FOOTNOTES:
[4] Hiva-oa is about seventy miles south-west of Nukuheva, the island upon which Mr. Herman Melville, the author of “Typee,” passed four months among the islanders.
[5] The Masorca was a club of three hundred men, organized by Rosas to cut the throats of his political foes and defenseless citizens, who would not succumb to his tyrannical sway.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CROSSING THE ANDES.
While the fig, the olive, and the orange trees were clothed in green, and vast herds of cattle from the great pampas were arriving, to be fattened in the clover-fields, the mountains still remained covered with snow, and impassable, save to the trained courier. Still I had seen all that rendered San Juan attractive, and a longing to return to my own country came so strongly upon me, that I determined to risk a passage to Chili at the earliest possible moment.
It was only when my intentions became known that I was made aware of the numbers and kindly feelings of my San Juan friends; for so many were interested in my welfare, and warned me so earnestly of the danger of the journey, and attempted to receive from me the promise that I would remain with them, at least until the snow had disappeared, that I could not but feel I had indeed fallen in with some of the truly hospitable and generous peoples that here and there are scattered over the world, making it, as do the oases in the desert, not all a dreariness.
I learned from these friends that the northern passes that led to Copiapo and Coquimbo were buried in the snow, and that, on the first-named road, a party of eight arrieros, while lately attempting to cross into Chili, had been frozen to death. The Coquimbo road was said to be equally as bad, for there eleven experienced guides had just fallen victims to a fierce snow storm in the valleys of the Andes. The two southern passes of Uspallata and Portillo were more elevated than the two northern ones, but were much shorter. The Portillo could not be passed by man. The mail road of Uspallata was the one fixed upon by me as the most practicable; and though the courier reported the loss of two young Chilenos, who probably had been swept away by the mountain torrent, I believed that, having been reared in a New England climate, whose winters are rigorous, I could bear the hardships of the cold better than the native guides themselves.
While I was contemplating an early start, an old man called, and requested permission to give an account of his sufferings, he having attempted the passage of the Cordilleras a few days before.
“We started,” he said, “with every prospect of success. The weather had been settled for several days, and with our mules we left the outer sierra, and penetrated far into the mountains. But good fortune did not remain the same, for suddenly a great temporal came flying from the south, and enveloped us for many hours in its terrible folds. The snow fell in clouds, and I, of all my party, escaped; my companions are frozen in the drifts, and there they will remain until the melting of the snow. Look at my hands; all of the fingers were frozen, and also my cheeks and nose. No, señor. Norte Americano, no pasa vd. la Cordillera!”
The poor old guide was in a pitiful condition; but, undoubtedly, had he been twenty years younger, he would have fared better. I confess that this news, with the entreaties of my friends, forced me to postpone crossing the mountains until a later date. I consented to remain, and for several weeks tried to content myself; but when four weeks had passed, I became resolved, and packing my notes, and a few specimens of natural history, in my canvas bag, I announced to my friends my firm determination of leaving the country.
Don Guillermo, on seeing that I was in earnest, ordered his peon to lasso my horse, and bring him to the corral, and made every preparation for my comfort in the journey that his inventive skill could suggest.
On Saturday, November 10 (the last spring month of that latitude), I bade adieu to the family, and started on the road to the city. Don Guillermo accompanied me to the river, that was swollen by the floods from the valleys of the Andes, and went roaring along its course with a fearful rapidity. At the banks of the torrent my friend bade me farewell, charging me to be faithful to the promise I had made him, namely, that I would endeavor to find out the residence of his surviving relations, whom he had left sixteen years before in North America, during which time he had not heard one word of their welfare or whereabouts. I promised again, and said farewell, and left him; it was necessary for me to cross the river, and I at once spurred my horse into the torrent, and began to ford; fortunately, the animal was sure-footed and strong, and we landed safely on the opposite shore.
I passed most of the next day at a friend’s house, within the limits of the town, and at dusk rode out to the post-house, and presented a letter of introduction to the proprietor, a garrulous old don, whose good entertainment for man and beast had made his house a favorite resort for travellers. The don read my letter, and declared that I should remain with him for some time, as it was impossible to cross to Chili. The next day, Don Carlos Leon Rodriquez, minister to the province of San Luis, attended by a priest, both of whom were on their way to the town, stopped at the posta, and corroborated the statement of the guardo. The former gentleman offered to present me with letters to his friends in Mendoza, if I preferred going to that town, and remaining until the passage across the mountains was sure and free from all difficulties. Considering that we had never met before, the kind proposal proved still further to me the hospitable feelings that the educated people of the Argentine Republic bear towards North Americans.
I had intended to continue my journey as a pedestrian across the Andes, but it seemed necessary to take with me some beast to serve as pack-animal, to carry my small collection of specimens, blankets, &c., to the port of Valparaiso, As it might become necessary to abandon the animal along the road, I selected a specimen of horse-flesh which would have afforded a student of anatomy easy facilities for osseous examinations, without removing the hide.
During the forenoon I bade adios to my new acquaintances, and with one end of my lasso in my hand, and the other fastened to the bridle of my horse, I led the way, on foot, happy in feeling that I had fairly commenced the last stage of my journey towards the Pacific.
