At the back of the world

by George Pugh; Jennie Pugh

The Oroya Railway is the greatest engineering feat in the world. It runs from Callao on the Pacific to the goldfields of Cerro de Pasco. From Callao it ascends the narrow valley of the Rimac, rising nearly five thousand feet in the first fifty-six miles. From thence it goes through the intricate gorges of the Sierras until it tunnels the Andes at an altitude of fifteen thousand six hundred and fifty-five feet. This, I believe, is the highest point in the world where a piston rod is moved by steam, and this elevation is reached in eighty-five miles. The contractor was Henry Meiggs, of California, the concession was granted to him by the Peruvian Government in the days of Peru’s prosperity. To serve what purpose the Oroya Railway was built it is hard to understand, passing, as it does, through a mountain district with very little commerce and no population but a few scattered Indian villages. I do not think the line has ever paid one penny of dividend to the shareholders, and apparently was only constructed to benefit the parties concerned. To begin with, a far larger sum than the construction of the line would actually require was demanded from the public. English shareholders contributed largely, and the surplus balance was divided between Mr. Henry Meiggs, the government of that day, and any opposing parties.

There are two remarkable things about this railway. It is the highest in the world; it is the greatest of engineering triumphs, and there are not a few in the world, and it cost five million pounds, the contractor getting forty thousand pounds per mile for the construction of the same. To describe the marvellous feats and freaks of the Oroya Railway is impossible. It is the triumph of the engineer over every obstacle employed by nature to daunt him. A mountain is no barrier, they tunnel clean through it, a valley is made little of—a bridge is thrown across it—a raging, rushing torrent is no hindrance—they span it. It is the only place in the world where you can ride one hundred and seven miles, at any speed you like, without any means of propulsion; you can ride on a trolley from the summit of the Oroya Railway, Monte Meiggs, as it is called, fifteen thousand eight hundred feet above the level of the sea, right down to the water’s edge of the Pacific Ocean at Callao, with nothing to drive you but the trolley’s own momentum, over bridges, on the edge of precipices two thousand feet deep, around curves that make your hair stand on end—you start from the region of the eternal snows and finish among the humming birds and palms. Such is the Oroya.

The following morning at six o’clock I reported myself to the traffic manager at Monserrat. I had supplied myself with a kit consisting of two brown blankets, some spare underclothing, one extra suit, an extra pair of boots, two good Chilian knives, a Colt’s revolver and a box of one hundred cartridges, and I was ready for anything that might come along.

I was ordered to join the gang then about ready to start. There were twenty of us in the gang, engineers, foremen, four carpenters, five blacksmiths, six labourers, and four sailor riggers. A small engine named the “Favorita” with one compartment and three trucks was ready to take us up, one truck containing all the breakdown gang’s tools, the second their kits and several coils of rope, and the third containing stores for the bridge builders up the line.

We had only got a few miles outside Lima and were running alongside the Rimac, when, in crossing a culvert, the superintendent noticed something wrong, he stopped the engine to examine it, and found two large iron bolts in one of the crossbeams were broken. The repairing gang were soon engaged making good the damage, and in a little more than an hour we were ready to continue our journey.

We were now travelling over a level patch of ground, dry and stony, with little herbage or green, for in this strange and interesting country it is in the higher latitudes, and within reach of the rainfall from the clouds that, it becomes greener with every ascending valley.

We noticed overhead a large flock of turkey buzzards—a species of vulture that feed on carrion, they are ugly, and bald-headed, with a curved beak, their plumage being of a dirty dull brown. They were hovering about in a very peculiar manner, ascending and descending, spreading out over the field or paddock right abreast of us, and then gathering together again. Our foreman told us to watch them well, for it was a sight not often seen, and ten to one we should never see the like again. In the field over which the buzzards were hovering, there were two young horses and a mule. They seemed to scent danger, for they were rushing about like mad things, neighing, snorting and kicking, terrified at something we could not understand, but we were not kept long in suspense or doubt. The animals gathered in one corner of the field as if for mutual protection, with their heads in a corner and their tails towards us, stamping their feet all the time as though in great fear, and making a peculiar neighing noise. The buzzards now began to draw together, then, hovering about fifty feet above the animals, they made the most horrible squawking noise, and about a dozen of them dropped to the ground about thirty feet from the horses. If the animals attempted to leave the corner, the birds on the ground would hop about and flap their great ugly wings to drive them back, until the poor things were almost paralysed with fear. After keeping the horses in the corner for fully ten minutes, the buzzards overhead drew near, and those on the ground gave a peculiar screech, then, like a flash of lightning, down swooped a number of them and alighted on the heads and necks of the terrified animals, and for a few minutes we could not distinguish the beasts from the buzzards, there was nothing but feathers to be seen. It was a horrible sight.

Then the buzzards arose in the air, but not all of them—there were a number left crushed and dead on the ground. The animals broke away from the corner, screaming with pain, and raced at full speed across the field with heads hanging down. The mule came straight towards us, and the stone wall that bounded the field. He never raised his head, or checked his speed, we all thought he would jump the wall, but not so, he struck the wall with his head and broke his neck. Several of us ran to it, and to our horror we found that the poor beast’s eyes had been picked out by the buzzards. We turned to look at the horses, and saw them both drop from pain and exhaustion. Then began a scene I shall never forget. With screeching and squawking, the whole flock swooped down, and commenced their horrible work, and in half an hour there was nothing in that field but buzzards and bones.

We continued our journey up the line, stopping at intervals to examine the bridges and the culverts and small streams. The first ten miles we went through fairly level country, then we began to ascend through the valley of the Rimac full of the bright green reed of the sugar cane. Strange though it may seem, and notwithstanding the great height to which the railway is carried, it is always more or less in this valley until the summit is reached. Our first stopping place is Estacion de Chosica, two thousand eight hundred feet above the level of the sea, having passed on our way a little place rejoicing in the quaint name of Sauce Redondo, surrounded by willow trees. Here there are a few navvies’ huts, these like many of the humble dwellings of the country are built of reeds and mud, with flat-topped roofs. The ground here was bare and rocky and sun-scorched, not a scrap of vegetation anywhere, but highly mineralized.

After leaving Chosica, the railway begins to climb the mountain in real earnest, and soon we saw signs of vegetation, beginning with a few stunted willows and pepper trees, which increased in size and number as we rose higher up the hills. As we were steaming up the track the foreman ordered me to examine and overhaul a number of tackle blocks, chain slings and rope slings I should be using when we got to my destination, which I was told was the Verrugas Bridge, then in the course of construction.