CHAPTER XXVIII.

DOWN THE WESTERN SLOPE OF THE ANDES.--A LONG IMPRISONMENT IN THE SNOW.--"THE SOLDIER'S LEAP."--SANTA ROSA.--SANTIAGO.--ARRIVAL AT VALPARAISO.

Several condors were wheeling in the air above the little party, but, besides these huge birds of the mountains, there were no visible signs of animal life. In the last half-hour of the ascent Frank had felt the effect of the rarefied atmosphere of his great elevation. He breathed with difficulty, and as he took the air into his lungs its lightness was very unsatisfying. There seemed to be a heavy pressure upon his chest, and several times a faintness came over him which threatened to end in unconsciousness. He tried to think of other things, and in this way preserved his senses, and kept from falling out of the saddle.

But if the youth suffered from the rarity of the atmosphere while making no exertions, what must it have been with the animal he rode? The breath of the mule came quick and fast, and was expelled from the nostrils with a loud sound; the animal could hardly take a dozen steps without halting to rest; and it was the same with all the other beasts of the train. Frank declared afterwards that he never witnessed a more notable instance of patience and perseverance on the part of the much-derided hybrid than in that ride over the Andes. He forgave the animal for his eccentricities and insubordination near Mendoza, and promised never again to despise a mule.

Before beginning the descent it was necessary to make a careful adjustment of the saddles, to prevent their slipping forward, as the road is quite as steep as the one up which they had just been climbing. Every strap was tightened and fastened, and when all was ready, and the mules had fully recovered their breathing powers, the column began its march into Chili.

"Down, down we went," wrote Frank in his journal, "along a series of zigzags cut into the steep slope of the mountain at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees. The vast area before us, bordered by the distant ocean, was broken into mountains and valleys, dotted with forests and stretches of open country, sprinkled with towns and villages, and seamed and streaked with the tortuous paths of rivers which have their sources on the sides of the Andes, and are fed from the melting snows. The contemplation of such an expanse of the world's surface lying at my feet told more plainly than my sufferings with the rarefied air the great elevation I had attained. I was at a height of more than two miles, and the summits of mountains that would be considered lofty almost anywhere else were far below me. The ocean seemed near and far; its horizon appeared at an almost limitless distance, and at the same time I could half believe that a stone thrown from my hand would fall on the shore.

"We halted at the first hut, and remained an hour for lunch and rest. While we were waiting, Federico told me how he was once caught at this very casucha in a _temporale_, or snow-storm.

"It was rather late in the autumn, and he was going alone from Mendoza to Santa Rosa, having been hired by a merchant of the former place to take an important message over the mountains. He had passed the summit in safety, and reached this casucha just at sunset, when he saw a temporale sweeping down from the north. He dismounted in front of the casucha, and just as he had loosened his saddle and thrown it to the ground the mule sprang from him, dashed down the path, and was out of sight in a moment. The storm came, and he entered the building for safety; he afterwards ascertained that the mule tumbled over a precipice, and was killed by the fall into the chasm below.

"All night the snow whirled around the little dwelling, and in the morning the drifts reached to the top of the doorway. Road, cliff, and chasm were obliterated, and it would have been certain death to go on. There he remained day after day; the storm continued, and was so violent that, for much of the time, he could not see a dozen yards away. The hut was without a door, the cold was intense, and his little store of charcoal was of no use to give warmth to the wind-swept building.

"He was threatened with death by starvation, as his stock of provisions was small. He ate as little as possible consistent with supporting life; hour after hour he sat and gazed at his possessions, wondering whether they would hold out until he could venture to descend from his mountain prison. On the seventeenth day the last mouthful was consumed, and on the morning of the eighteenth he had the option of dying for want of food or risking his life among the cliffs and chasms which lay beneath him and the wide stretch of forest and fertile land visible below.

"Enfeebled by his privations and trembling with the cold, he crawled from the hut and began the perilous descent. Slowly he crept forward, feeling with a stick every foot of the path, hugging closely against the cliff, standing sometimes on the edge of precipices, where another inch would have carried him sheer downwards for thousands of feet, cutting a pathway through the drifts, picking his way over streams covered with ice that threatened to crumble beneath him, fainting at times from loss of strength, and lying helpless for minutes which seemed like hours. He finally passed below the snow-line and reached the smiling valley, where he found relief.

"He tells me that once during this journey he actually slipped over the edge of a precipice, but caught with his hands on the rock, and saved himself from death. I drew the story from him with considerable difficulty, and his face was ashy pale as he narrated his experiences in those dreadful eighteen days. Since that time no amount of money could tempt him to venture over the mountains in the season when the temporales may be expected."

