CHAPTER XI

CHILLÁN. ASCENT OF VOLCANO CHILLÁN

While in Santiago in 1915 I met at the Hotel Oddo, a Señor Hugo Gumprecht who was a guest there. He is a German by birth, but in his youth emigrated to Australia where he married, became a naturalized British subject, and lived there for some time. He then went to South Africa and at the time of the Boer War enlisted in the British Army, became an officer, and received the Victoria Cross. When the war was over he went to Argentina and in the village of General Alvear in the Province of Mendoza, started a hardware store. Here he became naturalized as a citizen of the Argentine Republic and lived there up to a few days previous to my meeting him. Business had become dull in Argentina and as he is an experienced engineer he went to Chile to see if there was an opening for him there in his line, in the meantime leaving his family in Argentina until he would establish himself. He is an educated man about forty-eight years old, is comfortably well off, and in appearance is a double of Lloyd George, or rather looks like the pictures of Lloyd George that were taken ten years ago. When I returned to Santiago in 1916, Gumprecht was still in Santiago but living in a private house. As he had not yet found anything to his liking, he was about to make some trips to different parts of the republic to see what there was doing. I intended visiting the baths of Chillán out of curiosity and invited him to join me, which he did. I have never yet found a person that I have cared more to travel with than with him.

One morning we left Santiago and eleven hours later found ourselves in the 253-miles-distant Ñuble metropolis. Owing to an excess of traffic the train was two hours late. From the train in the afternoon we saw the irregular peak of the volcano Yeguas, 11,885 feet high, in the Linares Andes on the eastern horizon; soon afterwards appeared in the hazy background the volcano Chillán, 9438 feet high, whose whole conical contour is perpetually covered with snow. Seen at the setting of the autumn sun the central valley of Chile presents a view so pastorally charming that its replica is difficult to be conjured by the imagination. Broad fields of melons, intermingled with vineyards and separated from each other by rows of Lombardy poplars and blackberry hedges, decked the valley floor. On the western horizon rises a chain of hills, which occasionally has an outcrop in the form of an isolated mountain. The sun, which had just sunk behind them, made the sky saffron, as its rays, invisible behind the western peaks, played upon the snowy summits of the Andes to the east.

The crowd on the platform at the covered train shed of the Chillán station is the most animated to be found at any railroad station in Chile with the possible exception of that at Llai-Llai. Landscape gardeners have endeavored to enhance the depot approach by planting cedar trees in square holes in the middle of the sidewalk. These trees have attained the growth of three feet. Leaving the depot, Gumprecht was walking on my left. Presently he uttered an oath and upon my looking around I was just in time to see his carcass take a plunge and land on his belly in front of the astonished crowd. When he picked himself up, he said:

"I felt something rise between my legs and I jumped, but it was this _verdammter_ tree."

Chillán is the capital of the Province of Ñuble, and has a population of 39,113, being the seventh city of Chile. Next to Santiago and Talca it is the largest city in the central valley. It would be larger than Talca if it took in its suburb, Chillán Viejo. But although a paucity of manufacturing is done, it owes its existence as a market town to its being the center of an agricultural district to which it is the distributing point. There are but few foreigners, unlike the towns farther south, so that the city is essentially Chilean and here native life and customs can be seen and studied at their best. There are several specialties of home-made manufacture that owe their origin to Chillán, preëminent among which are untanned leather accoutrements and caparisons for the equine and muline genera, such as bridles, whips, and spur leathers. Chillán pottery is famous throughout the republic. It is black, thin, and brittle, and is invariably adorned with scroll work of pink, lemon, or white. Last in importance is the charcoal fan, woven by natives from corn husks. The brewery of Julius Jenson is not large enough to play a rôle in the financial equilibrium of the place for its proprietor brews but an ordinary beer for local trade.

Although the city has no electrified street car system, its horse cars are a duplicate of the Santiago and Valparaiso trolley cars. They have double decks, the top being reserved for those who prefer to travel second class. In other means of transit there is nothing to boast of. The hacks are antiquated, closed black wooden boxes, while the saddle horses at the livery stables are of the antediluvian variety.

The main streets are well paved with cobblestones, but the side ones are poorly paved with small smooth stones, very distressing to walk upon with thin-soled shoes. The buildings are well built and red brick is more common than in the cities farther north. However, there are in Chillán frame houses, which in the neighborhood of Santiago are conspicuous by their absence. There are several plazas, but the principal one, O'Higgins, is the best, and in my estimation is the loveliest in Chile. It has no grassy sward but its great trees give a delightful umbrage that is refreshing during the heat of a summer day. In this respect it is not unlike the Plaza Pringles in San Luis, Argentina. A military band plays here thrice weekly at night and it is then a treat for tired eyes to watch from a bench the procession of well-formed girls in the latest creations pass by in review on their _corso_ around the octagonal park.

