Now this was a pretty pickle. My bed was in range of a revolver shot. I thought that some sneak thief had tried to get into both bedrooms and had tried her door as well as mine. Mary had supposed that it was I who wanted to enter her room. It happened that Mary was not good enough looking for me to have any such designs towards her. She was slim and angular, highly colored and commonplace, with a pointed nose and little eyes like those of a pig. I moved my bed out of revolver range and went to bed again. The next morning there was considerable excitement in the town about the temblor, for it was this that caused the rattling noise at the doors. I approached Mary and her male relatives while they were sitting in the patio, and telling them that I heard their conversation of the previous night, roundly upbraided them for their conduct, but like most unmannered persons they were too ill-bred to apologize.
Besides the Plaza O'Higgins, another beautiful one is that named Victoria or Santo Aldea. It is not well kept up because the irrigation ditch which runs along the side of an adjacent street often overflows and causes the walks of the plaza to receive a deluge.
An interesting excursion on foot is a visit to the less than a league distant suburb of Chillán Viejo (Old Chillán). This foul village of five thousand inhabitants was the original city before the earthquake of 1833 which caused the survivors of the catastrophe to build on the present townsite. There was an Indian settlement here before the advent of the Spaniards. The name of their cacique was Chiquillanes, from which the name Chillán is derived. At Las Toscas Creek at the southern city limits of Chillán the broad Avenida O'Higgins, which is no more than a dusty turnpike, leads in a southwesterly direction to another creek, that of Paso Hondo, on whose filthy banks repose adobe reconstructions of the original town. This place on the whole is the most poverty-stricken and squalid town that I have ever visited, although in this respect and in filth, it cannot compare with certain sections and suburbs of stately Santiago. It is nine blocks wide with an average of ten blocks long, has narrow streets paved with sharp stones on which face tumbledown adobe hovels. Its inhabitants are drunken, and many possess loathsome sores on their faces. The odors rising from the decaying matter thrown from the house doors, the swarms of flies, and the full-bellied whippets basking in the sun-baked offal make a person ask, "Can such things be possible?" In those parts of the town where such pleasantries are in the minimum, the air is redolent with the fragrant odor of rats.
Yet Chillán Viejo is a place of reverence in the hearts of loyal and patriotic Chilenos, for in this old town was born the father of Chilean independence, Bernardo O'Higgins, who with the aid of San Martin broke the Spanish dominion in Chile. A school has been built where stood his house, but a room of the old building has been preserved with some of his furniture and keepsakes. A marble tablet on the wall of the school has the following inscription which translated into English reads:
"This house entombs a sublime echo, the whining of a little child which was transformed into the yells of victory at Chacabuco and Maipo.
"Here was born the father of our Independence, Don Bernardo O'Higgins, August 20, 1778.
"Chileans, honor his memory!
"Strangers, remember our history!"
In the center of the dusty ill-kept plaza of the town, abundant with giant ash and pepper trees, is another memorial to this hero in the form of a bust on a pedestal erected by a loving populace. Let it be known that Bernard O'Higgins was one of the most unselfish and lovable characters in military history. Born of Irish parentage in the squalid village of Chillán Viejo, he donated his whole career for the welfare of his country. After whipping the Spaniards he was made Supreme Dictator. Unlike most other dictators he was not vainglorious nor was he personally ambitious for power or wealth.
The church on the plaza of Chillán Viejo is said to be 285 years old.