"We halted for the night," continued Frank, "at a hut called Guarda Vieja, or 'Old Guard,' where we found scanty herbage for the mules and poor shelter for ourselves. The animals were fed with the last ration of grain that had been brought for their use. Federico said there was no further need to keep it, as the next forenoon would take us to an abundance of food for man and beast. We supped heartily, and rejoiced to think we should sleep the next night in Santa Rosa, unless prevented by accident.

"Near this place was the scene of one of the battles in the struggle which made Chili independent of the mother country. Revolutionists, under General San Martin, crossed the mountains from the Argentine side, and were exhausted with the fatigue of their long march and privations, while the Spaniards were fresh, and had a good position. The battle resulted in the defeat of the Spaniards, notwithstanding the advantages in their favor.

"Descending from this point, we found the road in some places a mere shelf on the side of the mountain, hanging over a furious torrent that rushes along far below. In one place the sides of the chasm are not more than fifteen feet apart; this spot is called 'The Soldier's Leap,' and the tradition is that, in the battle I have just mentioned, one of the Spanish soldiers escaped from his enemies by springing from one cliff to the other.

"At one place we crossed a chasm by a suspension bridge that shook beneath us at every step. When the wind blows up the valley the bridge sways so much that its passage is absolutely dangerous, and the traveller must wait till the blast is over. There was just a gentle breeze when we arrived, and Federico said it was safe enough to venture across, but we must be careful where we placed our feet.

"It was almost identical with the bridge of the Apurimac, described by Mr. Squier in his work on Peru, as it was constructed of the same materials, and was about one hundred and fifty feet wide. There were four cables--two of twisted withes of a very tough and flexible plant, and two of braided rawhide. The latter were smaller than the others, and served partly for supports and partly to prevent a passenger from going over the side. The floor is of sticks and canes laid transversely, and also parallel with the length of the bridge, so that it looks like a sort of very coarse matting.

"I got down and walked over the bridge, partly through Federico's advice, but largely from my own inclination. I was uncertain what the mule might take into his head to accomplish during the transit, and did not regard it a good place for experiments. But the mules really behaved admirably; nothing could exceed their docility, and the most antiquated cart-horse was never more demure than they. A mule knows pretty well when and where to indulge in hilarity; he realizes that a swaying bridge a hundred feet above a mountain torrent is not to be used as a quadrupedal dancing-hall.

"Turning a bend of the road beyond this bridge, we saw, far up a gorge, a stream that came out of a cavern, like an enormous spring. This is the one mentioned by Lieutenant Strain as having its source in the 'Lago Encantada,' or Enchanted Lake, more than a mile away. It was a mystery for a long time to the Indians, and a puzzle to several scientific visitors, what became of the water that flowed into the lake, as it had no apparent outlet. There was evidently a complete closing of the gorge which formerly drained the lake, by the fall of a vast mass of earth and rock, through the action of an earthquake; the water forced a subterranean passage and the mystery was explained. The Indians regard with awe everything they do not understand, and therefore concluded that the removal of the water was due to supernatural agencies.

"We soon entered a cultivated region, where the warm air was a pleasant relief to the chilliness of the upper elevations of the mountains. The descents were rapid, but no longer perilous, the bridges more substantial, and the roads wider. Grass and trees abounded; farms and farm-houses dotted the country; signs of population were everywhere evident; and the perils of our travels among the snow were things of the past. The houses grew into villages, and finally, just at sunset of the fifth day of our journey, we drew up in front of the posada at Santa Rosa and made our last descent from the patient and weary mules.

"Santa Rosa is a long and rather straggling town with about five thousand inhabitants; like most Spanish-American towns, it has a large plaza, where the principal business is centred. A noticeable feature of the place is the stream of pure water, from the mountains, flowing in nearly every street; it comes from the melting snows of the Andes, and the supply is unfailing. The plaza was thronged with people when we arrived, and some of them looked curiously at the stranger within the gates. There was not the least sign of rudeness, but, on the contrary, an air of politeness which one does not always find in such an out-of-the-way spot as this.

"The lodgings of the posada were passable and endurable; they were excellent by comparison with the casuchas and open air of the mountains, but when contrasted with a good hotel, in a civilized land, they did not amount to much. Manuel found me a room which had a bed in it, and also a table and two rickety chairs. The bed was a rawhide stretched across a frame, when green, and then allowed to dry, so that it seemed quite as hard as a pine floor, if not harder. On the rawhide lay a thin mattress filled with straw; there was a pair of sheets on the bed, but no pillows, and I sent Manuel in search of some.

"He returned with the announcement that all the pillows in the house were engaged, but I could have some the next night if I spoke for them at once. As I was to leave in the morning I declined the engagement, and used my overcoat and one of my blankets on which to rest my head during the night.

