“It is the delightful privilege of the bombero to drop his work whenever the alarm is given, dash from his office to the blaze, and there man hose-lines, smash windows, chop down partitions, and indulge to the fullest one of the keenest primordial emotions of man. Inasmuch as buildings are seldom more than two or three stories in height and built of masonry, there is comparatively little danger of a large conflagration, and the average of one fire in four days is ‘just about right,’ as one of my Valparaiso acquaintances explained, ‘to give a man exercise.’ Their only unhappiness, he said, was that there were about fifteen hundred firemen in town, and they were getting so expert that what one could call a really ‘good’ fire was almost unknown.”
Like its commercial rival, San Francisco, Valparaiso suffered from a destructive earthquake in 1906. Slight quakes are quite common in this city, but the inhabitants do not seem to fear them, and go along the even tenor of their way as though such a thing as an earthquake was unknown. In one year as many as thirty-five shocks have been recorded, but the one mentioned above is the only one for a half century or more in which any lives were lost. In fact Valparaiso has had its full share of troubles and vicissitudes of all kinds. It was captured and sacked three times by buccaneers, twice by the British and once by a Dutch pirate. It has suffered severely from earthquake shocks on half a dozen different occasions, was destroyed by fire in 1858, bombarded by the Spanish fleet in 1866, and much property was destroyed in the Balmaceda revolution a little later. Few cities in the New World have had a career so troubled and diversified.
The most disastrous experience in the history of Valparaiso occurred in 1906. On the 16th of August of that year, only four months after the destruction of San Francisco, the greater part of the city was destroyed by an earthquake and the fire that followed. The day had been unusually calm and pleasant. About eight o’clock in the evening the first earthquake shock was felt, which was almost immediately followed by others. The whole city seemed to swing backward and forwards; then came a sudden jolt, and whole rows of buildings fell with a terrific crash. The electric light wires snapped, and gas and water mains were broken. The city was left in intense darkness, which was rendered all the more horrible by the shrieks of the injured and terrified inhabitants. Fires soon started which, fanned by a strong wind, soon became conflagrations. Between the fires and earthquake a large proportion of the lower town was completely destroyed, but the upper town was practically uninjured. Many of the better-built business houses withstood the earth’s tremblings, and the wind blew the flames in the opposite direction.
The authorities acted promptly in the matter, so that patrols of troops and armed citizens were soon on guard. The progress of the fire was impeded by the use of dynamite. Appeals for help were sent to Santiago and other cities, which were responded to as promptly as possible. There was necessarily some delay, for telegraph lines and the railroads had likewise suffered. The shocks continued for the two following days at irregular intervals, which likewise interfered with the work of cleaning up the city. A terrific downpour of rain also added to the confusion of the first night, for the vivid flashes of lightning and the clanging of the fire-bells made it a night not easily forgotten by the inhabitants. The killed and injured numbered at least three thousand persons. But fifty thousand or more were rendered homeless. Thousands of these were camped on the barren hills above the city, and thousands more were cared for by boats in the bay.
Strangely enough no damage was done to the shipping in the bay. The destruction was not confined to Valparaiso alone, but extended inland as far as Los Andes, and many of the small inland cities near Valparaiso suffered more or less damage. The property loss in Valparaiso has been estimated at one hundred million dollars. Like San Francisco, however, a new Valparaiso is arising which will be superior to the old. The greater part of the destroyed district has been rebuilt in a better and more enduring manner. The national government has advanced large sums of money to the municipality, which, in turn, has given it under certain conditions to those who suffered losses. To-day in the business section of Valparaiso it would be almost impossible, after only five years, to find evidence of this disastrous earthquake, but a little farther out its handiwork can quickly be traced.
There is a quaint side to life in Valparaiso. A visit to the market reveals many things of interest. One will first be impressed by the fine fruits of Chile, for nowhere in the world can one find more delicious pears, peaches and plums. The marketers bring their produce in huge two-wheeled carts drawn by the slow-moving ox. The stalls presided over by men and women fill every available inch of space, until it is almost impossible to force one’s way through. Everywhere are groups bargaining over fruits, vegetables or household articles, for these people dearly love a bargain. Many show by their faces a tinge of the Indian blood that runs in their veins.
A CHICKEN PEDDLER, VALPARAISO.
The peripatetic merchants, who carry supplies from door to door, come to the market for their stock in trade. It is invariably carried on the back of a donkey or mule, as it is difficult to draw a loaded wagon up the steep ascents. Their quaint cries may be heard in almost any part of the city during the morning hours. As a rule this merchant carries only one article, or possibly two or three, if it is vegetables. The chicken peddler has built little coops for his birds which take the place of a saddle. It is interesting to watch him gesticulate and praise the excellence of his fowls to the good housewife, or the servant who comes out in answer to his warning cry. The scissors-grinder and dealers in notions swell the list of perigrinating business men who make the streets vocal with their calls. The milkman carries the milk in cans swung over the back of his mule or donkey, or else drives the cows themselves from door to door.
“Leche de las burras y vacas,” meaning donkey’s and cow’s milk, was the cry that reached my ears one morning in Valparaiso. On looking around I saw a man leading two donkey mares and three cows through the streets. Each donkey mare was closely followed by its pretty but comical little colt. This is a custom imported from Spain and Italy, where goats are also taken from door to door and oftentimes up three or four flights of stairs to be milked. It might even be possible to find a milkman with donkeys, cows and goats in his collection, so that a regular department store variety of milk could be provided his customers. Add to these the camel and reindeer, and you have the sources of the world’s milk supply. Donkey’s milk is used a great deal for babies in South America, as it is considered better for them than the milk of either cows or goats. Milk delivered in this way does not need a sterilized label upon it, or a certificate from the department of health. Furthermore, there is very little danger of adulteration. The housekeeper reaps the benefit of this style of milk delivery, but it must be a slow and costly method for the dairyman. It is another evidence that primitiveness has not entirely disappeared from Chile.