In ascending the Visp Valley to Zermatt by the aid of the rack and pinion system, also employed on the Andine, a height of 3000 feet is gained in a distance of 28 miles. On this road 7000 feet are climbed in 35 miles, 2000 of these in the last 8 to Juncal, a rapid ascent for a traffic as distinguished from a purely mountain railway. Juncal is noteworthy, as the place where formerly the night was spent by those tourists and business men designing in the early dawn to set out on saddle animal or in mountain wagon for the summit and the other side. Farther on is a tranquil little lake, above 9000 feet, an opalescent gem, at times turquoise or sapphire, called the Lago del Inca. Now the track makes a great curve into an immense couloir, passing at the foot or along the side of cliffs or steep slopes, where, as in places lower down, rocks small and large seem ready to fall, as others have already descended. From the farther side of the great curve we soon look across at the track 1000 feet beneath. We gaze in admiration upon the splendid gloomy cliffs with tints of slate color from blue-gray to black, and on rocks with delicate hues of pink and cream, splashed with red and bronze or green; intermingled with these are patches of pure white snow. Observation cars would greatly increase the pleasure. Too soon at Caracoles, at a height of 10,486 feet, the tunnel’s portal is reached and the splendor of the majestic scene has vanished. Now for almost two miles, to be exact, 10,385 feet, the train goes on through the backbone of the continent at an elevation about the same as the tunnel’s length. Near the center, the international boundary is passed; hence, after ten minutes of darkness, coming once more to daylight, one is in the great country of Argentina on the east side of the Andes, still in a vast wilderness of gorges, rocks, and peaks of multifarious shapes and colors, diversified by immense fields of snow, with many brief visions of grandeur which one would fain tarry to enjoy. Fortunate the traveler, who, 7 or 8 miles below Las Cuevas, has at the head of a side valley at the north a glimpse of colossal Aconcagua 15 miles away, a long ridge of snow arching into two domes, with a sheer drop of 10,000 feet on its black southern wall; and farther on a sight of Tupungato, 30 miles away at the south: both mountains first climbed in 1897 by the Fitzgerald Expedition, though he unfortunately was compelled by mountain sickness to forego the satisfaction of attaining either summit himself. The first to reach the supposed apex of the Western Hemisphere, the top of Aconcagua, according to the latest measurement, 22,817 feet, was Matias Zurbriggen, the celebrated Swiss guide, who in almost every land has led English and Americans to the summits of noted mountains. Alone, January 14, 1897, he gained this height, and there erected a stone man as is the custom where possible. In April of the same year, the first ascent of Tupungato, 21,451 feet, was made, also by Zurbriggen, and the Englishman, Vines.
Puenta del Inca. The first station in Argentina is Las Cuevas: then we drop quickly to Puenta del Inca where a few moments are allowed for tea. The contrast between the green and luxuriant vegetation of the Chilian side and the barrenness of the Argentine is singularly opposite to that in Peru, where the western slopes of the Andes are mostly desert while the eastern are clothed with the richest verdure. At Puenta del Inca is a curious formation from which the place is named, a natural bridge of stratified rock, one of nature’s marvels. The stream has perforated a bank about 20 feet thick so as to form, 80 feet above the river, a fine arched bridge, at the top 150 feet long and 20 wide, and nearly 30 feet thick. The piers have been strengthened by calcareous deposits from springs which gush from the earth just at the bridge. On the left bank of the stream a path of steps partly cut in the rocks leads down to hot waters. First comes the Bath of Venus, an effective grotto of white stalactites. Next is the Champagne Spring, its foaming waters revealing a considerable pressure from below. Among other warm springs beyond is one called Mercury. On all sides gush forth these waters cold, hot, and tepid, saturated with carbonic acid gas; the Venus is 86°, the Champagne 93°, the same when the path is covered with six feet of snow. The waters are superior to the more noted Vichy in containing twice the quantity of carbonic acid, hence greater effervescence; and five times as much iron. This renders them a real treasure, a few months’ treatment causing maladies to disappear (they say) upon which the Vichy waters make no impression. The iron, salts, and gas of the waters make them efficacious in gout, rheumatism, and severe stomach affections, as well as an excellent tonic for those who believe such to be required. Sulphur, good for skin diseases, is also present. The Hotel del Inca affords comfortable accommodations (including a billiard room); all that could be expected at an altitude of 8924 feet, for a daily fee of six pesos ($2.64) with some extras.
One who is ambitious to ascend one of the lofty peaks near by, or who would merely stroll to a lesser height to gaze upon those above, or who would wander in strange valleys and on ragged slopes will here find the most favorable headquarters for his rambles, as well as cure for many ailments. While the great mountains, Aconcagua and Tupungato, no longer afford opportunity for a first ascent, there are many other peaks of various altitudes, the summits of which are yet untrodden; one, lofty Mercedario, about 22,000 feet, to the north of Aconcagua, believed by some to be second in height to that alone. Expert climbers only should attempt exploits of such magnitude, and these not without Alpine equipment and more; for to the ordinary paraphernalia of proper shoes, ropes, and ice axes must be added tents, sleeping bags, etc. The season for climbing here is not the same as in Peru and Bolivia, but during the summer of this region, December and January. Strange to say, although in the Temperate Zone, so vastly farther from the equator, these mountains have infinitely less snow upon their slopes than have Huascarán and Illampu. They are therefore much easier to climb, making Swiss guides not an imperative necessity, so far as the technical difficulties are concerned: though whether reliable companions as porters could be secured upon the ground is an extremely doubtful matter.