Taking a south-westerly course across the desert, I travelled until three o’clock over the same dreary waste, when a deep fissure was observed in the sierra, which I entered, and soon found myself within the Flecha. Before passing this peculiar gap, a word or two regarding it may prove interesting. For many leagues along its course the sierra presents an impassable barrier to man or beast. The Flecha is a narrow passage from the desert on the east to the valley on the western side. The sides of the Flecha are of solid rock, rising perpendicularly to a great height.
The pass exhibits the action of water upon its sides, for the rock has been worn smooth in past ages, and the bed of the passage is covered with pebbles. Undoubtedly, a long time since, a strong body of water found its way through this place, and may have submerged the plain below; but whether this gap was the bed of a natural stream, or mere vent, through which the melting snow escaped during the spring months, cannot now be well determined. The effect that the lofty sides of the Flecha have upon independent objects is very curious. My horse seemed to dwindle to the size of a Shetland pony when I removed a few yards from him, and two muleteers, who passed through at the same time, looked like pygmies.
Half way up the precipice were holes, said to have been cut by the ancient discoverers of the country, to assist in searching for precious metals, but, proving unprofitable, had been abandoned. I continued along the valley until dusk, when the barking of dogs, and occasional glimpses of a light, guided me to one side of the valley, where a few huts constitute the hamlet of El Durazno. These huts were inhabited by muleteers, who suffered greatly from poverty. Here and there the rough soil had been levelled, so as to be susceptible of irrigation, and a few patches of clover gave a cheering aspect, when contrasted with the barren mountains behind the hamlet. An old woman invited me to enter her house, and pass the night, as it was damp outside, and the heavy clouds that hovered about us looked as if about to descend.
The hut was built of sticks and mud, and adjoining it was the kitchen.
Having turned my horse adrift, I entered, and, as I reclined upon a skin couch, commenced inquiring of the hostess relative to the snow on the main Cordillera. I was unable, however, to obtain any information from that source. Our party was soon increased by the entry of several rude-looking fellows, armed with long knives. The place was so small that we reclined, packed one against the other, men, women, and children, promiscuously. The old woman commenced cooking an asado upon the fire; it had hardly begun to splutter and crackle, when the dog that had sat beside the fire caught up the meat in his mouth, and commenced masticating it with great gusto. The woman, screaming out, “O, sus Ave Maria!” made a clutch at the dog, but was unsuccessful in recovering the prize. One of the men caught the animal by the throat, and choked him until the meat was drawn from his mouth, when, with a hasty “Ha, perro!” it was returned to the fire, and cooked for the lookers-on. More men and dogs came in, and, thinking it best to retreat while it remained in my power to do so, I requested my hostess to allow me to retire. Taking a saucer of fat, in which a bit of rag was burning, she led the way into the other shanty, and assisted in spreading my saddle cloths upon a rough sofa, built of boards, which had been placed in the middle of the floor to prevent the approach of the binchucas that were secreted in the crevices in the walls.
These uncomfortable disturbers of night dreams are as large as the common May beetle, and are armed with a bill resembling that of a mosquito, which is used with great effect upon the victim. Before fixing upon a person, the body of the binchuca is thin and flat; but after his feast is over, he is bloated and disgusting to look upon. As this tormentor is many times larger than the mosquito, so does the irritability caused by its leeching process exceed in like proportion that of the other pest.
When about to withdraw from the room, the woman bade me sleep with the utmost confidence, and not fear any harm. But as the conversation of the men in the kitchen had been about the plata that might be in my possession, I was very particular to impress her with the idea that North Americans feared nothing; and at the same time I drew a long knife from under my poncho, and placed it beneath the sheep skin that was to serve for my bed. When she withdrew, I lay down; but as I had a thought of the binchucas before I prepared for sleep, I carefully rolled myself in my blankets, Indian fashion, and defied them to do their worst.
Hardly had I begun to doze, when a sensation of something disagreeable, touching me, aroused me to the fact that the vile pests were coming from every quarter of the hovel. I could hear them crawling up the sides of the room and across the ceiling, when with their usual degree of impudence, one after another dropped plump upon my body. But my swathing clothes served as an armor, and they could not enter in to the feast. All the while they clung with considerable tenacity to the coarse blankets, trying to effect an entrance, but they had met their conqueror; for, after waiting until the swarming was over, and the army had fairly camped upon me, I suddenly and carefully rolled over and over upon the sofa, until the life was forced out of nearly all of them, when, being satisfied that a great victory had been achieved, I dropped into a deep slumber.
When morning came, and I passed out of the hut, I found that the valley was filled with mist, and I deferred setting out until the thick clouds had scattered. About nine o’clock a breeze sprang up, which soon cleared the valley of mists, and I resumed my journey. Soon after my leaving El Durazno, the valley expanded into a plain of a desert character. The country between the mountains again became undulating and broken; at three leagues from the last hamlet, El Sequion, a collection of two or three mud houses and several ranchos, appeared.
