The trains on this line are very comfortable, although one misses the luxurious Pullmans of the United States. All the passenger coaches are compartment sleepers, and one diner is attached. There is no smoking or observation car, so that the solitary traveller oftentimes finds it lonesome, but smoking is permitted everywhere except in the dining-car, where gentlemen are requested not to smoke “when the señoras are present.” Some of the passengers gather in the diner after the tables have been cleared and talk or play games. The diner has good service and the only trouble is to keep the dust out of your food. A good meal of several courses is furnished in this comedor for two Argentine pesos. All of the diners of course have a bar, so that no one need to go thirsty, whatever his needs or demands may be.
The passengers on this train are always a mixed crowd. One will find tourists from many countries, English or German engineers, Chilean business men, Argentine estancieros, half-breed gauchos in their picturesque trappings, etc., etc. A half-dozen languages will greet one’s ears in the corridors. This feature is, however, one of the pleasures of such a trip. One will begin to speculate about his fellow passengers, and then as he meets them he will learn how far his conjectures come true. He will also learn that this is one of the meeting places of the four quarters of the globe.
One of the chief discomforts in riding across these plains is the dust which sifts in through the windows and doors at times until it is almost stifling. Then again a baby pampero may come up and blow almost with the force of a hurricane. A Kansas blizzard is hardly equal to it in force and velocity. The dust at times comes in such clouds that it makes difficult work for the section-hands, for it must be removed from the track. I have heard stories of the real, simon-pure pampero, which comes up from the Patagonia plains, blowing cars off the track, and the propelling of cars by means of a sail hoisted up on the car. One thing is sure, it is decidedly unpleasant and will so fill your mouth with dust that you feel you are continually chewing sand.
The real pampero generally follows a drouth and is preceded by a few days of extreme heat. At last a cloud appears on the pampas which looks like a great woolly ball set in a frame of gold. The dust of the road begins to fly and whirl about in little eddies. Bird and beast seek shelter and the people may be seen scurrying in every direction. Millions of insects scud past in the clouds of fine dust. The lightning flashes in sheets and forks, and the thunder seems to shake the very earth. Then comes the welcome rain, not in drops but in sheets, and mingled with it hailstones big as nuts. A few minutes after the rain ceases and the sun shines in a tranquil, cloudless sky. The atmosphere is so transparent that one can see almost incredible distances. The people breathe in deep draughts of the delicious air, the blood circulates freely and one feels as though he had renewed his lease on life.
One could scarcely imagine an easier country through which to build a railroad than across these pampas. Not only is it level but a shallow excavation gives a solid road-bed which needs little ballast. The work has mostly been done by Italian gangs who are employed by contractors. One can see their camps in many places. They live in small “A” tents and a car fitted out as commissary wagon is labelled the provideria. It is really a small department store on wheels, where almost anything can be purchased at reasonable prices.
The line from Buenos Aires to Mendoza, six hundred and fifty-five miles in length, is built on the broad gauge so common in Argentina. For several hundred miles after leaving Buenos Aires the country is as level as a barn floor, and the train traverses fertile fields in which wheat, corn and grazing lands alternate. One will pass through corn fields miles in length and then wheat fields still larger; and following these the alfalfa pasture will extend clear to the horizon, with immense herds of cattle dotting it until, in the distance, where earth and sky meet, the largest animals appear as mere specks on the landscape.
One is impressed with the great agricultural resources of Argentina, for only a small portion of this part of the republic is uncultivated. All of it is owned in large estancias that are measured by the square league, which comprises almost six thousand acres. The man with only one square league is a small farmer, and many of the estancias measure ten square leagues, or even more. Statistics show that among the one hundred thousand reported landowners there is an average holding of six square miles. The locusts are a terrible curse for the farmer, and they were very bad last season. I saw millions of them in crossing the pampas. It costs these ranch men thousands of dollars each year to fight this scourge of locusts, and as yet no permanent remedy has been discovered.
The road runs nearly due west. An insane asylum called “The Open Door” is passed about forty miles out from the metropolis. A number of Camp towns, such as Mercedes, Chacabuco and Vedia, are passed, but none of them are attractive places. At the latter place the province of Santa Fé is entered, and a number of small towns are passed before the province of Cordoba is reached. Several branch lines shoot off to the south, which are feeders thus thrust out for freight, and branches of other lines run in from the north. Villa Mercedes, four hundred and thirty-two miles from Buenos Aires, is the first large town. The land has begun to rise and this town is sixteen hundred feet above sea level, although the aspect is still that of plains. It is situated on the Rio Quinto, and is a place of perhaps ten thousand people. This used to be the terminus of this line until it absorbed the Great Western a few years ago, which continued the westward route. It is one of the concentration camps for the instruction of conscripts drafted into the artillery regiments.
The broad pampas are perhaps not so lonely as they seem, for there is generally an abundance of bird life. Flamingoes haunt the lagoons, and long-tailed hawks sit like silent sentinels on the fence posts. The largest bird is the ostrich, of which there are tens of thousands scattered over these broad leagues, which have not yet been broken up by agriculture. In the entire republic it is estimated that there are more than four hundred thousand ostriches. They will feed among the stock, but the agriculturist soon makes them disappear. These long-necked and long-legged birds form a very pretty addition to the landscape. The South American ostrich is smaller than the South African species, and its feathers are not nearly so valuable. They are extremely abundant, however, and bring in a pleasing revenue for the farmer. The feather gatherers bargain with the estanciero to pay him so much for each bird found and picked on his estancia. Many of the ostriches are very tame, for the owners do not allow them to be hunted, but they roam at will, easily getting over the low fences that hedge in the fields. In some places the South African ostriches have been introduced and are raised for the commercial value of their plumes.