"At dinner we said farewell to charqui, as the meal consisted of fresh beef stewed with onions and potatoes, with an abundance of _Chili Colorado_ (red peppers), followed by one of those mysterious compounds known as a Spanish omelette. Bread was fresh from the oven, and, though dark and tough, it was not to be despised; during and after dinner the mate-pot was produced, and I drank freely of the refreshing beverage. I slept soundly in spite of dreams of home, Mendoza, the Andes, the pampas, the Amazon, Fred and the Doctor, and all sorts of things at once. It was a relief to wake and know exactly where I was.

"Before going to bed I settled with Federico, giving the balance of what was due him, and making a small present in addition. The train was to leave at eight o'clock; Manuel called me at six, in time for breakfast, and with plenty of leisure to reach the station before the advertised hour.

"Truth compels me to add that I saw little of the country between Santa Rosa and Santiago, as I intrusted my ticket to Manuel and slept nearly all the way. I have an indistinct recollection of glimpses of fig and orange orchards, farm-houses and villages, vineyards and wheat-fields, level plains interspersed with rolling or hilly country, and above all the towering peaks of the Andes, and the lower summits of the Cordillera. I do not wonder that I slept, as I had a good deal of fatigue to make up for.

"Santiago, the capital of Chili, with its population of two hundred and odd thousand, seemed to me like a return to Paris or New York. Here is a city with broad and regular streets, lighted with gas, lined with spacious sidewalks, and equipped with horse-railways; with great squares ornamented with fountains and statues; with hospitals, schools, asylums, and other public edifices by the dozen and almost by the hundred; with a great cathedral; with handsome bridges over the river that supplies it with water; with banks, commercial houses, post and telegraph offices, insurance companies and other paraphernalia of trade; with a public library of forty thousand volumes and many rare manuscripts; in a word, with all the attributes of a great city. From the railway station I went directly to the hotel, and was welcomed with so much politeness by the proprietor that I was almost ready to exclaim with Shenstone:

"Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, Where'er its stages may have been, Must sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn."

"The Alameda, or promenade, is beautifully shaded, and a favorite resort of the population. Most of the dwellings are low, on account of earthquakes, but they are surrounded by spacious court-yards and furnished with great liberality. The city seems to exist in spite of disadvantages. It has had numerous earthquakes, many of them disastrous, in the period covered by its history, and on several occasions it has suffered from inundations. But it has a delightful climate, the thermometer averaging 68 deg. in summer and 50 deg. in winter, so that it is never very warm nor very cold. Heavy and frequent rains fall in winter, and any one who is not fond of rain should not come here in that season.

"Aside from the earthquakes, and also the wars in which Santiago has suffered, one of the most tragic days it has ever known was the 8th of December, 1863. On that day three thousand people, mostly women, were in the church of La Campania; a cry of fire was raised, and there was a rush for the outer air. The doors opened inwardly; the assemblage pressed against them, and no persuasion could induce them to fall back and allow the doors to be swung on their hinges. Panic-stricken, they crowded forward; the fire increased; suffocating smoke filled the place; and two thirds of that three thousand were burned, trampled, or smothered to death. The memory of that terrible day is still fresh in the minds of the people, and will be long preserved.

"I rode past the church where this calamity occurred, but did not care to enter it, as there was nothing interesting in its architecture, and I have no feeling of morbid curiosity. I was more interested in the streets and the houses, the long rows of tall poplars that lined the streets, and the flower-gardens visible at almost every step. The poplar was introduced from Mendoza; the inhabitants say that along with the poplar came the goitre, as not a case of the disease was known until the exotic shade-trees were planted and began their growth in their new home.

"In the middle hours of the day I found the streets almost deserted, but they are busy enough in the morning and towards sunset. Daybreak brings a crowd of peons from the country with vegetables, fruit, chickens, milk, and other edibles for sale; their shouting is loud and continuous, as they cry their wares from house to house or walk up and down the market-places. A great quantity of freshly cut _alfalfa_ (a variety of clover) is brought from the country and sold for feeding stock. It is piled on the back of mule or horse so that the animal is completely covered; you might easily imagine yourself looking at a haycock which had suddenly acquired the power of locomotion. There are droves of pack-mules; trains of carts with their wheels cut from a log, and creaking as if in dire distress; priests in sombre black, and men and women in variegated garments, all combining to form an animated picture. As the sun rises above the Andes and ascends in the heavens the crowd thins away, and long before noon there is an almost painful air of stillness over the whole scene.