From one of these ranchos a China (half Indian) woman came out, and questioned me as to my motives for travelling alone, on foot, in the desolate valley. When I spoke of crossing the Cordillera, the good creature lifted both her hands, and exclaimed in colloquial Spanish, “Por Dios, don’t go any farther. A man from Chili stopped here the other day—his mouth and cheeks were like a soft peach with the frost!” Another woman joined us, and declared that I was too young to be so far from home, and questioned me to the effect “if my mother knew that I was out.” In their inquiries, however, they exhibited a kindness that to me was very gratifying, and I felt that in case of accident upon the road, I had at least two friends near at hand.
Beyond the Sequion, the valley grew narrower, and in places was so filled with stones and detritus as to lame the old horse. The road now became a mere defile, the steep sides of the sierras towering above it to a great height, their bareness being sometimes relieved by dwarf cacti, that grew in crevices where soil had lodged; these plants were in flower, some white, others of a yellow hue.
The clouds again enveloped the mountains, and while I was groping along over the broken rock, the tinkling of a mule’s bell broke the stillness, and a moment later I came upon a circle of pack-saddles and mules’ cargoes, lying upon the ground. A deep voice called out, “Come here, friend;” and I was soon acquainted with the capataz and muleteers of Don Fernando de Oro, a rich San Juan merchant, who had sent his troop to Uspallata to await an opportunity to cross to Chili, in advance of the troops of the other merchants. The don was daily expected by the capataz, who had been three or four days on the road already. The capataz urged me to remain with the troop until the next morning, which invitation I accepted, and tying my horse to some resinous bushes, I sat down to a sumptuous meal of boiled corn, dried beef, and pepper, while my jaded animal satisfied himself in cropping the tops of the bushes, and a kind of stunted weed that grew among the rocks. Towards dusk it rained, but my heavy blanket kept me dry. The guides huddled around the dying embers, vainly endeavoring to warm their benumbed limbs; around us the hills seemed to be shaken by the heavy thunders that reverberated along the mountain tops.
Fearing that my horse would give out, as he had lived mostly upon bushes and coarse herbage since leaving San Juan, I arose early, and, guided by the bright starlight, caught my animal, and led him up the valley. A spur of the sierra blocked up the valley, and this steep ascent had to be climbed by the poor animal, he halting every few steps to draw breath. Having reached the summit, he heaved a deep sigh, as if conscious of having finished a hard task.
A magnificent view rewarded me for the exertion of making the ascent. The rocky grandeur filled me with awe, for I was surrounded by a sublime chaos—broken hills, valleys, and barren cliffs of the sierra.
A white cloud passed over the valley, shutting me out from sight of the world below; it was no easy task to follow the rocky path beyond; sometimes it led down abrupt descents into dismal valleys, then again almost to the level of the summit of the mountain range. Along this crooked path but one mule can pass at a time, and there are places where it requires but a single unsteady movement to send the loaded animal into the abyss below. For nearly a mile the sierra on the left side was formed of red freestone, and was, in many places, as regular as a castle wall. In this lonely place the least sound would catch my ear.
The sierra that I had crossed is called the Paramilla, or “bleak place;” in the warmest day a cold wind from the snow peaks of the Andes blows drearily across it. Leaving the broken mass of rock, the path descended abruptly into a little valley, which contained a stone hut, and a corral for goats. This desolate spot was enlivened by the presence of one of the prettiest señoras that I ever met. She informed me that her husband, who was then hunting guanacos, supported himself principally by keeping goats that browsed upon the sides of the mountains. When he wished to butcher any of the guanacos, he, with the assistance of a pack of trained curs, drove them into natural rock-walled corrals among the mountains, where, hemmed in, the animals were easily despatched with the boliadores and knife.
Leaving the valley, I ascended to a high plain that seemed to be on a level with the summits of the neighboring range of the Cordilleras, and as the sun was about sinking below the western horizon, I perceived that this was to be my camping-place for the night. Laying the saddle upon the ground for a pillow, and carefully spreading the blankets, I lay down to rest, having first tied my horse to a stunted bush, which he vainly tried to eat.
I dropped into a restless slumber; but an hour later, a wild, desolate cry caused me to spring from my blankets, and prepare for defence. I had been told many stories of the cruelty of the puma, or American lion, and at this moment feared that one of these animals was on the plain. It was along this part of the road that guides had seen their tracks, and hunters had run them down with dogs a few miles from the plain upon which I had encamped.
Another wild cry, and the animal passed along the plain without heeding either my horse or me, and, glad to be left in peace, I sank into a sound sleep, that continued unbroken until the rising sun gilded the snowy crests of the lofty Cordillera.
It was a beautiful scene that lay before me. Across the plain floated white clouds of mist, like airy spirits, while before me lay a narrow valley, through which the road led to Uspallata. Upon one side of the plain rose several low hills, green with coarse herbage, upon which a small herd of llamas were feeding, as if unconscious of the presence of man.
I soon was ready to start; but my old horse seemed incapable of moving. I rubbed his stiff limbs until I had worked myself into a perspiration; he was so far recovered as to be able to move slowly. I seized the lasso, and led him on as before.
