Early in the morning of May 24 I left Santiago, bound for Santa Rosa de los Andes, the highest town in the valley of the Rio Aconcagua. That river is mainly fed from the snows of the great peak from which it takes its name, the highest summit of the New World.[29] In its lower course it waters the Quillota valley, through which the railway is carried from Valparaiso to Santiago. In travelling from the latter city it is therefore necessary to return to the junction at Llaillai, whence a branch line leads eastward along the river to San Felipe and Santa Rosa. The sky was cloudless, the air delightfully clear, and the views of the great range were indescribably grand and beautiful, especially in the neighbourhood of San Felipe. The summit of Aconcagua, as seen from this side, shows three sharp peaks of bare rock, too steep to retain the snow which now lay deep on the lower declivities. It has been inferred that the summit must be formed of crystalline or metamorphic rock, as there is no indication of the existence of a crater. This is by no means improbable, as we know that granite, old slates, and conglomerates, as well as newer Secondary rocks, are found at many points along the axis of the main range; but, on the other hand, we know that most of the higher peaks in Central Chili are volcanic, and the removal of all but some fragments of the cone of an ancient crater may leave sharp teeth of rocks such as are seen at the summit of Aconcagua. In the view which I obtained from the Morro of Cauquenes I observed several lofty peaks of somewhat the same character, which struck me as probably the shattered remains of ancient craters.
SANTA ROSA DE LOS ANDES.
Reaching Santa Rosa early in the afternoon, I proceeded to the Hotel Colon in the plaza, which, as usual, forms the centre of the town. The French landlord and his wife were civil, obliging people, and, although the establishment seemed to be much out at elbows, I was soon installed in a tolerably good room, and supplied with information for which I had hitherto been vainly seeking. The main line of communication between the adjoining republics of Chili and Argentaria[30] is over the Uspallata Pass at the head of the valley of Aconcagua; and Santa Rosa, or as it is more commonly called, Los Andes, is the starting-point for travellers from the west. Don B. V. Mackenna had kindly furnished me with a letter to the officer in charge of the custom-house station at the foot of the pass, known as the Resguardo del Rio* Colorado, and led me to believe that a carriage road extended as far as that point. The latter statement was, however, disputed by several of my acquaintances in Santiago, and the most various assertions were made as to the distance and the time requisite for the excursion. As it turned out, Mr. Mackenna, as he generally is, was correctly informed. The road, as I now learned, was in bad order, but quite passable for a carriage; and the distance could be accomplished in little over three hours.
Having ordered a vehicle for the next morning, I inquired for a man or a boy acquainted with the neighbourhood of the town, who might serve as guide and carry some of the traps with which a botanist is usually encumbered. An ill-looking fellow, who seemed to have been drinking heavily overnight, soon made his appearance, and we started through a long, dusty street, with only very few houses at wide intervals, which led to the road by which I was to travel on the following morning. Seeing the ground near the town to be much inclosed, while on the opposite side of the river a broad belt of flat stony ground, partly covered with bushes and small trees, gave better prospect to the botanist, I desired to be conducted to the nearest bridge by which I might cross the stream. When we reached the place it appeared to be even a more rickety structure than usual, requiring some care to avoid the numerous holes in the basket-work which formed the floor. Having ascertained that I meant to return the same way, my guide proceeded to stretch himself on the bank, where I found him fast asleep on my return.
A LAZY GUIDE.
The character of the vegetation was the same as that about Santiago, but the general aspect indicated a decided increase of dryness in the climate, so that at the present season there was very little remaining to be gleaned by the botanical collector. As usually happens, however, careful search did not go quite unrewarded. I found several species not before seen, and even where there were no specimens fit for preservation something was to be learned. My next object was to ascend the neighbouring hill, or cerro, which immediately overlooks the town of Santa Rosa. A new proprietor had bought a tract of land on the left bank of the river, and erected very substantial fences rather troublesome to a trespasser. My so-called guide dropped behind as I began to ascend the hill—only five or six hundred feet in height—finally turned back, and, having deposited my goods at the hotel, claimed and received an ill-earned fee. The stony slopes were utterly parched, yet I found a few botanical novelties. A small shrubby composite with prickly leaves, but with the habit and inflorescence of a Baccharis, was still in tolerable condition. I took it for the female plant of some species of that characteristic South American diœcious genus; but I afterwards ascertained that it belonged to a completely different group, namely, the Mutisiaceæ, being the Proustia baccharoides of Don.
The view from the summit of the Cerro towards the Andean range was not equal to that from San Felipe, but on the opposite side the outlook towards the plain was interesting. The contrast between the zone of cultivation in the low lands accessible to irrigation and the higher ground, burnt by the summer to a uniform yellow-brown tint, was striking to the eye. The town of Santa Rosa, laid out on the flat at the foot of the hill, was a curious feature in the prospect. It was designed on the regular plan which seems to have recommended itself to all the European settlers in the American continent, but which I have nowhere seen so exactly carried out as at this place. A chess-board supplied the model, with one row of squares cut off to avoid some rough ground. Fifty-six squares—quadras—exactly equal in size, are divided by broad roads, and the whole is surrounded by a wall about half a mile in length each way. The quadra in the centre forms the plaza; the others were to be occupied by houses and gardens. To make the town, as planned by its founders, a perfect model, it wants nothing but houses and people to live in them. It was, perhaps, imagined that, being on the main line of communication across the Andes, this might become a place of some importance; but the traffic is very limited, and, such as it is, it is carried on by trains of horses and mules that travel to and fro between Valparaiso and Mendoza. The area of land fit for cultivation in the valley above San Felipe is small, and the resort of retail traders doubtless very limited. The result is that Santa Rosa is a town without houses. Many of the quadras are occupied by a single house and annexed garden, and only round or close to the plaza is such a thing as a row of adjoining buildings to be seen.
The morning of May 25 was noteworthy as producing the solitary instance of punctuality in a native of South America that I encountered in the course of my journey. The virtuous driver of the carriage which I had engaged to take me to the Resguardo was actually at the door of the hotel at the appointed hour, soon after sunrise; but it availed little for my object. Not a soul was stirring in the hotel; and though I made no small disturbance, it was long before I could induce the lazy waiter to make his appearance. I had not thought of providing my breakfast overnight, and could not start without food for a long day’s expedition.
VALLEY OF ACONCAGUA.