Drawn up by the side of the pier was a picturesque-looking market-boat, full of many sorts of vegetables, and little piles of sea-eggs, with their spines removed, and neatly tied up with rushes in parcels of three. The people seemed to enjoy them raw, in which state they are considered to be most nutritious; and when roasted in their shells, or made into omelettes, they are a favourite article of food with all classes. Coronel is a great coaling station, and the bay, which is surrounded by tall chimneys, shafts, and piers, connected with the mines, was full of steamers and colliers.
Our road now ran for some time through undulating pasture-land, in which were many large trees, the scene resembling a vast park. Masses of scarlet verbena, yellow calceolaria, and white heath, grew on all sides, while the numerous myrtle, mimosa, and other bushes, were entwined with orange-coloured nasturtiums, and a little scarlet tropæolum, with a blue edge, whose name I forget. Beneath the trees the ground was thickly carpeted with adiantum fern. The road over which we travelled was of the worst description, and our luncheon was eaten with no small difficulty, but with a considerable amount of merriment. Once, when we jolted into an unusually big hole, the whole of our provisions, basket and all, made a sudden plunge towards one side of the coach, and very nearly escaped us altogether.
Half-way between Coronel and Concepcion, we met the return stage-coach, crowded with passengers, and looking as if it had just come out of the South Kensington Museum or Madame Tussaud's, or like the pictures of a coach of Queen Elizabeth's time. It was a long low vehicle, with unglazed windows all round it, painted bright scarlet decorated with brilliant devices on every panel, and suspended, like our own, by means of innumerable leather straps, from huge C springs. The seats on either side held three passengers, and there was a stool in the middle, like the one in the Lord Mayor's coach, on which four people sat, back to bask.
Soon after we drew up to rest the horses at a little posada, kept by two Germans, called 'Half-way House,' and seven miles more brought us to a rich and well-cultivated farm belonging to Mr. Hermann, where we stopped to change horses.
It was six o'clock in the evening when we reached the Bio-Bio, a wide shallow river, at the entrance of the town of Concepcion; it had to be crossed in a ferry-boat, carriage and all, and as it was after hours, we had some difficulty in finding any one to take us over. At last, in consideration of a little extra pay, six men consented to undertake the job, and having set a square-sail, to keep us from being carried down the river by the current, they punted us over with long poles. Sometimes there was nine feet of water beneath us, but oftener not more than four or five. The boat could not get close to the opposite shore, and it was a great business to get the carriage out and the horses harnessed, in some eighteen inches of water. First the carriage stuck in the sand, and then the horses refused to move, but after a great deal of splashing, and an immense display of energy in the way of pulling, jerking, shrieking, shouting—and, I am afraid, swearing—we reached the bank, emerged from the water, struggled through some boggy ground, and were taken at full gallop through the streets of the town, until we reached the Hotel Comercio, where we found comfortable rooms and a nice little dinner awaiting us.
This was all very well, as far as it went, but when we came to inquire about our onward route we were disappointed to learn that the line to Angol was closed, owing to the breaking down of a bridge, and would remain so until next month, and that, with the exception of a contractor's train, which runs only once a week, there was nothing by which we could travel. 'To-morrow is Friday,' added Monsieur Letellier, 'and that is so near Monday, what can Madame do better than wait here till then?' By way of consolation, he informed us that there were no Indians now at Angol, as the Araucanian [6] Indians had recently all been driven further back from the frontier by the Chilenos, but that, if we were still bent on trying to get there, we could go by boat as far as Nacimiento, where we might, with some difficulty, procure a carriage. The river just now, however, is so low, that the boat frequently gets aground, and remains for two or three days; therefore, taking everything into consideration, we have decided to abandon this part of our programme, for otherwise we shall not reach Santiago in time. In any case, the journey will be a much longer one than we expected.
[6] I have lately received a letter from a friend in Paris, who says: 'Strange to tell, it is only a few days ago that poor Orélie Antoine I., ex-King of Araucania, died at Bordeaux, in a hospital. He reigned for some years, and then made war upon Chili, which gave him a warm reception; even captured his Majesty and sent him back to his native land. I met him here a few years ago, surrounded by a small court, which treated him with great deference. I found him a dignified, intelligent sovereign. He attempted to return to his kingdom, but was captured on the high seas by a Brazilian cruiser, and sent back to France to die a miserable death.
Friday, October 20th.—We went out for a short stroll round the Plaza before breakfast, which meal was scarcely over when Mr. Mackay arrived in a carriage, and took us off to see what there was to see in the town. The Plaza was full of bright-looking flower-beds, in which were superb roses, and many English flowers, shaded by oranges, pomegranates, and deutzias. Each plot belongs to one of the principal families in the town, and great emulation is displayed as to whose little garden shall be in the best order and contain the finest collection of plants and flowers.
Concepcion has suffered, and still suffers, much from earthquakes. The existing town is only thirty-five years old. The houses are all one story high only, and the streets, or rather roads, between them are wide, in order to afford the inhabitants a chance of escape, should their dwellings be thrown down by a sudden shock. In summer everybody rushes out into the street, no matter what hour of the day or night it may be, as soon as the first symptoms of an earthquake are felt; but during the winter, when the shocks are never so severe, the alarm caused is not so great. The old town was about two miles distant from the present site, near a place now called Penco, but after being demolished in the ordinary way, an immense wave rolled up and completely destroyed all traces of its existence.
We drove out to Puchacai, Mr. Mackay's hacienda, a pretty little thatched cottage, surrounded by a verandah, in the midst of a garden, where laburnums and lilacs bloom side by side with orange-trees and pomegranates. Round the garden are groves of shady English oaks (the first we have seen since leaving home) and Norfolk Island pines, the effect of the whole scene being strangely suggestive of the idea that a charming little bit of English rural scenery has in some mysterious manner been transported to this out-of-the-way spot in Chili. The interior of the house, which is simply but tastefully furnished, and at the time of our visit was full of fresh flowers, arranged with an artistic eye to colour, bears the same indescribable homelike air. We were kindly received and regaled with luncheon, including, amongst other good things, fried pejerey (king of fish), deservedly so called.