ASCENT FROM MATUCANA.
As we continued the ascent in the afternoon our locomotive began to show itself unequal to the heavy work of the long-continued ascent, whether owing to defects in construction or, as seemed more probable, to the bad quality of the fuel supplied. Two stoppages occurred, required, as we learned, to clear out tubes. A considerable ascent was then achieved by a detour into a lateral valley above Matucana, returning to the Rimac at a much higher level, as is done on the Brenner line between Gossensass and Schelleberg.
Up to this time the scenery had fallen much below my anticipations. Owing to the nature of the rocks, there was an utter deficiency in that variety of colour and form that are essential elements in the beauty of mountain scenery. A still greater defect is the entire absence of forest. Along the course of the Rimac bushes or small trees, such as Schinus molle, two Acacias, Salix Humboldtiana, and others, are tolerably frequent; but on the rugged surface of the mountain slopes nothing met the eye more conspicuous than the columnar stem of a cactus, or dense rigid tufts of what I took to be a Bromeliaceous plant, most probably a species of Puya. The sun had set, and darkness was fast closing round us when the train came suddenly to a standstill, and the intelligent American guard informed us that a delay of at least twenty minutes was required to set the locomotive in working order.
The accident was in every way fortunate. We had just reached the Puente Infernillo, by far the most striking scene on the whole route, rendered doubly impressive when seen by the rapidly fading light. The railway had here returned to the Rimac, and is carried for a short distance along the right bank. In front the river rushes out of a narrow cleft, while on either hand the mountains rise to a prodigious height, with a steeper declivity than we had as yet anywhere seen. With a lively recollection of the Via Mala, the gorge of Pfeffers, and other scenes of a similar character, I could bring to mind none to rival this for stern sublimity. The impassable chasm that seemed to defy further advance, the roar of the river in the deeply cut channel below, the impending masses that towered up above us, leaving but a strip of sky in view, combined to form such a representation of the jaws of hell as would have satisfied the imagination of the Tuscan poet. To a botanist the scene awoke very different associations. Before it became quite dark I had captured several outposts of the Andean flora, not hitherto seen. The beautiful Tropæolum tuberosum, with masses of flowers smaller, but even more brilliant, than those of the common garden species, climbed over the bushes. A fleshy-leaved Oxalis, the first seen of a numerous group, came out of the crevices of the adjoining rocks, and Alonsoa acutifolia, which I had never seen but in an English greenhouse, was an additional prize.
ASCENT FROM PUENTE INFERNILLO.
Night had completely fallen as we resumed our journey, and although my curiosity was much excited in the attempt to follow the course of the line, I utterly failed to do so. Watching the stars as guides to our direction, where these were not cut off by the frequent tunnels, I could only infer that we were constantly winding round sharp curves, at times near the bottom of a deep ravine, with the roar of a torrent close at hand, and soon after working at a dizzy height along the verge of a precipice, with the muffled bass of a waterfall heard from out of the depths. Even after I had travelled the reverse way in broad daylight, I remained in some doubt as to the real structure of this part of the line. So far as I know, the first application of a spiral tunnel in railway construction was on the line across the Apennine between Bologna and Florence, but the spiral is there but a semicircle; you enter it facing north, and emerge in the opposite direction at a higher level. A similar device has been more freely resorted to in the construction of the St. Gothard line; but on this part of the Oroya line, completed before that of the St. Gothard was commenced, the spiral, if I mistake not, includes two complete circles, at the end of which the train stands nearly vertically above the point from which it started. It is by no means altogether a tunnel, as the form of a great projecting buttress has allowed the line to be carried in great part along a spiral line traced upon its flanks.
Nearly two hours after sunset we at length reached the terminus at Chicla, very uncertain as to the resources of that place in point of shelter and food. We had had the pleasure of meeting in the train Mr. H——, a distinguished German statesman, who had travelled with us in the Islay on his way from California to make the tour of South America. He was accompanied by Baron von Zoden, the German minister at Lima. As their object was merely to see the railway line, they intended to return on the following morning; but meanwhile we resolved to confront together any difficulties that might arise.
The architecture of Chicla is remarkably uniform, the only differences being in the size of the edifices. Stone, brick, tiles, slate, and mortar are alike unknown. Planks are nailed together around a framework, the requisite number of pieces of corrugated iron are nailed to some rafters on the top, and the house is complete. After stepping from the railway car and scrambling up a steep bank, we found ourselves before the chief building of the place, a so-called hotel, kept by a worthy German whose ill fortune had placed him on the borderland, where for some time the place was alternately occupied by small parties of Chilian or Peruvian troops. Besides some rooms on an upper floor occupied by the people of the house, the hotel consisted of two large rooms on the ground floor, where food and drink were supplied to all comers, with an adjoining kitchen. For such fastidious travellers as might require further sleeping accommodation than a cloak in which to roll themselves, and a floor on which to stretch their limbs, a long adjoining shed was provided. This was divided by thin partitions into four or five small chambers, each capable of holding two beds. Supper was before long provided; and when we afterwards learned the difficulties of our host’s position, our surprise was excited more by the merits than by the defects of the entertainment.
MOUNTAIN-SICKNESS.
We had been assured at Lima that, on going up to Chicla, we should be sure to suffer from the soroche, by which name the people of South America denote mountain-sickness, familiar to those who ascend from the coast to the plateau of the Andes. Knowing the height of Chicla to be no more than 12,220 feet above the sea, and never having experienced any of the usual symptoms at greater heights in Europe, I had treated the warning with derision so far as I was personally concerned, though not sure what effect the diminished pressure might have on my companion. I have described elsewhere[9] my experience at Chicla, which undoubtedly resulted from a mitigated form of mountain-sickness, the symptoms being felt only at night, and passing away by day and in exercise. They were confined to the first two nights, and after the third day, during which we ascended to a height of more than two thousand feet above Chicla, they completely disappeared.