But on this journey by rail how much has one missed! Discomfort indeed has been avoided; but at the cost of a glorious and exciting experience. In former days, what a rush and bustle at Juncal! in the chilly hour between three and four a.m., when an army of pleasure and of business travelers hurried to secure places in the mountain wagons, or to select a gentle and sturdy animal for the seven hours’ ride. The coach drivers were reckless Jehus who madly raced for the summit and then for the lower goal, amid a caravan of freight wagons, baggage animals, and riders, the latter to their joy soon left behind. Though the roads were called good they were deep with sand, and have no such great curves as the roads over Alpine passes. Short zigzags with acute angles, a roadbed rough with ruts and stones, few walls at the corners where a slip over the edge would mean a roll of a few thousand feet, made a ride in a swaying coach behind horses going at a gallop assuredly exciting to people with any nerves. Some, once embarked and unable to escape, would turn their thoughts from danger to admiration of the scenery, reflecting perhaps that accidents were rare. The view of mighty walls, of glaciers near at hand, of distant glorious mountains; the fine pure air ever colder, though alas! ever thinner, was a blissful experience for those who could enjoy it; but not for the faint-hearted either literally or figuratively. Here and there one would grow faint, become unconscious, perhaps even pitch out of the wagon: oftener a stalwart man than a frail woman. On they would go, their friends uncertain whether a temporary weakness or a serious, possibly fatal affection was attacking the victim.
At last the cumbre or highest point was reached, 12,796 feet above the sea; not a sharp ridge, but a nearly level stretch a quarter of a mile across among the massive hills and mountains: a tremendous range of gloomy, desolate, forbidding peaks, or a splendid rampart of majestic, glorious mountains, according to the soul and mood of the spectator. Here in the midst of this great solitude is the most impressive monument, men say, in all the world, the Christ of the Andes, a bronze figure of Christ of heroic size, 26 feet, one hand outstretched in blessing, the other supporting a still higher cross. The circumstance of its erection, the sentiment involved, as well as the unique position of the monument, make it the most remarkable in the world’s history.
Chile and Argentina in 1900 were on the verge of war over a boundary dispute involving 80,000 square miles of territory in the Patagonian country. Immense sums expended for warships and other preparations were the cause of abnormally high taxes, the products of which were needed rather for the development of physical resources and of education. The British Ministers employed their good offices and two bishops, one of each country, traveled among their towns and villages preaching the cause of Peace and Arbitration. Bishop Benavente in Buenos Aires, on Easter Sunday 1900, first suggested the erecting of a statue of Christ upon the boundary, to prevent if possible any recurrence of strife. A treaty was made, the controversy was submitted to the arbitration of the British Monarch; King Edward entrusted the case to jurists and geographers whose decision, dividing the disputed territory, was cheerfully accepted. In June 1903, Chile and Argentina, pleased with the outcome of this matter, made a general arbitration treaty, the first ever concluded among nations; a considerable disarmament followed releasing much money for needed internal improvements, and good feeling and confidence have replaced bitterness and jealousy.
In 1901 the women of Buenos Aires, on the initiative of Señora de Costa, President of the Christian Mothers’ Association of that city, acting upon the suggestion of Bishop Benavente, undertook to secure funds for a statue. A young Argentine sculptor, Mateo Alonso, created the design; the statue was cast from old Argentine cannon. In May 1903, the Chilian representatives came by sea to Buenos Aires for the ratification of the treaties, when the statue of Christ was inspected and Señora de Costa pleaded that it should be placed on the highest practicable point on the boundary of the two countries. In February, 1904, the final steps were taken. The statue was carried by rail to Mendoza, and on gun carriages up the mountain side, soldiers and sailors in dangerous spots taking the ropes from the mules. On the 13th of March, 1904, the dedication ceremonies took place in the presence of hundreds who from both sides had come up the night before and here encamped to witness this extraordinary spectacle. The Argentines stood on the soil of Chile, the Chilians on that of Argentina. The booming of guns, the sound of music re-echoed through the mountains. When all was ready, the monument unveiled, there was a moment of solemn silence, followed by the dedication of the statue to the whole world, as a lesson of peace and good will.
The monument consists of an octagonal granite column 22 feet high upon which is a hemisphere of granite with a partial sketch of the world’s outlines. On this stands the bronze Christ 26 feet high, the cross extending five feet above. Two bronze tablets on the granite base, the gift of the Workingmen’s and Workingwomen’s Unions of Buenos Aires, bear inscriptions in Spanish, on one side statistics and dates, on the other—
“Sooner shall these mountains crumble into dust than Argentines and Chilians break the peace to which they have pledged themselves at the feet of Christ the Redeemer.”
Until the opening of the railroad in May 1910, this great statue was annually passed by thousands who paused here for a moment in the midst of their dizzy ride to rest and to gaze upon the scene. Now it stands ever lonely between heaven and earth, the silence no more broken by the raucous shouts of swearing coachmen and muleteers, or by the crude jests of a boisterous throng; to the few who now venture along that solitary way, a solemn spectacle.