The road descended to the ravine just referred to, and for an hour or so my journey led through the surrounding cliffs; but at length we again emerged upon a flat plain, covered with low bushes, and over this I led the way until afternoon, when a green spot at the foot of a high range of mountains, and the hut of a farmer, caught my eye, and soon after I drew up before the last house in the Argentine Republic—the Guarde of Uspallata.
Before I could fairly disencumber my horse of his burden, he bolted for the clover-field behind the house, and commenced devouring the fodder with an avidity that told too well of his famished condition.
The person in charge of the house informed me that the passing was very difficult, and advised me to remain a few days; but, knowing too well that delays are dangerous, I made preparations for leaving on the next day. I was to leave the horse in the clover-pasture, and strap my blankets and other articles to my back, and in this way cross the main range of the Andes. From this I had no alternative; and so, after arranging everything for an early start, I lay down under the porch to take a siesta.
I was soon awakened by the tinkling of a mule-bell, and upon rising saw three persons before the guarde, accompanied by several mules. Two of these men were dressed in the gaucho fashion, but the other had the garb and manners of a merchant, which he proved to be; for, as I approached him, he offered me his hand, and, with a polite “para servir vd.,” introduced himself as Don Fernando de Oro, a merchant of San Juan. He informed me that the postmaster near San Juan, with whom I passed a day and two nights, had requested him to keep a sharp lookout for a young gringo that was on the road, and to take him safely under his protecting arm to the American consul in Valparaiso. I felt much flattered by this acknowledgment, and at once accepted Don Fernando as my guardian and protector.
The don remarked that his troop of mules, which I had passed two days before, would arrive on that night, and remain in the clover-field until a passage could be effected. The troop came in at a late hour.
The next day was a lovely one; and as the weather gave promise of being settled for a few days, preparations for setting out on the following morning were commenced. The mules for Don Fernando, and two guides, were selected from the troop of ninety, and two extra ones were carefully shod, to answer in case of any emergency. My friend declared that it would be unfair not to allow my horse to accompany us across the Andes, after he had been through so much privation; therefore a heavy pair of shoes were selected from the store mules’ pack, and nailed firmly to his feet. “Now,” said the don, as he viewed the lank form of the animal with no little merriment, “Art has exhausted herself upon you, and Nature alone must support you on the road to-morrow.”
Early on the following morning, Don Fernando, his two guides, and myself, with our animals, crossed the little river that ran past the guard-house, and at sunrise entered a narrow cleft in the sierra, and followed a stony path, until we came in sight of the River Mendoza, which rushed along the bed of the valley, roaring like thunder. The path grew narrower as we progressed, sometimes following the margin of the river, then ascending midway to the tops of the high sierra. It was a scene of great sublimity. The river, which was a deep mud-color, from the alluvial matter brought down from the mountain, was hemmed in by the two parallel sierras, that towered majestically to the height of several thousand feet.
In some places the path wound like a thread along the bold front of a precipice; then it descended to the water, and followed its course, until it again ascended. As we gazed above, the huge pieces of detached rock seemed ready to fall and crush us.
The melting snow had undermined the soil in some places, and slides of earth and stones had fallen, and covered up the track.
After crossing a little bridge that had been thrown over a stream which flowed into the river of the valley, we came upon several ruined huts, which the don told me once belonged to an ancient tribe of Indians that inhabited the valleys of the Andes, and subsisted principally upon the flesh of the wild llamas.
This was before the country had become independent of Spain; and though many years had passed since their construction by the Indian builders, it was interesting to note that the plaster that held the stones together, and which was nothing but a kind of clay, still remained unbroken, as if the structures had been but recently deserted. These remains of the walls of the Indian dwellings were four feet in height, and were partitioned off into small rooms.
In the corner of one of the dilapidated dwellings was a heap of stones, surmounted by a tiny cross, made of rough twigs. The guides looked serious as we passed it, and in answer to my questioning look, the don told the following story:—
“When a Chileno loves, he loves with a passion so deep and strong that honor, friends, and fortune are secondary in his estimation to her who has thrown around him the network of her affections. A youth not long since came from Chili to visit a relative on the Argentine side of the Cordillera. His stay was protracted, for he had met with a beautiful maiden, far lovelier than those of his native country; and when he left, it was only to receive the permission of his friends to return again, and claim her as his own.
“He crossed these mountains to Chili; but the fierce temporales from the south had commenced before he reached the main range on his return, where the risk is greater in effecting a passage at such a season than on any other part of the road.
“He had with him experienced guides, and a favorite mule carried his wedding garments and the presents that he intended to offer his future bride. On the Cumbre pass, at an elevation of twelve thousand feet, a temporal struck the party, and one by one the mules became buried in the snow.
“The boy worked like a hero (I was with the company), and during the storm his orders were obeyed by the muleteers with alacrity, for they loved him well.
“But all exertions proved unsuccessful; not an animal escaped; and the weary party descended the Cumbre into the valley, worn out with their tremendous labors. The boy never lived to leave the valley; there he lies,”—pointing to the cross,—“buried in his chosen spot. The guides piled stones upon his body, to keep the condors from devouring it. See! there is one now watching the grave.”