The market place, paved with pebbles, is a broad area, bustling with life. Nearly every known variety of vegetable is represented, and of such a quality that I know nowhere else where they are excelled unless it is at the market at Belgrade, Servia. Chillán is the greatest onion mart in South America, and here are seen cartloads of that nerve-soothing vegetable heaped on the ground. Many marketeers come to town Sunday afternoon and sleep that night in their stalls so as to be alert with their wares and produce at daybreak on Monday, on which day the place is thronged. On the fringe of the area are canvas booths. Here sit toothless hags and buxom virgins offering for sale at fabulously low prices, quirts, riatas, hobbles, spur-straps, and other leathern productions of their deft fingers.

Regarding hotels, Chillán has some good ones, but unless the prospective lodger telegraphs beforehand, he is likely to find shelter beneath a shade tree for the rooms are in constant demand. This speaks well of the city. In the summer the natural trade is augmented by the tourists en route to and en retour from the Termas de Chillán (Baths of Chillán), a watering place, who spend a night or two in the Ñuble metropolis in transit. At the exit of the old-fashioned railway station, a runner meets the stranger and touts for the Hotel Central, a large new building, a block from the center of the city.

I prefer the Hotel de France and believe it is the best in the central valley. Its proprietor, Monsieur Pierre Heguy, is the super-bantam cock. This handsome little man with his coal-black beard trimmed to a goatee meets you at the door with a smile and a bow. "_Voilà_, monsieur," he says, and with a stately sweeping gesture he stands aside to allow you to inspect the best hotel bedroom in Chile. His single-story hotel is of frame and adobe. "But what does that matter?" he inquires and then concludes: "In case of fire or earthquake it is much safer than the stupendous Hotel Central. Moreover, do water colors and oil paintings of landscapes adorn the walls of the bedrooms at the Central the same as in the Hotel de France? Have the Jews at the Central any knowledge of liqueurs and champagne? _Sapristi_, no!" and then he spat.

My bedroom on the street corner was grand and large enough to house the august presence of an emperor and for it I paid the equivalent of $3.40 a day, which included meals. The carpet was of the old-fashioned kind with pink roses whose replicas are only found to-day in the farmhouses and in the old residences of the country towns whose furnishing dates back two generations. The massive wooden washstand with mirror, chest of drawers, and the bedstand were all crowned with marble slabs. The bed was a four-poster and the "crazy quilt" was that of bygone days. The same bed that I occupied probably once creaked under the weight of Lady Brassey's expatriated figure when she visited Chillán, having left the yacht _Sunbeam_ at Talcahuano.

The cuisine is perfect and the liquid refreshments are of the finest quality. Monsieur Heguy is a connoisseur of those substances which tickle the palate. He does not indulge in liquid refreshment. He did so when I first made his acquaintance in 1913 but had to quit as it was injuring his health. At the time of my previous acquaintance with him he would drink everything on the bill of fare as long as somebody else was paying for it, but he never treated when it came his turn.

One night while I was at the Hotel de France there was a temblor or slight earthquake. I was awakened from a sound sleep a quarter of an hour before midnight by a noise at my door as if somebody was trying to break into my room. Lighting a candle I saw that the key tag was rattling. I yelled out, "Who's there?" and opened the door but saw nobody. I jumped back into the bed again but no sooner had I done so than I saw a streak of light underneath the door to my right, and I heard through the open transom of the door that opened onto the patio the patter of feet as they crossed the tiled walk and the voice of the young Englishwoman who occupied the adjoining room talking to her brother and brother-in-law whose room adjoined mine on the left.

"I think the man next door" (meaning me) "is trying to enter my room," she said.

"Really, Mary, you don't say so," I heard a male voice reply.

"What do you think he would do to me if he entered my room?" asked Mary.

"I am sure I do not know," the male voice replied.

"Do you think he would murder me?"

"Hardly that," was the reply. There was a continuance of the conversation which I could not distinctly understand, then the same voice continued: "Take this revolver, and if you hear any further disturbance, shoot through his door."

