ALONG THE PACIFIC COAST
IN PERU, BOLIVIA AND CHILE
Our course still lies southward. The steamer, at times approaching sufficiently near the coast or calling at the small seaports to set down passengers or to embark merchandise—of ores, cotton, sugar, cattle and so forth—permits glimpses of the littoral, the long stretches of desert alternating with fruitful vales, irrigated by the rivers descending from the Cordillera. Here and there the curious médanos, or moving sand-dunes, arrest the eye;[15] here and there are olive-groves and vineyards and other cultivation of Southern Peru, where excellent wines are produced. Soon we shall pass the Chilean frontier, and away in the interior lies Bolivia, among the distant Andes, whose grey and solemn wall looks down eternally upon the seaboard.
Let us ascend from the coast by one of the railways here, that running from the Peruvian port of Mollendo, an exceedingly bad and exposed roadstead, in which, at times, it is difficult to gain the shore at all from the heavy surf.
CULTIVATED LANDS ON THE PACIFIC COAST OF PERU.
Vol. I. To face p. 176.
The Southern Railway, ascending the dreadful volcanic wastes, and barren, rocky spurs which mark this region, reaches the pleasing city of Arequipa, lying at nearly 8,000 feet elevation. It stands at the foot of the Misti, a high, snow-covered volcano, whose conical form reveals its geological structure, a prominent landmark in this part of Peru, seen far over the surrounding deserts. The tonic breezes and blue sky give to Arequipa an invigorating environment. The cathedral, a handsome structure, and the houses, are built of volcanic freestone, which gives an air of solidity and repose to the place.
In including Arequipa in our survey of the coast we shall be consulting the wishes of the people of the city, who prefer to consider themselves as of the coastal region—with all that such a position conveys—for the coast represents a more advanced culture here, as contrasted with the Sierra, or Cordillera.
The fortunate traveller will retain pleasing impressions of Arequipa and its society—its
Bright skies and brighter eyes.
The railway, leaving Arequipa, passes the main range of the Cordillera at an elevation of nearly 15,000 feet, and descends to Lake Titicaca, whence fresh-water navigation on this high inland sea carries the traveller into Bolivia.
Lake Titicaca is perhaps the most remarkable lake in the world. A body of fresh water, 12,500 feet above the sea, and two hundred miles long, upon which we navigate out of sight of land, is perhaps unique. From the steamer the imposing range of the White Cordillera of Bolivia is seen, the snow-covered Andes, from Sorata to Illimani, whose crests or peaks rise to over 20,000 feet. We remark the craft of the natives, the curious balsas of woven grass, sometimes with mat sails, in which they navigate the lake. Titicaca is peculiar in being a hydrographic entity, having no outlet except that the water flows for a few miles along a channel to the adjacent Lake Poopo. Fed by the melting snow of the Andes, the waters are kept down solely by the agency of evaporation and some possible seepage.
Beyond these high lake basins and the mountain crests to the east stretch the illimitable forests of the Amazon, partly unexplored, a lure to the traveller.
But we must return to the seaboard. We have already remarked that Bolivia possesses no ports. She is isolated from the coast, having lost the port of Antofagasta in the Nitrate War of last century.
In passing, it might be remarked that the comity of the South American nations on the coast might be consolidated if this seaport could be restored to Bolivia. Nothing in the future is likely to cause more enmity than the arbitrary cutting-off of peoples by adjoining nations from access to seas and navigable rivers, whether in America or Europe. The nitrate region, which was the scene of the bloody struggle between Peru and Chile, and in which Bolivia took part, stretches like a veritable Sahara upon the littoral here, south of Tacna and Arica. These two last-named provinces were, students of South American polity will recollect, possessions of Peru, and are now held by Chile. They are still the cause of bitter controversy between the two nations, which periodically threatens to bring about war between them. It is greatly to be lamented that this fruitful source of contention cannot now be settled, and an era of neighbourly feeling brought about, instead of the hypocritical diplomatic expediency and veiled hatred which do duty for international relations on this coast. The matter might well be made the subject of arbitration, with friendly nations (perhaps Britain or the United States) as umpires.
The sun-baked rocks and sands of this part of South America have been stained with the blood of thousands of Chileans and Peruvians, and the same events might occur again. Yet both these nations have more territory than they can efficiently develop.
But the Spanish American people have ever much difficulty in settling their quarrels. Their traits of pride and over-individualism, inherited from the Spaniard, render it difficult to give way. If one performs an act of magnanimity, the other may suspect or accuse it of weakness or cowardice. Both wrap themselves in haughty reserve, both invoke the high gods to bear witness to their own truth, both are quixotic and quick-tempered. Yet they are people of the same civilization, speech, laws, literature and culture, with splendid qualities and a promising future, and if these quarrels could be composed, the progress of the region would be hastened.
The port of Iquique (with Pisagua), south of Arica, is well known to many travellers and other persons interested in the Chilean nitrate fields, of which it is the principal shipping centre.