I looked to the place designated, and saw upon the opposite cliff a huge dark-colored bird, that stood sentinel-like, a solemn watcher above the unfortunate Chileno’s grave.
Not far beyond, the path again troubled us by its extreme narrowness, and a dizziness came over me as I gazed far below into the mountain torrent.
Along this part of the road were piles of the bones of animals that had died upon the road during the past years. Some perished from hunger, and many fell over the precipices, lodging among the rocks, where, after long and painful struggles, they died. It seemed, truly, like going through the Valley of Death, so numerous were the carcasses and bones of cattle in this part of the valley.
Condors were occasionally seen upon the cliffs, sometimes circling high in the heavens. I had often observed these birds with interest when they came in numbers from the Andes, to feed upon carrion around Causete.
The condor is, I believe, the largest of the carrion-feeders; it has a fleshy crest upon the head, with wattle-like appendages beneath the beak; the nostrils extend through the cere, the head and neck are bare of feathers, and the skin of the neck lies in folds; around its base, a little above the shoulders, is a frill of white, downy feathers encircling it. Its flight is graceful,and at times very lofty. The breeding-places of the condors are in hollows of the cliffs, hundreds of feet from their bases; the eggs are laid upon the bare rock.
I have seen these birds in pairs; but in winter months they generally congregate in greater numbers.
While in the air, the condor soars in graceful circles, moving its wings but little: they feed upon carrion, but will kill weak and wounded animals, somewhat resembling the caracara in this respect.
The range of the condor extends along the Andes, from the Straits of Magellan to 8° north latitude. I have seen specimens kept as pets in the gardens of native gentlemen.
At the Cueste de la Catedral a grand sight awaited us. From the brink of the river there arose a precipice of dark-colored stone, that frowned upon the narrow path which passed along its front. A stream of water fell over the brink of the ledge, and wherever the water struck the rough projections, it was converted into spray, which fell in turn upon other points of the rock, giving to the scene a fairy-like appearance.
Just at dusk we arrived at a point where the valley turned in a new direction, and was particularly distinguished for the desolate appearance of the surrounding rocks, which is, however, somewhat relieved by a bridge of English model, built by the Mendoza government. Across this we hurried, and stood upon La Punta de las Vacas, or Cow Point, where a desolate stone hut had been occupied years before by cow-herds, smugglers, and now sometimes served to shelter the benighted traveller. On the opposite bank of the torrent stood the first casucha, or post hut, built of bricks and plaster. It was very small, and was modelled upon a cheap plan, being without doors, sashes, windows,—a large square hole answering for the first and last conveniences.
During the Spanish reign, those snow huts were liberally supplied with provisions, wines, wood, and bedding; but republican rulers are satisfied to let the four men who compose the mail party carry their own blankets, fuel, and food upon their backs—a miserable rule, that causes much suffering among the post-men, who are often shut up for many days at a time in a cheerless hut, while the snow storms are raging around them.
A league beyond the casucha, the guides led the way into a narrow valley, where the animals were turned loose, to graze upon whatever they might find. The don spread a raw hide upon the ground, upon which we laid our blankets, and consigned ourselves to the embraces of the drowsy god.
The long walk had thoroughly jaded me, and it needed no narcotic to insure a sound sleep for the following seven hours.
CHAPTER XIX.
CROSSING THE ANDES—CONTINUED.
When the sun’s rays of the next morning had penetrated the valley, we were more than a league from our camping-ground, and had passed the second casucha, or snow hut, of the winter courier. This little domicile was built after the model of its distant neighbor at La Punta de las Vacas, and was two leagues farther up the valley. While we were trudging along, the metallic-sounding whinny of llamas sounded from the sierra, and, looking up, we counted no less than thirty of these graceful creatures gazing curiously upon us. The herd consisted of males, females, and young, the latter of the size of the common goat. As travellers rarely cross the mountains at this season of the year, the llamas instinctively inhabit the valley, where they are free from danger, and find a better living than the rocky cliffs afford.
Again the valley was blocked up by a spur of the sierra, called the Paramilla, the second one crossed since leaving the hamlet of El Durazno. The sides were steep, and Don Fernando cautioned me against walking, observing that riding kept the puna (a peculiar effect produced by inhaling rarefied air) at a distance. The summit of the Paramilla was buried in a deep drift of snow, through which we forced our animals at considerable risk; for their exertions to keep a footing almost overtasked their strength. Sometimes falling into concealed holes, they floundered in the great drift until our own services were necessary to rescue them from injury. Finally, a passage was effected, and we wound down the west side to the banks of the torrent in the vicinity of the third snow hut. The color of the water had changed from a muddy hue to dark red, and it seemed to rush along more impetuously than at the entrance of the valley. The many little streams that fell over the precipices along the road were colorless; therefore I judged that either the bed of the torrent, or its source, gave to the water its peculiar color; and it may be of interest to state in this place, that, as far as I could learn, all the rivers that descend into the Argentine Republic, on the east side of the Andes, are of a deep mud color, holding in suspension alluvial mud; while upon the Chili, or west side of the Andes, the waters are clear and colorless.
