At daylight we breakfasted on dried beef and maté tea, and soon started on our journey, which was now rapidly drawing to a close. The sun was high in the heavens, although we could not for a long time see his face, for the mountains shut us in completely. We continued down the valley, passing near some fine springs of water, which, from the peculiar manner in which they burst forth from the ground, are called “Los ojos de Agua,” or Eyes of Water.
The first signs of civilization that we reached on the Chili territory was at a place called “El Guarde Viejo,” the old custom-house of the Chilian government.
This was occupied by a farmer, a new government building having been erected farther down, at the mouth of the valley. Beyond the Guarde, at intervals, little huts were seen, the inhabitants of which were garrulous and hospitable.
As we emerged from the valley, and encountered troops of mules and parties of country people, I observed the peculiar characteristics which distinguish the Chilians from the people of the country behind us. The muleteers on the eastern side of the Andes were grave in deportment, and slow in speech and movement.
The Chilians were more energetic and intelligent,—perhaps from more extended intercourse with foreigners. Yet they have the discredit of being less honest than their brethren of the pampa provinces. The men of Chili wore a short poncho, mainly covering the wearer’s hips. The Argentinos’ poncho is of the longest kind—longer than those of the people of any other South American republic. The Chilian’s lasso hangs in coils from the saddle behind the rider; the gaucho’s is carefully coiled up, and rests on the horse’s croup.
The farms now became more frequent as we travelled along; the buildings were neatly roofed with red tiles, and furnished a striking contrast, to those of Mendoza and San Juan, which were generally of canes and mud.
As night came on, we reached an irrigating canal, which conveyed water to the town of San Rosa; thrifty little farms were fed by its waters all along the road, and neatness and good order and management were everywhere discernible. The little houses were shaded by groves of fig and orange trees, and the reader can imagine our thoughts and happiness to be travelling through a country bright with blossoming fruit trees, when but a few hours before we had slept near snow-drifts.
Groups of young people were often seen seated beneath the trees, or under the verandas, singing, or playing on the guitar. Before one of the farm-houses we drew up, and, after being welcomed by one of these happy groups, we led our animals from the road, and prepared to remain for the night. An abundant supper was furnished us, and I do not remember a pleasanter night’s rest that I ever had, than that.
The next morning I went out to the pasture to bid my old horse adios. I found him cropping the rich alfalfa on the irrigated field; and as I approached him he seemed rather disinclined to any familiarity, for he had associated me with all the hardships of the journey; and now to leave a land of plenty with me was evidently not to his taste. I lost no time in assuring him that my intentions were pacific, and when I left him he gave a pleasant whisk of his tail and shake of the ears, apparently thanking me for leaving him so literally “in clover.”
My pedestrian journey was ended. I would have liked to continue on foot to the sea, which I could easily have reached in a couple of days; but my kind friend Don Fernando would not permit me to leave his troop. I must keep him company.