack animals and have no mishaps,-something very seldom done,-and our start was no exception to the general rule. Several animals ran away, lost their packs, had to be repacked, etc. But at last we did get started, feeling that we actually were on our way into the mines.

Like all "first times" or "first days," this one seemed the hardest. Each day's journey had been scheduled by Mr. W. L. Hardison, but on this day we fell short of schedule, camping a few miles from our appointed place. Needless to say, we were a very tired, very sunburned party, more than glad to stop and rest. I thought that tears were very near the surface in Mrs. Chapman's eyes,-so near that I did not dare venture a word of sympathy,-but on this occasion, as on all others, she proved a true sport and a dear companion. After a few days in the saddle we found that we were less tired at night.

All the while we kept climbing higher and higher, and were soon above the line of vegetation. At an elevation of 17,000 feet we crossed the Andes. Just before reaching the summit we passed a small lake, whose name I have forgotten. Surrounded as it was by high, snow-covered peaks, the water was almost unaccountably blue and beautiful.

Shortly after passing the lake we began a descent even more rapid than our ascent. Very soon we passed from the source of the head waters of the Pacific to those of the head waters of the Atlantic.

We arrived in Coaza in the forenoon of the birthday of the Gobenordor, Tristan was his name. He invited us to dine with him, and we readily accepted the invitation. If I remember correctly the breakfast consisted of a number of courses of meat soup. It differed from their usual meal in that a sort of cake was served afterwards.

The people of the country are very hospitable, serving wine or tea whenever you call. Coaza was an Indian village situated right on the top of a mountain. It gave me the sensation that if I moved too near the edge I would roll off into a very deep canyon.

While resting at his house Mr. Tristan had half a sheep roasted over the coals for us, and when we left we carried with us this freshly roasted mutton and quite a supply of native bread. This was the first time we had been able to add anything to our food supply.

After leaving Coaza we dropped down so rapidly that we were in a much warmer altitude by night. We camped by a small lake, meeting there a man who had been sent out from the mine for food and provisions. He had some burros and one or two small mules. He reported that food supplies had not arrived at the mine as expected, and that the Indians who had gone in with the first party and were to return to a certain camp to carry in our belongings, had run away. So things were not moving as fast as they should, and we were finding that "mañana" meant any time as well as "tomorrow." By the next morning Mr. W. L. Hardison had decided to go back to some Indian villages to arrange for supplies and for Indians, mules, burros and llamas for transportation-chiefly Indians and llamas. A llama would carry about 80 pounds and an Indian 50 or 60 pounds,-and I have known some of them to carry 100 pounds over the most awful trails. The rest of us,-Mrs. Chapman, Mr. A. C. Hardison, the two children and myself,-were to go on as far as our animals could carry us.

This was by far the worst day we had. We were getting into a wet country, and were "in the clouds" in reality,-not in our minds. Down we rode all day long. Occasionally we came out of a cloud into the sunshine, but most of the time we were in a mist or fog so dense that we could not see our pack animals or companions a few feet away. It seemed as though the day would never end. Moreover, the country was so wet that my horse was getting tender footed. (I had been riding a mule, but the day before Mrs. Chapman became very much afraid of the horse, so Mr. W. L. Hardison asked me to trade with her, and she was riding my sure-footed little mule.) Being tender footed, my horse was constantly getting out of the trail, floundering through the fog, getting separated from the rest. I was still carrying Warren in front of me on the saddle. So with pulling him up from the horse's neck and the horse back on the trail, constantly in fear of being separated from the rest of the party, I think that was the most awful day I ever spent.

However, at last it ended. We stopped two miles or so beyond a tiny town called Saco, at a place called Quispi Calani, where the Inca Mining Company planned to erect a sort of warehouse. At this time there was no building there of any kind, but it was as far as was practical to send mules with heavy cargos.

As I have said, this was a wet country, and "wet" should be spelled with capital letters. The ground was solid enough underneath,-being of a granite formation,-but there were from four to six inches of moss and "muck" on top.

We pitched our tent on top of a little knoll and proceeded to wait. Can you imagine camping in such a place? Five of us in a tent not over 10x12 feet, with all our belongings, saddles, equipment, everything? Fortunately we had mattresses, and they were covered with oil cloth. Six days we waited here for the Indians Mr. W. L. Hardison was to send to carry our provisions and luggage into the mine. In the meantime a man by the name of Knutzen had come along with three or four burros and a little black mule which was hired for me to ride. We were still in the clouds, though occasionally the sun would come out, the clouds would break, and we could look down a wide canyon over a sea of clouds. But this never lasted long. A bank of clouds would roll in and rain would pour down in a few minutes.