The greater share of the business of nitrate production is in British hands. The oficinas are establishments peculiar to Northern Chile, forming small colonies or localities, whose workers consist of the Chilean rotos—a hardy and turbulent but industrious folk—headed by English managerial staffs.
Around these centres of industry, on every hand, broken here and there by small oases where water-springs occur, stretches some of the most dreadful desert land in the world. Such, for example, are the desert of Tarapaca, and those intervening between the nitrate pampas and the Cordillera, where neither man nor animal can live, nor blade of herbage can flourish. Nature here, as far as the organic world is concerned, is dead, or has never lived.
Iquique is a town of wooden houses, overlooked by sand-dunes that threaten it from the wind-swept desert, but it has pleasing features, and the English colony here, with its well-known club—it has a reputation for hospitality, and, incidentally, the consumption of cocktails—has its own marked characteristics. The Nitrate Railway ascends through high, broken country to the east to the Pampa. Indeed, the life and thought of the region is largely embodied in the words "Nitrate" and "Pampa."
The deposits of this mineral are unique in geology. There is none other of the same nature on the globe. The mineral lies in horizontal beds a few feet beneath the surface. We may be riding over the flat, absolutely barren pampa, or plain, floored with nothing but fragments of clinkstone, eroded by the ever-drifting sand and unrestful wind, gleaming in the metallic sunlight, for no shower of rain ever visits this wilderness, a place where we might think Nature has nothing to offer of use or profit. But we should be mistaken. An excavation will reveal the sheet of white salts beneath, deposited in geological ages past by marine or lake action, under conditions not clearly understood—deposits which cover many miles of territory. The material is blasted out in open mining and conveyed to the oficinas—large establishments of elaborate machinery and appliances—where it is boiled, refined, re-crystallized and thence shipped for export.
Still farther afield through the deserts here are vast areas of salt, the ground presenting the appearance of a suddenly arrested, billowy sea, over which the horseman makes his way like a lost spirit in Hades. Upon the horizon are the steely Andes, upon whose plateaux here, reached by the highest railway in the world, we find rich copper mines, such as those of Colhuahuassi, and various deposits of the salts of copper.
But to return to the coast. It was upon this melancholy seaboard, the coast of Tarapacá, that a sea-fight, classic in the annals of South America, and indeed one of the very earliest of battles between ironclad ships, took place—an engagement which has rendered the names of Pratt and Grau, the Chilean and the Peruvian admirals, immortal in the memory of their respective countrymen.
Peru and Chile were engaged in life and death struggle with each other on land and sea. Iquique, then a Peruvian port, was blockaded by Chile. Grau, having sailed from Callao for Arica with the Huascar and Independencia, which vessels practically constituted the Peruvian Navy, heard of the blockade, and proceeded to Iquique to engage the enemy. The day was breaking as the Peruvian vessels arrived off the port. The approach was seen by the Esmeralda and the Covadonga, two Chilean ships, and Captain Pratt, on board the Esmeralda, decided to give battle, notwithstanding that the Peruvian vessels were ironclads, whilst his own commands were unarmoured. It was a brave resolution, but the Chileans were born sea-fighters.
The Huascar was a turret-ship, built at Birkenhead in 1866, but of only 1,130 tons, armed with Whitworth and Armstrong guns, but with armour-plating incapable of resisting any heavy cannonade. The Independencia was an older type ironclad, of 2,000 tons, built in London in 1865.
The Esmeralda was a wooden corvette, and the Covadonga a wooden gunboat which had been captured from the Spaniards in the expedition sent by Spain against Chile and Peru in 1866. They carried Armstrong and Nordenfelt guns. The Chileans had some powerful ironclads, as we shall see later, but they were investing Callao at the moment.
Thus unequally armed, the contestants began the engagement. The Huascar opened fire upon the Covadonga and the Independencia strove to ram her. The Huascar then turned her attention to the Esmeralda, and so the battle proceeded for a space. At length, the Esmeralda, feeling the inferiority of her structure, adopted the ruse of steaming into shoal water, hoping to draw her antagonist of greater draught ashore. But ill-fortune frustrated this attempt. There was a loud explosion on board, and it was found that a boiler had burst, crippling her. The Huascar rapidly closed in to 1,000 yards, and at this range the two vessels continued to bombard each other in a struggle to the death, Chilean and Peruvian each serving their guns with equal valour. The noise of the cannonade resounded over the crisp waves of the Pacific and rumbled far inland over the desolate wastes of Tarapacá.
Fortune was against the Chilean. A shell struck her, set her on fire, killing a number of her crew and practically putting her out of action. But the gallant Pratt was not of the stuff that surrenders, notwithstanding the condition of his ship—littered with dead and wounded and in imminent danger of sinking. He would not strike his flag, whilst the Araucanian blood of his sailors, which never gives way, would first go down to death, and the vessel continued her now enfeebled fire.