Now this was a pretty pickle. My bed was in range of a revolver shot. I thought that some sneak thief had tried to get into both bedrooms and had tried her door as well as mine. Mary had supposed that it was I who wanted to enter her room. It happened that Mary was not good enough looking for me to have any such designs towards her. She was slim and angular, highly colored and commonplace, with a pointed nose and little eyes like those of a pig. I moved my bed out of revolver range and went to bed again. The next morning there was considerable excitement in the town about the temblor, for it was this that caused the rattling noise at the doors. I approached Mary and her male relatives while they were sitting in the patio, and telling them that I heard their conversation of the previous night, roundly upbraided them for their conduct, but like most unmannered persons they were too ill-bred to apologize.

Besides the Plaza O'Higgins, another beautiful one is that named Victoria or Santo Aldea. It is not well kept up because the irrigation ditch which runs along the side of an adjacent street often overflows and causes the walks of the plaza to receive a deluge.

An interesting excursion on foot is a visit to the less than a league distant suburb of Chillán Viejo (Old Chillán). This foul village of five thousand inhabitants was the original city before the earthquake of 1833 which caused the survivors of the catastrophe to build on the present townsite. There was an Indian settlement here before the advent of the Spaniards. The name of their cacique was Chiquillanes, from which the name Chillán is derived. At Las Toscas Creek at the southern city limits of Chillán the broad Avenida O'Higgins, which is no more than a dusty turnpike, leads in a southwesterly direction to another creek, that of Paso Hondo, on whose filthy banks repose adobe reconstructions of the original town. This place on the whole is the most poverty-stricken and squalid town that I have ever visited, although in this respect and in filth, it cannot compare with certain sections and suburbs of stately Santiago. It is nine blocks wide with an average of ten blocks long, has narrow streets paved with sharp stones on which face tumbledown adobe hovels. Its inhabitants are drunken, and many possess loathsome sores on their faces. The odors rising from the decaying matter thrown from the house doors, the swarms of flies, and the full-bellied whippets basking in the sun-baked offal make a person ask, "Can such things be possible?" In those parts of the town where such pleasantries are in the minimum, the air is redolent with the fragrant odor of rats.

Yet Chillán Viejo is a place of reverence in the hearts of loyal and patriotic Chilenos, for in this old town was born the father of Chilean independence, Bernardo O'Higgins, who with the aid of San Martin broke the Spanish dominion in Chile. A school has been built where stood his house, but a room of the old building has been preserved with some of his furniture and keepsakes. A marble tablet on the wall of the school has the following inscription which translated into English reads:

"This house entombs a sublime echo, the whining of a little child which was transformed into the yells of victory at Chacabuco and Maipo.

"Here was born the father of our Independence, Don Bernardo O'Higgins, August 20, 1778.

"Chileans, honor his memory!

"Strangers, remember our history!"

In the center of the dusty ill-kept plaza of the town, abundant with giant ash and pepper trees, is another memorial to this hero in the form of a bust on a pedestal erected by a loving populace. Let it be known that Bernard O'Higgins was one of the most unselfish and lovable characters in military history. Born of Irish parentage in the squalid village of Chillán Viejo, he donated his whole career for the welfare of his country. After whipping the Spaniards he was made Supreme Dictator. Unlike most other dictators he was not vainglorious nor was he personally ambitious for power or wealth.

The church on the plaza of Chillán Viejo is said to be 285 years old.

The Province of Ñuble, of which Chillán is the capital, has an area of 3407 square miles and a population of 166,245, being the fifth in Chile as to the number of its inhabitants. Its eastern part is mountainous and very sparsely settled, the great bulk of its population living in the highly cultivated central valley. Its level lands are a fine rich country given up to the growing of cereals, principally wheat, and to all the vegetables known to the temperate zone. There are also many vineyards.

The Baths of Chillán, as those hot springs are known, are fifty-seven miles east of the city Chillán at the headwaters of Renegado Creek on the slopes of the volcano Chillán, 5850 feet above sea level. One leaves Chillán at 5.30 A.M. and rides for two hours on a light railway which runs in a sort of a semicircle eastward to the station of Pinto, a distance of but twenty-two miles. At Coihueco, six miles before reaching Pinto, the farmers are building a mutual railway which will be a branch of the narrow gauge, the government furnishing the rails. This is being done so that the farmers may get their crops into Chillán. Pinto is a large village lying about a league south of the railroad station of the same name across the Chillán River.