Finally the Indians appeared, but they sneaked by, intending not to carry anything, but Knutzen and Mr. Hardison went after them. After pushing one or two down they convinced them they meant business, and the Indians gave no more trouble.

Next morning our belongings were divided into smaller packs and distributed among the Indians and burros. Each of the children was given to an Indian to be carried. Helen didn't relish the idea, but there was no other way out of it. And we were off again, Mrs. Chapman on the little mule I had ridden most of the way, and I on the little black one.

Though we traveled steadily fully three-quarters of that day, by the time we were ready to camp we had gone scarcely more than three or four miles. The following day brought us to Satchapata, making a total distance traveled of about eight miles in the two days. Satchapata was nothing but a frame of poles, a thatched roof, and sides. It was well we were still in the clouds, for had we been able to see the bottoms of the many steep staircases we had to go down or the precipitous sides of the very narrow ridge we followed for a number of miles, neither Mrs. Chapman nor myself would have walked it; we would have crawled on hands and knees. She would not ride and I must admit I didn't want to,-and did ride only where the mule was led over that particular part of the road.

We had met Mr. Chapman, who was getting anxious about his wife, the day before reaching Satchapata. We all stayed at Satchapata for the night, taking the trail again in the morning.

Down, down we went. First zigzag down the mountain side, then by stairs down the narrow ridge, always enveloped in the clouds, which became a heavy mist as we got lower. At one point where the trail zigzagged one of the mules had gone over the precipice when Mr. Hardison made his first trip. For lunch that day we had nothing but cold boiled rice and sugar, and thought that was pretty good, too. Our bread and meat were gone and but little canned goods were left,-that mainly corned beef. The water there was of a nasty yellow color and hard to find. We depended upon the Indians to find water for us.

When we had started in the morning the little brown mule was nowhere to be found, but Mrs. Chapman declared she would not ride anyway, but preferred to walk with the others. I rode the little black mule most of the way, only getting off where the steps were too steep. The danger of falling off this ridge was not so great for the trail was so old that travel and water had worn it down until it was like a ditch,-in many places two to five feet deep. In places the trees had grown over it and become so covered with moss and vines that there was a veritable tunnel to pass through. There were many mud holes impossible to get around,-we just had to wade through them.

Early in the afternoon it began to pour, and at times when I had to walk,-frequently now, the steps were so high,- the water was over my shoe tops.

Mr. Hardison, the children and myself arrived at Cocina Tambo about dark. As it is very unsafe,-and really impossible,-to travel after dark, we were quite anxious until Mr. and Mrs. Chapman arrived. Pretty well exhausted travelers we were, too.

I have forgotten to mention that while at Tirapata an Indian woman begged to go into the mines with us for the small sum of eight soles a month, about four dollars in American money. We thought it might be advantageous, so took her along. She hadn't arrived yet, so we sent an Indian for her. When she got into camp she was so thoroughly disgusted that she declared (in Indian) "tomorrow I go back."

We had no water, nor could we get an Indian to get us any. Though it was raining a thatched roof gives little water, just drip, drip. What should we do: no bread, only a very few sweet crackers, no water with which to cook rice or make soup-and we were in a land of soup-nothing but corned beef. Nor would Mr. Hardison let us eat that, for he knew we would suffer of thirst, so we went to bed supperless, children and all. How blessed sleep was, for we could forget for a time our discomfort.

In the night Mr. Chapman became so hungry he could not stand it any longer without food so he opened a can of beef. Before morning he was nearly crazy with thirst, and there was no water with which to quench it. Mrs. Chapman remembered a lemon she had in her hand bag,-I believe she had carried it from California,-so cut it and moistened their lips with that.

Morning came, bringing the sun. It was indeed a grand sight after so many days of clouds and fog. Still we had no water, and we had to go down the mountain side to the river to get it. This we hired an Indian to do, giving him a sole. Then we could have food, but not before. When the Indian put his blanket down for Helen to get into to be carried, she walked over and sat down without a word,-the first time she hadn't made a fuss about it. Neither of the children had cried or asked for food during the whole time. Five miles down the mountain side, more zigzag, more staircases, and these much more steep. About half way down we met the Indian with water. I don't believe travelers in the Sahara could have been more thankful. What made it more aggravating, during the whole time we could hear the roar of the river below us. The sound of the water enhanced our thirst, making it more unbearable.

Riding was impossible, though the little burros were going to the foot of the mountain. One was carrying the all-important five thousand soles. I felt more sorry for them than for ourselves.