The Huascar, protected by her armour, was little injured, and Grau, to end the struggle, determined to ram. The ironclad rushed in upon the wooden hull of her victim, ramming her on the port side. Seeing that all was lost and determined at least to sell his life dearly, Captain Pratt leapt from his own craft upon the Peruvian's deck. But a single man had time to follow him before the ships separated again, and "Surrender! surrender!" the Peruvians shouted. For reply, Pratt rushed along the deck, attacked all who opposed him, and, engaging a Peruvian officer, slew him. But so unequal a contest could not last, and, pierced by a dozen bullets, the gallant Pratt fell dead.
But the Esmeralda refused to strike her flag, the standard of the single star, which still waved proudly from her peak. Her second in command swore he would follow the example of his chief, and so it befel. The vessels closed again, the beak of the Peruvian ramming the Esmeralda on the starboard bow, opening a breach. The waters rushed in, the furnace fires were extinguished, the seamen were killed at their posts, but ere they separated, the commanding officer and a sailor leaped upon the Huascar's deck and died fighting, falling as Pratt had fallen. Again the Huascar rammed, simultaneously discharging her guns into the bowels of the doomed corvette. It was the end; the Esmeralda went down, carrying with her to a sailor's grave all but fifty of her crew of two hundred souls. As for the Covadonga, she fled into shoal water, and the Independencia following, ran aground on the rocks, a total wreck, and the Covadonga opened fire upon her.
Notwithstanding this loss, Grau harassed the enemy for months with his single ironclad, until excitement in Chile caused the dispatch of the Chilean fleet, which, having been overhauled, was sent to hunt down this brave and persistent unit to the death.
A misty morning off the coast of Tarapacá. Two Peruvian war vessels, the Huascar and the Union, are steaming quietly to the north. The mist lifts, and to the east disclosed the sandy desert shore and the far, faint, grey range of the Andes. To the west, what? Three lines of smoke from as many hostile funnels. The Union was an indefensible vessel, and Grau signalled her to escape. And now on the north-west three other ominous trails of smoke appear—smoke from the Chilean vessels—the Almirante Cochrane, so named after Lord Cochrane, the Englishman famous in Chilean history; the O'Higgins, named after the Irish President of Chile; and the Loa.
Escape was impossible, unless it were by fighting a way through the line, and, against these odds, the brave Grau prepared his ship for action. He opened fire, striking the Cochrane, whose armour, however, was too strong to pierce, and, at a thousand yards, the Chilean replied. His shot struck the old hand-worked turret of the Huascar so that it ceased to revolve. Grau closed in and strove to ram, but the Cochrane was a twin-screw steamer, and was manipulated well. The Cochrane's armour was thick, her armament heavy, her weight three times that of the old Huascar. For two hours the unequal fight raged on; shot and shell rained from both vessels, often doing but little damage.
Grau was in the conning-tower when his end came, directing the action of his ship, calm and collected. Suddenly there was a crash, and when the smoke cleared away it was seen that the conning-tower had been struck by a shell. It was blown to pieces, as were the brave Peruvian admiral and his officer, nothing remaining of their bodies but a few ghastly fragments.
And now the powerful Blanco Encalada, one of the Chilean ironclads, closed in. A shell from her guns at six hundred yards took off the head of the Huascar's second in command and wounded the third officer. Scarcely had the fourth had time to take his place when he was injured by a shell, and the junior lieutenant assumed command of a ship littered with the dead and dying. Yet though the guns in the tops were silent and those below disabled, the turret injured, the deck strewn with mutilated bodies, the Peruvians kept up the fight, the dying Huascar striving at least to ram one of her enemies before she sank. But at length, being utterly disabled, the vessel hauled down her flag.[16]
Thus ended this epic sea-fight, and with it went the sea-power of Peru. Thus, moreover, was the value of the ironclad demonstrated—the armoured vessel, the forbear of the Dreadnought. The torpedo was also used in this fight, one fired by the Huascar turning back upon the vessel itself, where it would have caused disaster earlier had not a sailor jumped overboard and diverted its course.
The attack on Lima by the Chileans and its defence by the Peruvians, and other episodes of the war following on the above events, make terrible reading—a history of which, however, we cannot here enter upon.
We continue to pass the coasts of the nitrate-bearing lands, whose working and export yield the Republic of Chile their greatest source of revenue.
It was off the Chilean coast, it will be recollected, that another and more modern engagement between vessels of war took place, when a weaker British squadron was overpowered by the German Pacific Fleet—a disaster amply wiped out off the Falkland Isles, a little later on.
The railway that ascends from the port of Antofagasta also enters upon the nitrate pampas, and there are copper-bearing districts tributary to the line. At 10,000 feet elevation the River Loa is crossed, and beyond we approach the ever-smoking, snow-capped cone of San Pedro, one of the Andean volcanoes here. Then the gleaming surface of the borax "lake" of Cebollar, the largest borax deposit on the face of the globe, catches the eye. The great snow-clad Cordillera, with the giant Ollague, 20,000 feet, on the border of Chile and Bolivia, is passed, and the railway reaches the Bolivian plateau, the southern portion of the Titicaca basin, and passes the town of Unini, with its rich silver mines, skirts Lake Poopo, and reaches the town of Oruro, famous for its tin.