The coolness of the morning soon gave way to the heat of the sun, and it grew warmer as its rays were, reflected upon the snowy sides of the mountains. The sound of a human voice fell upon our ears strangely in this desolate place, as a party of men came into view far up the valley. We soon met, and many were the inquiries made by the members of both parties. The Cordillera had actually been passed, but an hour or two before, by the courier and several persons who had placed themselves under his orders. The courier was a short, square-built man, of very dark complexion; and from the fact of his having performed many daring passages during the past years, we looked upon him with no ordinary interest. He rode on a small mule, the mail bag being slung to his neck by a leather strap, and I did not exceed in size a school-boy’s satchel. He informed us that the snow was thawing upon the summit of the main ridge, and would not be passable until the cold night air had crusted it over, when we might pass in comparative safety. But Don Fernando was not to be stopped even by the opinion of so experienced a personage as the courier, but ordered us to hurry on with all possible speed.
Soon the main range of the Andes rose before us, blocking up the valley more effectually than either of the previous Paramillas, its rounded top glistening from the reflected light of the sun. The don ordered a halt beside the river, in order to prepare for future action. The animals were allowed to drink a little water, while the don gave us all a dose of starch water and sugar, which we drank. This was a remedy for the puna, or at least to cause our stomachs to give off any gases therein contained, to cool the blood and invigorate the system. Don Fernando then bound his face in cotton handkerchiefs, and the guides and myself followed his example. This was to protect our faces from the reflected rays of the sun upon the white, shining drifts that covered the summits of the Cordillera and the neighboring sierras.
The river branched off to the northward, and was lost to view among the mountains. At the base of the Cordillera was the last snow hut of the Argentine Republic: passing it and the river, we commenced our weary ascent. Water had been flowing from the summit for several days previous to our arrival, and there was no appearance of the old path which had been washed away. As the side of this part of the range was composed of gravel and loose stones, it was difficult to obtain a firm footing, and the animals were continually slipping, which obliged us to exercise no little care and labor. The guides dismounted, but the don declared that he had no wish to court the puna by exerting himself unnecessarily; therefore he managed to keep upon his mule; but more than once the inclination of the animal’s back was such that the rider was only saved by a slide off by the attentions of one of the guides. A direct ascent could not be attempted; our only method was to wind back and forth from side to side, on the face of the Cordillera, thus making the ascent very gradual.
When we were about two thirds of the way up, our anticipated trouble commenced. The baggage mule lost her footing, and rolled over and over down the side of the mountain. Don Fernando shrieked out a hasty caramba, the guides a naughty c—o, while I stood aghast. But our fears were soon quieted; for the animal struck upon a projecting piece of rock, which stayed her course, without apparently injuring her.
Being the smallest of the party, I was intrusted with the lasso, with which I crawled down to the mule, and fastened it about her neck, when she was pulled upon her feet by the party above. Having been relieved of her cargo, the animal readily commenced ascending, as if nothing had troubled her, and soon she was in the path again with her load upon her back.
After many fallings and backslidings, our party stood upon the Cumbre, or summit of the Cordillera, at an elevation of twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea. When viewed from the valley below, I was disappointed as to its seeming altitude; but when standing upon the Cumbre, I fully realized the great height upon which our party had halted. The view was confined by the irregular peaks of the surrounding sierras; but a fine scene lay below us on the Chili side, of a peculiar Alpine character. We stood upon the dividing line of the Argentine Republic and Chili, and I inwardly bade farewell to the country that had been my first teacher of travellers’ hardships, and had for much suffering given me lessons of usefulness—had impressed upon my heart a truer patriotism, and a more dignified respect for our republic of the north.
As we gazed into the depth below us, a wild scene met our view. The deep valley was filled with snow to a depth of nearly one hundred feet; for as the snow tempests blow along the range of mountains, the fleecy material drifts into the narrow defiles, filling them completely, in some places, to the very tops. This is the case, particularly, farther to the south, where a winter passage is rarely, if ever, attempted. Upon the left side of the descent the first Chilian casucha rose out of the snow, differing somewhat in model from those upon the Argentine side, the roof being rounded or oven-shaped, while those on the east side are two inclined planes, like the roof of a New England cottage in the earlier times.
Until now the powerful reflected light had not affected my vision; but I at last began to feel it seriously. I had neglected to bring “goggles,” and though a thick cotton handkerchief covered my head, my skin was parched, and tears continually rolled down my face, adding to my torture, from which there was no escape. “Thank Providence that the day is so very clear,” ejaculated the don; “for if a temporal should pass over, where would we be by nightfall? Either blocked up in that cold snow hut yonder, or buried in the valley below.”
The snow had commenced thawing, and the real difficulties of crossing now commenced. The mules floundered in the drifts, often requiring our combined exertions to keep them on a sure footing. Near the casucha we came upon hard snow; but the original path lay many feet below, buried in the drift. While the party were pausing to consider the proper course to pursue, I noticed that one of the mules had been caught by Don Fernando, who waded towards the firm snow, leading the little animal by means of a lasso, which had been thrown about her neck. She was the smallest of the animals, and was called the baqueana, or guide mule, from the fact that she could follow the hidden path with great accuracy.