At Pinto passengers change from the train into carriages and are driven to the three-miles-distant post station of La Dehesa, where one can either continue optionally by a seven-hour carriage drive to Las Termas (The Baths) or by a continuation of the light railway to the hamlet of Resinto and thence by carriage four hours to Las Termas. The round trip by carriage costs $11.05; by train it is $1.36 extra. I went by train which took nearly four hours on account of the presence on board of two inspectors who had the locomotive stop every few minutes to give instructions to construction gangs; from Resinto I went to Las Termas by coach. The railroad followed the north bank of the Chillán River until the station of Esperanza was reached where a fine view of the smoking volcano ahead of us was to be had; it then crossed the river and wound along a precipice up the west bank of the Renegado Creek, which lay below us in a forest of oak. I rode on a flat car which by means of hay wire was coupled to the box which served as the train coach. Resinto, formerly named Posada, on account of the former saloon and rest house (which in Spanish is _posada_), is the present terminus of the light railway although it is being continued so that in this year (1918) it is expected that it will be opened to traffic as far as the corral of Las Trancas. The carriage road is very rough, stony, and steep, and in some places extremely dangerous where it winds around promontories. For the first few miles after leaving Resinto it follows the creek bed; at a ranch house where guides are to be obtained for mountain excursions, a trail leads off to the south, which if one follows it for a day and a half will bring the traveler into Argentina over the Buraico Pass. It is only advisable to cross the divide on mule back on account of the steepness. From the boundary a few days' ride will bring one to the wretched God-forsaken Patagonian settlement of Chos Malal, in the Argentine Territory of Neuquen.

The first stage of the drive is monotonous although the scenery is good. There are a few scattered ranch houses in openings in the oak woods; the country could scarcely be called a forest, nor is it an open country. Mountains come down abruptly to the canyon and one of them is a double of the Martinswand near Zirl in Tirol. The whole trip is dusty in summer, which is the only season in which it is possible to visit Las Termas. After leaving Las Trancas, the station where the five horses are changed, and from which is seen a silvery waterfall several hundred feet high, the road enters the primeval forest of oak, elm, and laurel, decidedly beautiful, and then winds up the cool but dusty glen of the Renegado, which is fed by numerous trout streams. The roaring of many cascades and waterfalls is heard, the double one of The Lions, an hour's ride before Las Termas is reached, being the most beautiful.

The springs, bathing establishment, and hotel known as the Termas de Chillán are at the highest limit of the tree line. They are owned by the municipality of Chillán, and at the present time are leased to a Basque, Monsieur Bernard Paguéguy, the French consul at Chillán, for the sum of $12,240 for the season of four months, which is at the rate of $3060 a month. In order to make a profit Paguéguy runs a gambling establishment in conjunction with the hostelry. People are not desired as guests who have no lust for the green baize. Baccarat, petits chevaux, and slot machines operate at full swing regardless of the strict anti-gambling laws of the country. A policeman recently lost $204, his whole worldly possessions, and had to borrow $17.50 to get away. While I was at Las Termas a man dropped $2040 in one evening which though not much to lose at either Montevideo or at Mar del Plata is a fortune to lose in Chile.

At Las Termas there is a main building and about thirty huts called _casuchas_, where lodgers room _en famille_. There are stables and a long barrack where the peons live. The bathhouses are about a quarter of a mile up the ravine.

The main building is of stone and is three stories high in front and two stories high in the rear as it is built on the slope of the hill. Besides the dining room and the coffee room, it has a barber shop, telegraph office, doctor's office, and rooms for guests. To one side is the administration office, bar, two gambling rooms, writing room, and kitchen. The ladies congregate evenings in a well-furnished hut which has for furniture red cloth covered chairs, a sofa, and a pianoforte.

The casuchas all have at least three connecting rooms and are preferable to the main building. There has been considerable criticism in the Chillán newspapers about the treatment of the peons at the barrack. These poor people, afflicted with rheumatism and other ailments, and too poor to afford to pay the regular price for food and lodging, walk to Las Termas or come a whole family in an ox-cart or on mule back. They tether their animals in the woods or turn them loose in a corral. They bring their own food and bedclothing with them and pay eighty-five cents a day for the privilege of shelter. Sometimes a hundred of them are jammed nondescriptly into the dirty barrack which serves as a dining room, kitchen, and bedroom for dirty and diseased humanity of both sexes. Some of these poor fellows are seen nightly sleeping hunched up on the floor against the walls of the buildings near the kitchen and huddled close against one another for warmth, for the nights are apt to be frightfully cold. They are unwelcome to the host because they do not gamble.

