At the back of the world

by George Pugh; Jennie Pugh

“Now Shorge (George) you see, aye you savee, why we worship de sun him god.” I returned his gaze for a moment, and then in a flash saw the old man’s meaning. He had brought me there that the sun itself and nature should give me the explanation that he, in his simplicity and ignorance, was unable to find words for. To him the sun, with its warmth, brightness and power, gave life, strength and health to all, both man and beast, birds and all creeping things, trees and flowers, to everything that had life, therefore, as the greatest power for good, he and all nature, animate and inanimate, worshipped it.

Just below where we were stationed was the romantic Infiernello bridge, or the bridge of hell, though not so lofty as the Verrugas, on which I was at that time working. This bridge, with its unprotected sides and slender construction, is, for situation, the most remarkable bridge on the line, for it simply connects two tunnels in the opposite walls of rock; here the Rimac has pierced a course for itself between two perpendicular peaks, and a trestle bridge has been built across it, the roaring waters rushing madly down hundreds of feet below. The train dashes out of a tunnel on to the bridge, and from the bridge into a tunnel in the opposite rock. How that bridge was put up there on that precipitous mountain side, with no foothold to work on, is a marvel. From this bridge can be seen several sections of the line extending thousands of feet below, while nearer the summit are large silver mines tunnelled upwards of a mile into the very heart of the mountain.

After I had been working with the gangers for a month, I was promoted to be a superintendent, or foreman over a gang of Chinese coolies, of which there were eight thousand at work on the line. These are engaged in North China, they sign an agreement to serve eight years, at eight dollars per month, with board, and at the expiration of their contract to be taken back to China. But I never heard of one going back or even wanting to go back. As a rule they are a well-built, sturdy lot of men, but, at the same time, a very treacherous lot to have anything to do with, and require constant surveillance.

They lived in large compounds provided by the railway contractors, and were allowed very little freedom. They were locked up in their compounds every night and a sentry placed over them, and they were only allowed out when at work. What these compounds were like I will not attempt to describe; they were the most horrible, filthy places I ever saw or had anything to do with.

The coolies were formed into gangs of fifties, with a European foreman in charge of them. The foremen were well armed, and did not hesitate to shoot on the first sign of insubordination.

The coolies were engaged for cutting the track in the mountain side, and all other navvy work. Very often they would be working on the edge of a precipice, without the slightest protection to save them from falling, or being knocked over, and in many places the fall was two thousand feet to the rushing waters of the Rimac below.

Many an old grudge, smouldering in the breast, was wiped out here, and no one but God and the culprit was any the wiser, and many a man, both European and coolie, went over that precipice without a moment’s notice or warning, and his murderer was never even suspected.

Dead men tell no tales, and there was no love lost between these European foremen and the Chinese slaves, for that is really what they were. It was a wild spot to be in, every man carried his life in his own hands. There were no police at the upper part of the track, and the only law recognised was “might is right,” and the man who got in the first shot was considered to be on the right side of the argument. The consequence was that many of the coolies committed suicide, and many died from accidents and sickness. Their mode of burying their dead was very strange, but it shewed that in some things at least they still clung to the manner and custom of their country. When one of them died, his mates would get a pound of candles, a parcel of rice, and any money that the dead man may have possessed, these were all put with the body, which was then wrapped in a blanket, and buried about three feet below the surface of the ground.

I have known Europeans, to their shame be it said, who, when under the influence of liquor, and after the Chinese were locked up for the night, go to the grave, dig up the body, steal the money that had been buried with it and re-bury the body again.

One Sunday morning, a few of us foremen were sitting outside our huts talking and smoking. Above us towered the lofty peaks of the Cordilleras, covered with a spotless white mantle of snow, and here and there could be seen the sparkling waterfalls, as the melted snow rushed in cascades down the mountain side. Away a thousand feet below, lay a heavy bank of clouds, whilst above us, the sky was a clear soft blue, and the sun shone with a silver radiance on the snow-capped mountain peaks.