Beyond, this interesting line reaches La Paz, the capital of Bolivia. The same place is now served by the railway recently built from Arica, and thus the interior of the mountainous Republic of Bolivia is rendered more accessible. Recent construction has effected a juncture with the railway system of Argentina, thus affording a further transcontinental route.
After the Tropic of Capricorn is passed, the Andes approach nearer to the sea, revealing their snowy crests from the steamer's deck, and from Valparaiso the fruitful valleys of Chile unfold, watered from the mountains—a more temperate zone, where the flowers as of Europe may be seen and the culture of the Chilean people is displayed.
Of his native land a Chilean poet sings that its bulwarks are the mighty Cordillera, its frontiers the sea—a romantically expressed conception of the position of Chile which is geographically correct.
A zone of territory three thousand miles in length and nowhere broader than two hundred miles, and, in general, only a hundred, confined between the Andes and the Pacific Ocean, the Republic has perhaps the most curious form of any country in the world. Under his own flag the Chilean may journey from the heat of the Tropics to the cold of the Antarctic by taking steamer up and down his coast or by a more or less arduous land journey along the littoral. Such is the topography of this interesting land—interspersed with burning deserts, fruitful valleys and with glimpses of delightful landscape, snowy mountains and profound forests.
To have opened a sketch of Chile with a reference to a poetical conception is not to argue that the Chileans are a dreamy and over-poetical folk. They are, on the contrary, practical, hardy, and courageous—courage which, in their conflicts with their neighbours in the past, and in their own internecine strife and revolution, has at times given way to cruelty and savagery—a condition, however, not confined to these more southern inhabitants of the South American Continent.
By reason of their more practical ideas and enterprise in commercial matters, their ability—which is largely absent from the Spanish American people as a rule—of forming successful joint-stock companies to exploit this or that field of industry or finance, their superior navy and seamanship, and for diverse reasons, the Chileans have been termed, or have liked to term themselves, the "English of South America" a soubriquet varied by the appellation of the "Americans or Yanquis (Yankees) of South America." The Chilean Navy was modelled after that of Britain; the army, however, after the German style.
The early history of Chile, if less picturesque than that of Peru, is full of incident—often dreadful—and doughty deeds. Bluff old Almagro it was who set his eyes upon Chile—Almagro, the partner of Francisco Pizarro, partners whose quarrels finally resulted in the death of both.
The Indians of Cuzco had told their conquerors of a land that lay beyond the desert and the mountains to the south, reaching no man knew whither; a land not a great empire, but one of many tribes, and so easily to be subdued, and, moreover, overflowing with gold and silver. This land they called Chile. Fiery spirits flocked to Almagro's standard from Panama for another of those "dare-devil heroic marches into the unknown world which only greed and faith could inspire." Almagro's band consisted of 600 white men and 15,000 Indians, and it left Cuzco in 1535.
"To have descended to the coast and thence march by the lowlands would have been the easiest way, but it was the longer, and the adventurers were as impatient to reach their goal as the Pizarros were to see them gone: so Almagro marched straight along the Inca road, past Lake Titicaca, across part of Bolivia and what is now Argentina, and then over the Andes. Daring and difficult as some of the Spanish marches had been, none hitherto had had to encounter the hardships that faced Almagro on his Andean progress. Cold, famine, and toilsome ways killed his followers by thousands, and to the frost and snow of the mountain sides succeeded hundreds of miles of arid deserts, where no living thing grew and no drop of water fell.
"At length, with but a small remnant of his host, Almagro found himself in a well-defined region, consisting roughly of a vast valley running north and south, the giant chain of the Andes enclosing it on the east with foothills and spurs projecting far into, and in some places almost intersecting, the narrow plain, and a lower range of mountains bordering it upon the west, and shutting it off from the sea, except here and there, where a break in the chain occurred. The valley was relatively narrow, so narrow that in many places the hills on either side were clearly visible, but the adventurers as yet knew not that this curious strip of broken plain between two mountain ranges extended with its immense line of coast for well-nigh 2,000 miles, and was destined to become, from its natural formation, the first maritime nation of South America.
"Almagro found the sturdy, skin-clad tribesmen of the mountain slopes and elevated plains far different foemen from the soft, mild slaves of the Incas in the tropical north. Their very name of Chile came from the word meaning cold; and their temperate climate had hardened them and made them robust. Gold and silver, it is true, they had in plenty, and held them in no very high esteem, but they fought with a fierceness of which the Spaniards had had no experience in America in defence of their liberty and right to live. This, it was clear, was to be no easy conquest, and Almagro, learning that the Peruvians of the north had risen in a mass against the Spanish oppression, abandoned Chile, and marched back to Peru to fish in troubled waters, and in due time to meet a felon's death at the hands of vengeful Pizarro.