A steep climb takes one to the bathing establishment. These are two houses, one for a steam bath and the other for a tub bath. The price of an ordinary bath is seventeen cents, but there are some private tub baths where it costs double. The waters are iron, manganese, sulphur, mercury, and potassium, such a variety as these being hard to find in so small a radius. Although the waters are good for rheumatism and gastric troubles they are supposed to cure syphilis as effectively as salvarsan. Many guests were here for this last-named ailment, although they showed no visible outward signs. An acquaintance, a doctor from Rancagua, was constantly urging me to take a mineral bath, which I refused at first to do as I thought it best to let well enough alone. By mountain climbing I soon got so dirty that I was obliged to indulge in one for the sake of cleanliness. As I passed with a towel over my arm by the tennis court where a match was in progress in front of a crowd of lady spectators, the doctor saw me. With a roar that temporarily stopped the game and which made me the cynosure of all eyes, he bellowed:

"Ha! Ha! Stephens is going to take a bath, although he advises against it."

"Yes, doctor," I answered, "I am taking a bath for cleanliness sake. Fortunately I am not afflicted with----"

"Syphilis," roared the doctor, cutting me short, which brought screams of mirth from the spectators, more than half of whom were ladies. I was going to terminate my sentence with "any malady" but the doctor did not give me time.

On the mountain above the bathhouses are some mud volcanoes and steam spouts named fumiroles, but they cannot compare with those of the Yellowstone.

On the day of my arrival, I had not been more than ten minutes at the hotel when an Englishman and a Frenchman approached me and said that they intended making the ascent of the volcano Chillán the next day, and having heard that Gumprecht and I intended doing the same thing thought that it would be best to arrange a party as there was but one guide at the establishment. I said that I would decide later on and let them know. I did not relish the appearance of the Frenchman, who had a tough face, and would have preferred to make the ascent without his company, so I went to Monsieur Paguéguy, the lessee and administrator, and asked him if there were more guides than one. He told me that there were several. This settled the question, for I would not be obliged then to make the ascent in company with the "butters in."

"Why do you not wish to go with the two gentlemen?" inquired Paguéguy.

"I am not accustomed to forming acquaintances with strangers who force themselves upon me," I answered. "Moreover that Frenchman has a bad look. He looks as if he would kill a man for a five-peso (87½ c.) note."

"Sacré! Sacré!" yelled Paguéguy, "he is my brother. Sacré! Sacré!"

The administrator raved around like a madman. I told him that it made no difference whether it was his brother or not, and that the proper thing for him to have done would have been for him to have introduced himself in the first place; that the Termas had a bad reputation for being a rendezvous for card sharps, and that since his brother had the appearance of one, how was I to know the difference?

Paguéguy told his brother and the Englishman about it. They caught me alone that evening and tried to pick a quarrel with me. The odds were against me for the Englishman was much larger than I, and the Frenchman was also a strong, powerfully built man. The loud altercation attracted the attention of Gumprecht and a Barcelona friend of mine named Florencio Prat, who both came running up. The tables were now turned in my favor, so my two antagonists prudently walked away.

"I think they mean to make trouble; let's follow them and hear what they say?" suggested Prat.

The duo walked to a casucha and after entering it closed the door. We three walked around the building and getting below an open window did some necessary eavesdropping. It was well that we did so for we heard them planning to catch one of us alone and give the prospective victim a beating up. It was now time to show our teeth, which we did. Without knocking we entered the casucha much to the astonishment of the duo and told them that if they tried any funny business we would shoot them like dogs regardless of the consequences, and for them to mind their own business as we intended minding ours, otherwise something would happen. We also showed them our revolvers. Nothing more developed.

When Gumprecht, Prat, and myself left early the next morning to make the ascent of the volcano Chillán we took as a guide a native named Savedra. The hotel servants lied to us, telling us that there was no water to be had en route and that we had better take along plenty of liquid refreshments. This is their old trick of trying to sell a lot of beer and whiskey. When Gumprecht told the head-waiter to put in two drinks of whiskey for himself, the knight of the apron put in twelve. I saw it and did not like the idea for I thought that Gumprecht really had ordered twelve shots of whiskey and was going to go on a drunk on top of the volcano, which could cause a mishap. As neither Prat nor myself drink whiskey and since I would not permit Savedra to drink any, I was horrified at Gumprecht, for the amount of spiritus frumenti exceeded a quart. I approached him and said:

"What in hell are you going to drink those twelve shots of whiskey for? I think it's a bad scheme."

"I only ordered two drinks," he replied.