Curious to see her operations, I watched her closely as she walked carefully over the drift, with her nose almost touching the snow; and she really seemed to be guided by the sense of smell. The other animals followed, driven by the guides, while the don and myself harnessed ourselves with the lassos, and drew after us the hide upon which had been laid the baggage, saddles, &c.
Beyond the snow hut of the Cumbre, the descent was abrupt, and the line of the narrow path having been lost, we slid down the drifts in a most exhilarating manner. The mules came after, requiring to be well whipped by one of the guides before they would move an inch. Though the guide mule lost the narrow path, after following for some distance correctly, she became valuable to us on this part of the trail. We came to another descent, down which the other mules could not be driven; but when the little baqueana sat upon the snow, and gracefully descended without injury, the laggards followed, as one sheep follows another; all but one descended safely; she stuck fast in the drift, and it required our whole number to ascend and rescue her. We found her suffering from the puna, and in dubious spirits. Her exertions to free herself in a place where the atmosphere was so rare had almost ruined the poor beast. Blood trickled from her nose, and her breast was swollen like a bladder distended with wind.
At four o’clock Don Fernando ordered a halt upon a pile of loose rocks that protruded from the snow. Here we remained patiently waiting for the snow to crust over, as it had become too soft to allow of safe travelling. Twilight fell upon us in this wild retreat, and found the guides and the don rolled up in their ponchos, suffering from the stinging cold. As for myself, I jumped about upon our little territory until the increased circulation of the blood kept me in a warm glow. The guides fortified themselves against the cold air by drinking aguardiente; but experience had proved to me that the cold snow water in my flask would give me a firmer step, an easier respiration, and a clearer head than any brandy or aguardiente of the San Juaninos.
The moon shone as beautiful as we could have wished, lighting up the valley and its towering walls in a sublime manner. The little cascades of melting snow no longer fell over the cliffs, but froze, coating the dark fronts of the precipices with a shield of sparkling ice, and the sharp “ticking” of the frost sounded strangely, seeming to add to the weirdness of the place.
After remaining for three hours, the guides pronounced the snow sufficiently crusted over to bear us; and, pointing to a sharp angle of the valley, the oldest one desired me to lead my horse in that direction, while the rest of the party attended to the animals.
The River Aconcagua roared along the mountain’s sides, and in most places was hidden by the frozen snow. Our course lay along its borders, where many gullies crossed our trail, hidden beneath the frozen crust.
While feeling our way along, old Yellow-skin, my horse, fell through the crust into a torrent that flowed into the river, leaving me standing upon the broken edges of the hole. The guides pulled me from the chasm, and beat the old horse until he became excited to such a degree as to crawl out of his bath with a vigor that satisfied us he would live to reach the open country.
We next crossed a high spur of the mountains, and, descending a precipitous path, came upon the second snow hut of the Chilian government; and after following many windings, and experiencing much danger in crossing the river, the dry, brown earth was reached, and we looked up to the lofty mountains, that shone in the moonlight, with great satisfaction, for our labors were ended. The guides gathered a few sticks together, and succeeded in lighting a fire, by the heat of which a scrap of jerked beef was cooked; but before this had been accomplished, the don and myself, overtasked by the fatigues of our long journey, had rolled ourselves up in the hide, and were sleeping too soundly to be awakened by the peons, who undoubtedly were pleased at the result, for they had all the beef to themselves. When the reader reflects that the preceding stage of the journey had been very long and arduous, we having travelled, with the exception of three hours, from four o’clock of the morning of one day until two o’clock of the next morning, he will acknowledge that our rest was well earned.
CHAPTER XX.
FROM THE ANDES TO THE PACIFIC.
At daylight we breakfasted on dried beef and maté tea, and soon started on our journey, which was now rapidly drawing to a close. The sun was high in the heavens, although we could not for a long time see his face, for the mountains shut us in completely. We continued down the valley, passing near some fine springs of water, which, from the peculiar manner in which they burst forth from the ground, are called “Los ojos de Agua,” or Eyes of Water.
The first signs of civilization that we reached on the Chili territory was at a place called “El Guarde Viejo,” the old custom-house of the Chilian government.
This was occupied by a farmer, a new government building having been erected farther down, at the mouth of the valley. Beyond the Guarde, at intervals, little huts were seen, the inhabitants of which were garrulous and hospitable.
As we emerged from the valley, and encountered troops of mules and parties of country people, I observed the peculiar characteristics which distinguish the Chilians from the people of the country behind us. The muleteers on the eastern side of the Andes were grave in deportment, and slow in speech and movement.
The Chilians were more energetic and intelligent,—perhaps from more extended intercourse with foreigners. Yet they have the discredit of being less honest than their brethren of the pampa provinces. The men of Chili wore a short poncho, mainly covering the wearer’s hips. The Argentinos’ poncho is of the longest kind—longer than those of the people of any other South American republic. The Chilian’s lasso hangs in coils from the saddle behind the rider; the gaucho’s is carefully coiled up, and rests on the horse’s croup.