"But the tales of the rich and fertile land of the south had whetted the greed of the victor, and when old Almagro was finally disposed of, Pizarro set about adding Chile to his own vast domain, held for Charles the Emperor and King of Spain, with the sanction of Holy Mother Church. The news of Almagro's formal annexation of Chile to the Spanish Crown, as usual in such cases, set the hungry courtiers of Madrid clamouring for a share of the spoil and glory, and an incompetent nonentity called Pedro Sanchez de la Hoz was sent out from Spain to complete the conquest of the new domain in the name of the Emperor. Pizarro knew well how to deal with such folk, and whilst appearing to respect the imperial orders, really stultified them. What he needed to do his work were iron soldiers, dour Estremenians, like himself; who knew neither ruth nor fear, and one he found after his own heart in Pedro de Valdivia, who in the five years since he had joined the chief in Peru, had proved that he possessed all the qualities for repeating in Chile the success of Pizarro in the empire of the Incas. Sanchez de la Hoz, nominally the leader, promptly became the cipher that nature had intended him to be, and Valdivia took the lead.
"This time, in 1540, the safer way by the coast desert was taken, and with a mere handful of 150 Spanish soldiers, but accompanied by a great host of Indians, Valdivia marched through the interminable valley, carrying with him rapine and oppression for the gold he coveted. A great pitched battle for a time, early in 1541, decided the supremacy of the white men, and Valdivia, with superhuman energy and cruelty unexampled, set tens of thousands of Indians to work washing auriferous sand, delving in mines, cutting roads that still exist, and clearing the way for the advance of the Spaniards southward. In a lovely, fertile, elevated plain, with the eternal snow-capped Andes looking down upon it, Valdivia founded the capital of his new domain, the city of Santiago, on the morrow of his victory in February 1541, and from the height of St. Lucia above, upon the spot where the conqueror overlooked the building of his city, his gallant figure in bronze still dominates the fair scene of his prowess.
"Fighting almost constantly for years, Valdivia, with ever-growing forces, pushed farther south. Valparaiso was founded in 1544 as the main seaport for the capital, and two years afterwards the conqueror crossed the Biobio River and entered the fertile agricultural and pastoral country of the Araucanians. Refined and cultivated as the Incas of the north had been, these stalwart Indians of the temperate south surpassed them in the sterner virtues and in the arts of war. Tales of their lofty stature and mighty strength grew with the telling, and the Spaniards acknowledged that at last they had met in America a people who were more than their match. Concepcion, Talcahuano, Imperial, Valdivia, one city after the other rose in this land of forests and fighters, to be destroyed again and again, only to be rebuilt. Gold in abundance, surpassing the visions even of the Spaniards, was to be had for the digging or washing, but the Indians would only dig or wash the metal whilst a white man with a harquebus stood over them, and not always then. Poison and treachery were common to both sides, and cruelty surpassed itself. In one battle Valdivia cut off the hands and noses of hundreds of Indian prisoners and sent them back as an object lesson, and the Araucanians, with devilish irony, killed the Spaniards by pouring molten gold down their throats.
"The lands through which the Spaniards passed were teeming with fertility, and tilled like a garden, and the sands of the frequent rivers abounded in gold; but the people were hard to enslave, and the leader that at last aroused them for a final successful stand was Valdivia's own Araucanian serf, Lautaro. The Christian chief fell into an ambush led by him in 1553, and though Valdivia begged and bribed hard for his life, vengeance sated itself upon him. His heart was cut out, and the Indian arrows soaked in his blood, the heart itself, divided into morsels, being afterwards eaten by the braves, whilst his bones were turned into fifes to hearten the tribesmen to resist the invaders.
"For well-nigh a hundred years the fight went on in the country extending from the Biobio to the archipelago of Chiloé, and it ended at last in the formal recognition of the independence of this splendid race, who had withstood in turn the Inca and the white man. Even then the struggle was not over, for the Spaniards could ill brook the presence of an independent Indian people in their midst as civilization and population grew in South America. But what force and warfare could never compass, time, intermarriage and culture have gradually effected, and in our own times the Araucanians have become Chilean citizens."[17]
Chile threw off the yoke of Spain in 1810. The yoke upon the Indies was really falling off itself. Spain was too weak to coerce her colonies much longer. But in 1814 Spain tried again. A half-Irish Chilean patriot was the hero of this struggle, a patriot who, his ammunition giving out, charged his guns with coin in lieu of grapeshot and cut his way to Santiago, and he on land and the Englishman Cochrane on the sea caused Chile to become one of the foremost factors in the final liberation.