"The waiter put in twelve."

"Impossible."

"It's the truth," I replied.

A search of Savedra's saddlebag testified to my statement. The head-waiter was brought.

"I thought you ordered twelve drinks," he said. Spanish for twelve is "_doce_" and for two is "_dos_," the pronunciation being near enough for a man to misunderstand purposely. The head-waiter did this trick.

We left the hotel on horseback and for the first few kilometers it was the steepest climb that I have ever made on the back of an animal. The narrow path zigzagged up the nose of a mountain, exceedingly dangerous, and as my beast had an English saddle, I several times slid off onto his rump while making the ascent. I did not know that it was possible for horses to climb like that, and I thought that I had previously been in very steep places in California.

After riding some distance we came to a small glacier, and dismounted to cross a creek at its mouth. The horses were panting, puffing, and sweating but when we came to the creek Savedra let them drink all they wanted of the cold ice water. This astonished me, but he said that they were used to it. This glacier was cavernous for the stream flowed out of a hole at its mouth. Soon another glacier was reached, this one fairly long, which we crossed and then came out upon a lava field. We had to dismount before coming to the lava field and feel our way, for some fresh snow had fallen on the glacier, which was in some places up to the horses' bellies. From the lava field we got our first good view of the volcano summit. It was several miles off in front of us up a direct steep ascent over glaciers, snow fields, lava, and ashes. It was in eruption and was making a terrible noise. A great column of white smoke rose to half a kilometer high until the air currents caused it to be borne horizontally away in white cloud patches. I was frightened and expressed my thoughts that we were near enough to the crater.

"It is nothing," said Savedra.

"I am afraid of nothing," said Prat.

A league-wide glacier stretched in front of us; we crossed it, keeping near the edge of some lava fields. Three long crevasses crossed the glacier, one of which was dangerous so we dismounted and jumped it, holding the horses by the bridle to let them jump it. Prat's horse was the only animal that jumped it without either falling with its fore feet or hind feet into it. My beast fared the worst and I thought that it was a "goner." The crevasse seemed bottomless and to extend to infinity. The glare of the sun on the fresh snow was terrific and caused us all to have sore eyes which lasted several days not to mention that our faces were burned so much that the skin peeled off. The sky appeared to be indigo instead of azure. Since leaving the lava fields there had been several volcanic eruptions of five minutes' duration, each one louder as we approached. I had now become used to them and was no longer afraid.

Looking in any direction the scene was enough to imbue any mortal with a wholesome fear of God. Grand is not the word for the description; it was superlatively wild, lonesome, and awful. It is nearly impossible to realize the terrible loneliness and awesomeness of the great peaks of the Andes, uninhabited by man or beast or bird which mark the boundary between Central Chile and Northern Patagonia, their great snow-clad serrated or conical summits towering thousands of feet into the cloudless ether. The terrible view makes a man feel his insignificance. I have been to the top of Misti, Ararat, and Mont Blanc, the first mentioned two having an altitude double that of Chillán, but from their summits the view is incomparable with that seen from the mountain on whose slopes I now was. To the southeast probably fifty miles as a crow flies rose the conical snow-capped extinct volcano of San José, and beyond it the precipitous anvil top of twenty thousand feet high Quemazones (Burnt Places) inaccessible, both lying in Argentina.

Early that morning a certain Carlos Michaelis from Punta Arenas had left the Termas on foot for the summit of the volcano, so after we had gazed with astonishment upon the awe inspiring works of Nature just described, we turned our attention to the higher slopes of Chillán to see if we could see him, for up to now we had seen no sign of him. We finally saw a black spot high up on a snow-field which with binoculars proved to be a man. He was plodding upward through the thick snow laboriously, and at every few steps he would stop.

The glacier now became so steep that the slightest stumble of one of the horses could have easily sent us rolling hundreds of feet down its icy slopes to eternity. We had to dismount twice again and feel our way on account of the deep snow before we reached the final lava field where equestrian ambulation had to cease.

Arrived at the end of the trail, a kilometer below the crater, a whistling noise accompanied by steam rose again from the summit; then there came sounds as of a mighty priming followed by a fierce eruption which threw rocks as big as bath tubs in all directions. Fortunately they did not go far, but their bombardment was enough to scare Prat who was "afraid of nothing" and also Savedra who had previously said "It is nothing." These two men brave at a distance now refused to go on, so Gumprecht and I alone started on the ascent with difficulty, picking our way among the multitude of rocks and shoe high ashes. Finally tired we sat on a bowlder and waited for Michaelis whom we could see a short distance below us. When he came up, throwing his weight on his alpenstock, we ascended to the crater.