It had taken the men all day when they went in and Mrs. Chapman and I did not hope to make it any more quickly, but we did. At one o'clock we had reached Tingura, a small hut only. In the corner of this hut there was a bunk, upon which Mrs. Chapman was forced to rest before she could even take a little soup. So we rested here an hour or so, for we still had two rivers to cross before reaching La Oroya, where we expected to remain for a time.

There were no bridges on which to cross these rivers, so this was the way it was done: A rope was stretched across the river and on the rope was a pulley, from which hung a large iron triangle. Into this triangle each passenger was tied, and someone on the opposite side pulled them across.

Then at last we could rest.

The weather was fine here. Though it rained frequently, the sun shone some every day. We were living in tents, but we enjoyed it. The milder climate agreed with the children, who were just recovering from the whooping cough. They managed to contract it at Juliaca.

There was just one really objectionable thing: a small, yellow gnat, which we thought would devour us at times. They troubled some more than others.

After a six weeks' stay here we had a very heavy rain. This made Mr. Hardison very anxious, for it was necessary to get to the mine before the rainy season set in. Accordingly, we started the next day for Santo Domingo.

Back and forth across the stream, which was so swift that many times we could not cross alone; up cliffs so steep that the men had to take our hands and drag us up; up other cliffs we had to scale on ladders. We lunched at the forks of the creeks where the Herenata coma and the Santo Domingo come together. We had crossed the stream continually,-Mrs. Chapman counted up to 148 times,-then grew tired counting.

And then it began to rain. I was so tired we sat down to rest again. I told them to go on and leave me. I guess I cried; if I didn't I felt like it. But Mr. Hardison would always say, "Santo Domingo is just around the turn," and at last it was "just around the next turn." We were as thankful to see the two tent houses provided for us as if they were a most elegant hotel.

After a good alcohol rub and a short rest Mrs. Chapman and I were able to descend to the dining room. This was a distance of about 500 feet by trail, or 50 feet by the short cut.

Life at Santo Domingo was rather tame. Of course, no churches, picture shows, theatres, or amusements of any kind. The receipt of mail was our chief diversion, and that was very irregular at first, sometimes being three or four weeks between "deliveries."

The climate was mild, though raining some every day. It is said it rained 25 feet a year, nor do I question the statement.

At first I had very little to do besides looking after the children, as we had nothing but an oil stove to cook on; that very expensive and unsatisfactory. Finally some ingenious man made me a stove out of oil cans, on the principle of the airtight heater. On this I could get a very good meal. Later an oven was made out of another can and then I could bake. We were getting so tired of fried and boiled foods. A large oven was built for the company's kitchen and when we had a good baker the bread tasted quite homelike.

Food, it seemed to me, was our chief concern, chiefly on account of the children. It was not only hard to get it into the mines, but hard to get it in a fit condition to eat. The rice, beans and flour would get wet and mould; and our only meat, dried sheep, called "chalona," after being carried 75 miles on the backs of the llamas, subjected to all changes of weather, was not very appetizing. Potatoes, frozen and dried, were called "chuno." These I never ate. It was difficult enough to get around the chalona, when there was nothing else. So rice was our main diet, with beans very occasionally. Sugar we always had, and were only without salt a week. At one time food was so scarce and of such poor quality that Mr. Moriarty sent Paul Younglin out hunting. A couple of evenings later we had fresh meat for dinner. When Mrs. Chapman came up she asked how I liked it. I replied that it was very good, though it was hardly cooked enough. Don't think I fainted or got sick when she said it was monkey. It was merely another experience in our lives. Butter and fresh milk were unknown; eggs very rare. Mr. W. L. Hardison expected to be able at some time to grow enough vegetables and keep enough chickens and cattle at La Oroya to furnish them to the people at the mine. Whether his plans matured or not I do not know. We did have a few very good pineapples and still fewer bananas from there.

On the first of December the rainy season actually set in, and for thirty days the sun shone but once. Nor did we have much sunshine until the following June.

On December 4, 1896, our third child and second son was born. Being a perfectly healthy child he grew and thrived. Every one wanted to give him a name, and every name known to the Inca language was suggested. He was christened Ernest Crane Hardison, but the name of Domingo has always clung to him.

About the middle of August, 1897, Mr. and Mrs. Chapman decided they had had experiences enough, and left for the United States. I was then the only woman down there. We were the first two white women to go into the mines, and as far as we could ascertain no Indian woman had ever been in, though of that we are not sure.

In November, Guy Hardison was to return to California, and it was decided that I, too, return with him. So we left the Santo Domingo mines the latter part of that month, arriving in Santa Paula on February 2, 1898.

Taken from "Our Folks and Your Folks -- A Volume of Family History and Biographical Sketches" by Florence Collins Porter and Clara Wilson Gries, Los Angeles, Ca, The Fred Lang Company, 1919