Many travellers have rendered homage to the beauty of the Chilean landscape. "The appearance of the Andes from the Central Valley is always imposing, grandiose and magnificent. They are unique: it is worth crossing half the world to see them. The dry, stimulating air and the beautiful cloudless sky in themselves provoke enthusiasm."[18]
Elsewhere I have spoken of "the beautiful Andes and the death-dealing Andes." Almagro's terrible march across the Chilean Andes, as described elsewhere, shows these characteristics of the Cordillera vividly.
Much of the early history of Chile is made up of the rebellion of the Indians; their attacks upon the coastal towns, such as Concepcion and Valdivia, which they sacked, massacring the Spaniards.
The town of Concepcion, in 1751, suffered something of the fate that overtook Lima and Callao in the earthquake and tidal wave, and Santiago, too, suffered greatly. With a crash the tower of the cathedral fell, awakening the inhabitants at midnight. There were horrible rumbling noises—those curious subterranean earthquake voices in the Andes. "There was scarcely time to pray to God," say the chroniclers. Every single church and house was thrown down, and nobody could even stand upright. Those who could, flew: they fled to the hills for refuge—refuge from the sea, the dreadful tidal wave. For the ocean retreated, as if mustering force for the deluge. Then it returned, not once, but thrice, washing over Concepcion as if the day of doom indeed had come.
The destruction of Valparaiso in August 1906 was the last terrible disaster of this nature.
"The day had been unusually calm and pleasant. At about 8 p.m. there was a sudden, unexpected shock, immediately followed by another; the whole city seemed to swing backwards and forwards: then there was a horrible jolt, and whole rows of buildings (about thirty blocks of houses, three to five stories high, in the Avenida Brasil alone) fell with a terrific crash. The gas, electric-light and water mains were at once snapped, and the whole city was plunged in darkness. This, however, did not last long, for, five minutes after the shock, great fires started in the ruined buildings about the Plaza del Orden, and, aided by a violent storm wind, which began about the same time, spread northwards over the city. Between the earthquake and the subsequent fire ninety per cent. of the houses are said to have been destroyed. The Arsenal, station, custom-house, hospitals, convents, banks, club-houses and Grand Hotel were for the most part ruined, for without water, and in the horrible confusion that at first prevailed, it was almost impossible to check the fires.[19] But the authorities showed no lack of energy and presence of mind. Patrols of troops and armed citizens kept watch; thieves and marauders attempting to loot were shot. The fire was, where possible, checked by dynamite. Messengers on horseback were sent to Santiago and other places, appealing for help, and especially for provisions. The telegraph lines were destroyed; the railways were wrecked for miles—bridges had twisted and tunnels had caved in—but communication with Santiago seems to have been re-established within a wonderfully short time. This was all the more creditable, for the shocks continued on Friday and Saturday, and apparently did not cease until about 6 a.m. on Tuesday morning.
"The condition of the wretched inhabitants was most pitiable. Some 60,000 were encamped on the barren hills above the town without food or clothing; others took refuge on boats or steamers in the bay, for mercifully there was no tidal wave such as commonly accompanies great earth tremors on that coast, and no damage was done to the shipping in harbour.[20] The number of people killed has been variously estimated at from 300 to 10,000 persons; it is probable that from 500 to 1,000 were killed and another 1,000 wounded. The damage done was at least £20,000,000."[21]
THE LANDING STAGE AT VALPARAISO.
Vol. I. To face p. 198.
From earliest times the history of Chile upon this coast has been a tortured one—the barbarities and the sufferings both of the early Spanish conquerors, the reprisals of the Indians, the bloodthirsty and unsubduable Araucanians, the feuds between the Spaniards themselves, the toll of earthquakes and tidal waves, the battles between Spaniard and colonist and between Chilean and Peruvian and Bolivian, the dreadful pages of revolutionary and civil strife. It is veritably a blood-stained coast, and both man and nature might well cry to Heaven for surcease. Yet to-day there hangs a menace over it—the feud with Peru over Tacna and Arica: and for the future the savage strikes of the workers against the oligarchies of industry.
But we need not dwell too much on this aspect. There are many beautiful and peaceful attributes about the land, much to admire in its people. It has been said that Chile seems to rise more vigorous and more enterprising after every disaster.
Let us turn for a space to view somewhat more in detail the Chilean capital, as described by a recent writer:
"Santiago, 'most noble and most loyal,' is a mixture of Paris, Madrid and Seville. It is far ahead of Spanish towns in its electric tramways, broad avenues and brisk movement. But the larger houses are all characteristically Spanish. They are built round a central court or patio, which is usually open to the sky above and full of flowers and graceful shrubs. Very often there are sparkling fountains and statuary also. In fact, through the great gateway of a large Santiago house the most delicious little views of water, flowers and greenery can be gathered in passing. This gateway has heavy wooden doors, carefully locked at night; the windows opening on the street are usually heavily barred, which is by no means a useless precaution.
"The design of these houses is a very ancient one. Four stone huts, placed so as to enclose a square, and with but one opening to the outside, form a miniature fort; even the mansions of the great Santiago families, with four or more stories, and with the street front elaborately decorated, are but a development of this very simple arrangement.