It happens that this crater has changed three times during the past year, and that the present explosions do not rise from the crater, but from some holes and fissures of rocks that form the north wall and which are above it. A new crater is forming here, and although considerable smoke issues from the regular one, the danger lies higher up. At any time there is liable to be a violent eruption and the whole north wall will then be torn asunder.

The crater is about an eighth of a mile across with precipitous sides. I could not see its bottom on account of the vapors, but the ledges of its interior were piled high with rocks. Michaelis planted some trigonometrical instruments to take observations here, while Gumprecht and I tried to climb the north wall. We could now see the country to the north. The high volcanos Yeguas, Descabezado, and Peteroa were visible in the blue distance while near at hand the detached white peak of the Nevado de Chillán, so called from its crown of perpetual snow, higher than the volcano soared its lofty dome into the heavens. This is the peak that is seen from the floor of the Central Valley and from that distance it appears as if the smoke were issuing from it.

As Gumprecht and I neared the apex, he was overcome by sulphur fumes which issued from holes all about us, and was obliged to lie down. I tried the ascent alone, and it took me nearly twenty minutes to climb twenty meters, an average of approximately six feet to the minute. This slowness was due to the slippery dampness of the ground which was here covered with a greenish mold caused by its constant wetting by the steam. This ground was so hot that it was nearly impossible to touch it with the hands and the intensity of the heat soon made itself felt through the soles of my shoes. I was obliged to crawl from rock to rock. Eventually I arrived at a sort of natural platform where some previous explorers had placed a few rocks denoting the limit of safety. This place was about eight yards from the rock pile from which the explosions took place. The whole ground was soft. The explorers might just as well have placed their small stone pile half a mile down the mountain side because it is dangerous anywhere near the summit. A few years ago some people were badly hurt on account of flying rocks.

There had been no explosion for several minutes, so thinking I was safe I sat down to rest. Suddenly without the slightest warning, and with the most horrible roar that I have ever heard, like a mighty geyser, the sulphur fumes shot upwards followed by a gush of fire combined with a pelting of large stones which shot out of a large hole with the impetus of a catapult. The air sang with inflammable material which sizzled as it struck the wet rocks. I tried to run, but fell and slid on my bottom ripping off the seat of my trousers. A rock hit me on my right foot which, although I did not feel much pain from it at the time, later on developed into an ailment which several times during the two following years kept me confined in bed for at least three weeks each time. In less than a few seconds I covered the distance to where Gumprecht was lying. I yelled to him to hurry down the mountain to save himself.

"Vait a minute," he yelled, "I can't breath this Gott damn schmoke."

When he got up we hurried down the mountain in quick time, stopping at the old crater where Michaelis was taking observations. That man did not return with us, but waited two hours until the explosions stopped; he then ascended to the stone pile, but no sooner had he arrived there than an explosion took place followed by such a pelting that he had to remain until dark behind some cliffs, waiting for the violence to diminish.

When we had descended to where the horses were, Prat and Savedra rejoiced upon seeing us return alive, for they had a fright on seeing me do the slide, and later both Gumprecht and I running, thinking that we were done for. This did not prevent Savedra from drinking Gumprecht's whiskey after we had left them to make the ascent. We chided them for their cowardice in not coming any farther.

"I am too young to die," was Prat's excuse. Savedra said nothing; he evidently could see no reason why he should undergo strenuous exercise besides running the risk of getting blown up, when he could see the explosions from where he was. It was hot when we had left Las Termas in the morning and I wore a summer suit of clothes and a straw hat. Near the summit of the volcano in snowy defiles where the sun never reaches it was around the zero mark which I keenly felt if I stood still a minute. When we arrived back at the hotel, the crowd gathered around us and asked us all about the trip. The Englishman and the Frenchman with whom we had quarreled started out the next day to make the ascent, but overcome with a "streak of yellow" went only as far as the end of the glacier. Their game was ping-pong.

When we finally left Las Termas we walked to Resinto, a distance of twenty miles, and drove to La Dehesa stopping en route a few minutes at the post house of La Quila to change horses. The road is rocky and is bordered by blackberry bushes whose vines grow to a prodigious size. The Chilean blackberry, named _sarsamorra_, is different from our wild blackberry in the fact that it is sweeter, has a milder flavor and in shape is wider, shorter, and rounder. When I made this trip, the bushes were bent down with the weight of this succulent fruit which was now ripe. The sarsamorra is a pest in Chile, as it springs up everywhere, and spreading over the fields is hard to stamp out. It forms natural hedges for estate boundaries and field limits.