The farms now became more frequent as we travelled along; the buildings were neatly roofed with red tiles, and furnished a striking contrast, to those of Mendoza and San Juan, which were generally of canes and mud.
As night came on, we reached an irrigating canal, which conveyed water to the town of San Rosa; thrifty little farms were fed by its waters all along the road, and neatness and good order and management were everywhere discernible. The little houses were shaded by groves of fig and orange trees, and the reader can imagine our thoughts and happiness to be travelling through a country bright with blossoming fruit trees, when but a few hours before we had slept near snow-drifts.
Groups of young people were often seen seated beneath the trees, or under the verandas, singing, or playing on the guitar. Before one of the farm-houses we drew up, and, after being welcomed by one of these happy groups, we led our animals from the road, and prepared to remain for the night. An abundant supper was furnished us, and I do not remember a pleasanter night’s rest that I ever had, than that.
The next morning I went out to the pasture to bid my old horse adios. I found him cropping the rich alfalfa on the irrigated field; and as I approached him he seemed rather disinclined to any familiarity, for he had associated me with all the hardships of the journey; and now to leave a land of plenty with me was evidently not to his taste. I lost no time in assuring him that my intentions were pacific, and when I left him he gave a pleasant whisk of his tail and shake of the ears, apparently thanking me for leaving him so literally “in clover.”
My pedestrian journey was ended. I would have liked to continue on foot to the sea, which I could easily have reached in a couple of days; but my kind friend Don Fernando would not permit me to leave his troop. I must keep him company.
“You must come with me, my son,” he said. “I wish to introduce you to some very nice people. I am a Chilian by birth, and I desire that you shall form a good opinion of my countrymen.”
A mule, richly caparisoned, was furnished me by the don, and, mounting our animals, we soon rode into the town of Santa Rosa. Drawing up his mule before the entrance of a large mansion, before which paced a soldier with musket in hand, Don Fernando inquired if Don José Ynfante, the governor of the department of Santa Rosa, was at home.
The soldier replied that that gentleman was at Santiago on official business, but that his son Don Manuel was at home. While a servant went to announce our arrival, I had time to note that the national flag of Chili floated above the stately mansion, while a peep within the yard revealed beds of beautiful flowers and well-kept walks.
In a moment Don Manuel appeared, and, cordially embracing his uncle, exclaimed, “Welcome to Chili, and to Santa Rosa!” The don introduced me to the other gentleman, who greeted me warmly, uttering at the same time many expressions of good feeling for me and my countrymen. We then entered the house, and passed a most pleasant day in social intercourse, to which the agreeable and cultivated manners of the young don added no little charm. Don Manuel, as if to bring our recent hard fare more strongly to our imaginations, feasted us upon strawberries and sherbet; and the reader can form some faint idea how acceptable they were to us. The ice for the sherbet had been brought down from the Cordillera on the backs of mules.
On the following day we mounted our animals, and, bidding adios to Don Manuel, resumed our journey for the coast. Leaving Santa Rosa, we passed over an interesting country, and in the afternoon crossed a fine bridge of foreign construction, and entered the town of San Felipé,—which has a population of about twelve thousand inhabitants,—where we passed the night.
The River Aconcagua irrigates the gardens and farms in this district, and the soil is very fertile, yielding abundant crops of grain, potatoes, melons, maize, beans, walnuts, figs, peaches, tobacco, and grapes. The town is about eighty miles from Valparaiso.
Resuming our route on the next morning, and travelling all day, we entered, at dusk, the town of Quillota, which contains about ten thousand souls, and is about thirty-five miles from Valparaiso.
Here we found some large and well-cultivated farms, and the whole country was quite interesting.
On the following morning Don Fernando started in advance of our party, to prepare for our arrival at Valparaiso, this being the last day of the journey.
I remained with the people of the troop, and kept them company during the whole day. No incident occurred worthy of record here; and before the twilight had begun to fall upon the heavens, we were descending the high cuestas that overlook Valparaiso, which city lay stretched out below us on the shore of the great Pacific, its white plastered dwellings glistening like silver in the rays of the declining sun.
Winding down the stony path, we entered the city before dark, and were soon ensconced in comfortable quarters.
On the following day I presented my letters of introduction to the United States consul, George Merwin, Esq., who, after giving me a kind reception, and warm congratulations on the success of my long journey, interested himself so much in procuring me a berth in an American vessel, that before twenty-four hours had passed I was comfortably settled on board the fine ship Magellan, Captain Charles King, and I once more entered upon the routine of life before the mast. A few weeks later, and we were scudding down the western coast of Patagonia, and “going around the Horn” on our journey home.
Reader, my story is told. If you have been enabled in these pages to glean a little instruction or amusement for your leisure hours, I shall feel well rewarded; and if, when in imagination you followed me in my weary journey, you, perhaps, felt some little sympathy for the hardships I sometimes experienced, I shall never regret my pedestrian trip across the “Pampas and the Andes.”