"It is in Santiago that one discovers what marvellous and gorgeous results can be obtained by the use of stucco. Very often it is tinted by rose-pink or terracotta, and it is simple and easy to make Corinthian, Doric or Ionic columns, to model flowers, wreaths, vases, and Cupids, and other classical figures by means of this plastic material.
"The streets run, as is almost invariably the case in South America, at right angles. The Alameda is a delicious avenue planted with trees, and traversed by little streams of running water which give a pleasant, murmuring sound and cool the hot air of midday. Amongst the trees are statues such as those of Bernardo O'Higgins, San Martin and many others.
"The Plaza da Armas has colonnades along the sides which are famous in Chilean history, but is possibly a little disappointing. Most of the other public buildings, though fine and magnificent, do not show any very special distinctive character. It is the enormous size, business-like character and thoroughly business-like tone that distinguish Santiago. It is quite obviously a metropolis, and indeed, to the upper classes in Chile, it is what Paris is to every Frenchman.
"The Quinta Normal, with its library, Herbarium and Zoological Gardens, where the Niata cattle mentioned by Darwin are still maintained, is a sort of Jardin d'Acclimatation and Jardin des Plantes in one.
"In fact, the French, or rather Parisian, instincts of the upper classes in Santiago can be noticed at every turn.
"It is the fashion of books on Chile for the author to wax eloquent on the Cerro de Santa Lucia. This rugged, projecting rock overlooking Santiago should remind one vividly of Pedro de Valdivia, of Señora Suarez, and of the heroical little band that starved out there the first two momentous years of Chilean history.
"'In this valley, two leagues from the great Cordillera, by the side of the River Mapocho, God has planted a mountain of a beautiful aspect and proportion which is like a watch-tower from which the whole plain is discovered with the variety of its culture in arable and meadow.'
"That is how Ovalle describes the hill of Santa Lucia in his time.
"But what has been done with it? Stucco vases, balconies, balustrades, gardens, restaurants, and even a theatre, make it impossible, even for a moment, to remember the Conquistadores. The view is, however, still magnificent, and it is from the Santa Lucia that one can obtain the best possible idea of Santiago itself.
"In the mornings, one may see the Santiago ladies hurrying to the churches. The power of the clergy is perhaps most easily realized from the fact that no woman dares to enter the church in a hat or bonnet. Every one, rich or poor, noble or lowly, wears the inevitable Manto. This is a sort of black shawl; it is sometimes of very rich and beautiful material, and it is always folded in such a manner that it is as becoming as possible.
"In the afternoons there are fine horses and carriages to be seen, and the jeunesse dorée may be observed sauntering through the streets and staring in an open and unabashed manner at every lady that passes. It is not considered bad form; indeed, it is supposed to be the correct thing to make audible remarks on a lady's personal appearance. 'How beautiful is the little one! What sympathetic eyes has the elder lady!' and so on.
"The physical appearance of some of these young aristocrats (if they really belong to the highest social circles) is not impressive. One notices everywhere the narrow chest, sloping shoulders and effeminate appearance of the typical Parisian roué. The corner-boys, even, resemble the apache of the boulevards, and are as dangerous and cowardly as these degenerate types of city life.
"Perhaps the most characteristic custom of Santiago and of all Chilean cities is the evening 'Paseo,' or promenade. After dinner, in the cool of the evening, people saunter under the trees, very often in some public garden where a good band is playing, and gossip over the events of the day.
"There does not seem to be much jealousy or ill-feeling between the upper and lower classes in Chile, for the masses keep to a different part of the Plaza, and do not intrude upon the pacing-ground of the richer or better-dressed people.
"This evening promenade is attended by quite small boys and girls. They do not mix, but keep quite separate paths. Yet even the little girls of seven or eight years old are finished coquettes. Their eyes languishingly observe every man and boy in the Plaza, and they take care that each shall receive a due share of their smiles!
"The governing classes of Chile are, for the most part, descendants of the Spanish Conquistadores. They preserve in their own hands not merely all important government posts (civil, military and naval), but also they own most of the large landed estates. A few of them, which is very unusual in Spanish American countries, not only own but take some part in the management of nitrate oficinas, banks, mines and other industries. Almost all the lawyers and doctors are of Chilean birth. There are two Universities, which supply, in a very ample and generous manner, advocates, solicitors and medical men.
"On the other hand, mercantile business of all kinds, both on the large and on the small scale, is carried on almost invariably by foreigners. The old Spanish prejudice against traders is by no means dead. Even the small shopkeepers seem to be usually Spanish Basques and Italians.
"In the south there are many small farms owned by Germans, French, Swiss, British, and some Danes, Swedes and Norwegians; even Indians own much of the land in the south. But the working-class throughout Chile, in the mines, in towns, on the farms, and, indeed, everywhere, are Chilenos. Chile is not the place for a British or Continental workman.