In all this Ñuble country overcoats and thick underwear come in handy. The nights are cool in summer while in winter there is snow in the hills. I saw people in the plaza in Chillán in March, which corresponds to September in countries north of the Tropic of Cancer, wearing overcoats. Not that it was really cold enough to wear them, but it is a fad with South Americans to don overcoats upon the slightest occasion.

I was obliged to stop a day at the Hotel Central on my return to Chillán owing to the failure of the administration of the Termas to telephone to Monsieur Heguy reserving me a room at the Hotel de France. The Central is not bad, but it seems to have no proper management; it is a costly establishment but is not as clean as the Hotel de France. As the hotel was filled, I was obliged to sleep in a sample room. Because I presented an uncouth appearance upon my arrival, due to a week's "roughing it," the obsequious boy who acts as head push, hotel runner, etc., thought that I was a bum and intended giving me a cot in a room with a couple of "drunks" on the top floor, to which I made serious objections. At the Central the better a person is dressed upon arrival, the better a room he gets. The size of a piece of meat served in the dining-room is equal to that of a walnut.

At Pinto I met Don Vicente Mendez U, governor of the Province of Ñuble. He was returning from a tour of inspection of the farmers' mutual railway. He was very much interested in North American customs which he wanted to see introduced in Chile especially in his province, chiefly the prohibition propaganda of which he had read much. He thought that it would be a good thing to have the Province of Ñuble go dry and advocated it strongly. Later on in conversation with him when I told him that I was in Chile to look the country over in view of starting up a new industry, stating that I thought that a brewery would pay in Chillán, he changed his views and said that it would be quite the thing because the Julius Jenson brewery did not do a big enough business to satisfy the wants of the inhabitants, and that the inhabitants of the city had to import beer from Valdivia and Talca. He made an appointment to meet me the next day and brought with him the mayor of the city and some of the important officials. There was proposed to me that if I would build a brewery in Chillán, I should receive as a concession a track of land on the railroad besides an exemption from taxes for a number of years. They were very enthusiastic about the proposition. The governor also said that it would pay in Chillán to found a hypothecary agricultural bank. I doubt the feasibility of this because crops often go to waste on account of no market. My friend the doctor from Rancagua grew twenty thousand bushels of barley in 1916; of this he was only able to dispose of one carload.

In 1916 there was a great railroad strike on the State Railroads of Chile; owing to it trains were invariably late and did not run nights. I was therefore obliged to stop off overnight at Curicó en route to Santiago. At the stations of San Carlos and Villa Alegre there were enough watermelons, here called _sandias_, piled up to supply the entire republic. There are no freight sheds at the stations large enough to store the crops about to be exported, so it is not uncommon for a farmer to have his whole grain crop spoiled by rain as it lies in sacks near the platforms.

We arrived at Curicó at night and stopped at the Hotel Curicó, which is run in connection with the eating-house at the depot. It is a large brick old-fashioned building. The daughter of the landlady is one of the most attractive girls I have ever had the fortune of meeting, and in the two days that I was there I had a feeling for her that can be described as infatuation. She was rather tall and slender but well built, a brunette, and about twenty-two years old. She was also refined and possessed good sense. I did not try to become well acquainted with her as I had no desire to play with fire, but these attractions of hers I was able to perceive without intimate acquaintanceship.

Curicó is the capital of the province of the same name. This province and that of Talca are the two poorest in Central Chile in agriculture, although the land is fertile and in some parts is highly cultivated. The city lies in the center of the Central Valley and owing to its geographical situation it has become quite a busy town. Its population in 1917 was 22,452 inhabitants against 17,573 in 1907. It is the twelfth city of Chile. Curicó has far better government, public and private buildings than Chillán, and its main streets teem with life. The streets are narrow and are paved with small sharp stones. The Calle Prat is the street that leads to the railroad station and is one of the main ones. Four blocks east of the station it is intersected by another main street which runs north and south. Following this street south one arrives at a beautiful plaza, on which is the severe but stately Capitol and several other large buildings which are of the Georgian type of architecture. Besides the Hotel Curicó, there are six or seven other hotels, the Central, the Comercio, etc. Of these the Central is the best. It has two patios above one of which is a grape trellis from which, when I saw it, dangled bunches of fruit, blue, red, and green.