"Santiago lies in a valley between two ranges of the Andes chain, and about eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. Consequently it has both sunrise and sunset over the mountains; the former on the great range and the latter over the western Cordillera. There is an interesting period of the sunset--beginning when the city first comes under the shadow of the western mountains, and ending when the last rays leave the snow-capped mountain peaks in the east. The colors of the rainbow are perceptible in a sunset under favorable conditions; the tints change with the shadow, and we have yellow, vermilion, violet, green, purple, and other hues, in succession and combination, closing with a bright blaze and halo from the crests of the mountains. The last light of day comes reflected from these mountains in the east, and not from the west, where we are accustomed to see it in other cities and in other parts of the globe. Nature seems to be reversed in this most southerly capital of the continent.

"I found the markets not unlike those of Lima. The products of two zones are attainable in this Andean situation, though there are fewer tropical fruits and vegetables than in the capital of Peru. There are strawberries, grapes, figs, peaches, pears, quinces, apples, nectarines, cherries, apricots, plums, oranges, lemons, citrons, and chirimoyas--the latter far inferior to those of Lima. The fruits mostly in demand and largely consumed are water-melons and musk-melons; both are delicious, and grow to a great size, and they are as cheap as they are good.

"But I fear I shall weary you with this description of the city, and, besides, I must be moving to Valparaiso to meet the steamer bringing Dr. Bronson and Fred. The time-table says the voyage occupies twelve days; it is now ten days since I saw them leave Buenos Ayres, and to-morrow will be the eleventh day. To-morrow I will go to Valparaiso by the railway; it is a ride of four hours, or perhaps five, if the train is not in a hurry, and then I can get everything in readiness to welcome them to the soil of Chili."

Frank went by the train the next morning, and soon after noon he arrived at the seaport. He found a bustling, active city, with a population of more than one hundred thousand, of whom less than three fourths were native Chilians. According to the statistics Valparaiso contains 15,000 German inhabitants, 7000 British, 4000 French, 2000 Italians, and 500 Americans, and a great deal more than half its commerce is in foreign hands.

The city is on a bay which opens towards the north so capaciously that it was formerly swept by all winds from between north-northeast and west-northwest; ships anchored with springs on their cables, and were ready to put to sea at any moment to avoid the chance of being driven on shore. A mole, which was incomplete at the time of Frank's visit, gives more security, and when finished will make a fairly good harbor for Valparaiso.

The name of the city indicates "Vale of Paradise," but Frank was unable to see where the appearances justified such a pleasing title. The bay is bordered by rugged hills, that, for more than half of the distance around the semicircular beach, leave only room enough for a single row of houses near the water. The fronts of some of these hills are so steep that you may almost step to them from the back windows of the upper stories of the dwellings.

Facing the other half of the bay is a triangular plain of sand, formed by the _debris_ of the streams flowing from the hills, and the washings of the surf on the shore. The city is built on this sand, along the narrow beach, and up the sides and over the tops of the hills. It forcibly suggests a struggle for position where nature is in a repellent mood.

"Valparaiso makes me think of Algiers," wrote Frank in his note-book, "but I miss the grand archways of the _Boulevard de la Republique_ and the old castle which once sheltered the Dey and held his treasures. I think of Beyrout, with the Lebanon range in the background, but the Lebanon is dwarfed almost to insignificance by the mighty Andes; I think of Quebec, but the heights of Abraham and the walls of the old-time stronghold of France in America are not faithfully reproduced; and, finally, I remember Gibraltar, nestling at the base of the famous 'Rock.' There is a resemblance to all these places, but when we study Valparaiso in detail we find many points of difference.

"Valparaiso has suffered from earthquakes; twice it has been nearly destroyed by them, and there is hardly a week in the year without a shock. For this reason the houses are mostly of one or two stories, especially in the resident portion, and every inhabitant is ready to flee to the open air at a moment's warning. I don't want to become a permanent dweller in this city until earthquakes are done away with."

The city has theatres and churches, schools and hospitals, a custom-house and a government palace, great warehouses for the reception and storage of goods, street railways, gas, steam fire-engines, fine shops, poor hotels, and a fairly good police system. It has a large and increasing commerce, and is destined to grow in wealth and grandeur as time goes on, unless the earthquakes make an end of it--a contingency not pleasant to contemplate. It was bombarded by the Spanish fleet in 1866, and, though few lives were lost, there was an immense destruction of property, of which nine tenths belonged to foreign merchants.

About three o'clock on the afternoon of the day following Frank's arrival the flag on the custom-house signalled the approach of the English steamer. Our young traveller, accompanied by Manuel, engaged a boat, and as the great ship came to her anchorage he was rowed alongside, and exchanged greetings with his old companions and friends.

We will now make a flying leap over the Andes, and accompany Dr. Bronson and his nephew in their voyage from Buenos Ayres through the Strait of Magellan.