"There is a very well-marked difference between the Chileno inquilino or peon and the better classes, whether Chilean or foreign. But amongst the Chilean or Santiago aristocracy one finds such names as Edwards, Simpson, Walker, Rogers and Porter. These, of course, are of British or Irish descent. Towards the end of the eighteenth century, many exceptionally gifted foreigners drifted to Chile. They were educated, business-like and capable people. If one remembers that the first line of steamers to Europe only began to run some fifty years ago, it is obvious that such men should have been able to acquire wealth. They were respected, even liked and appreciated, by the Chilians of those days. Many distinguished themselves in the Army and Navy. But their descendants are pure Chilenos now, and very likely quite unable to read or speak any tongue save Spanish. This is not surprising, for one can see the process of assimilation going on even at the present day.
"Any young foreigner who has business instincts and ordinary common sense will, of course, learn to speak Spanish. Should he possess the necessary industry and talent, he may find himself early in life in a position of some importance, which involves dealing with the better-class Chilenos. He will in all probability marry a Chilean señorita. The truth is that it is not very easy to resist a Chilean girl when she is inclined to be gracious.
"She is not at all an advanced woman; she is not inclined to tyrannize over her husband, but is quite content to leave him to manage his affairs and his house as he pleases. She never dreams of contesting his marital authority. It is true that she is not very energetic, but then, is not that an agreeable change?
"Our young Scotchman's or Englishman's children will be entirely Chilean in ideals, in aspiration and in training. They may be sent home for education, but a few months after their return to Chile no one could distinguish them from the Chilean pur sang. The father will, no doubt, retain a sentimental regard for the old country, but in Chile it is exceedingly unlikely that he would ever desire to return permanently to the rain, snow, slush and fogs of Britain, where he will be, not a leading aristocrat, but merely a business man of sorts.
"But though the somewhat Frenchified Chilean aristocracy and cosmopolitan foreigners are of interest, the really important person is the Chileno peon, inquilino or huaso of the working class.
"There is no country in the world which has so valuable a working class (with the possible exception of Japan and China). They are descended from the Araucanian Indian and the Spanish Andalusian or the Basque. They are hardy, vigorous and excellent workmen, and their endurance and patience are almost Indian. Of their bravery and determination it is unnecessary to speak, for these qualities appear on every page of the stormy history of Chile. Generally, they are short, dark-eyed and black-haired people. They are intelligent, and quick to learn anything requiring handiness and craftsmanship. They have, of course, many faults: at intervals they drink to excess when they can, and they are hot-blooded and quarrelsome; knives will be drawn and a fight started on very small provocation. As regards honesty, they are certainly no worse than others of their kind, and in the country districts they are better than most. Perhaps, economically speaking, the fact that they live and work contentedly on exceedingly low wages (chiefly on beans) is one of their most important characteristics."[22]
THE MALLECO RIVER AND BRIDGE, CHILE.
Vol. I. To face p. 206.
Of the vineyards and pastures, the many industries, the famous wines of the country, the cattle, the industrious folk, the forests and the fishing, the great mining enterprises, copper and all ore, the rivers and the railways, the German colony of Valdivia and the pleasing towns of the coast we cannot here speak in detail.
Chile is fortunate, industrially, in her great coalfields at Lota and elsewhere in the south, which form the basis of considerable industry. The seams in some cases dip beneath the Pacific.
Chile is a land that offers much by reason of its temperate climate, and these more southern regions may be expected to attain to greater importance in the future.
For a thousand miles, perhaps, the littoral still unfolds to the south, with great fiords and forests, terminating in a maze of channels which line the coast of Patagonia to Magellan Strait and Cape Horn. There is a race of hardy Indian boatmen here, a tribe which, it is said, "throw their women overboard in a storm to lighten the canoe." It is a land cold and stormy, with a little-known interior, which the early explorers described as being inhabited by giants or people with big feet—hence the name of Patagonia. For hundreds of miles the Pacific slope is a thick, continuous forest. Nevertheless, in the Strait of Magellan lies a prosperous Chilean colony, where vast flocks of sheep thrive—the colony of Punta Arenas, the world's southernmost seaport.
Magellan, the intrepid Portuguese navigator of early times, whose name the Strait bears, bore bravely out into the great south sea which he named the Pacific. His crew were weak with cold and hunger. But he would push on, "even if they had to eat the leather of the rigging." Ox-hides, rats and sawdust, indeed, they did eat. On to the west the vessels sailed, across the unknown sea—"almost beyond the grasp of man for vastness"—to circumnavigate the globe for home.
Magellan himself did not finish the voyage, although he crossed the Pacific, for his earthly race was run; he left his bones in the Philippines. But the ship and his pilot, Sebastian del Cano, a Spaniard, reached home, and Cano was given the arms of nobility, with the device of a ship and globe and the inscription Tu Solus circumdedesti me.
From the Pacific coast we shall now ascend to the great chain of the Andes, to follow the same series of countries in that high region.