Punta Arenas is the business centre of the region extending from Port Desire, on the Patagonian coast to Cape Horn, and from the Falkland Islands on the east to the westernmost limits of Chile. The little settlement that originally was established there was called La Colonia de Magellanes. On the 21st of April, 1843, Chile first planted her tri-coloured banner at a place near here, which was called Port Famine, because of the disastrous end of the Sarmiento settlement, which had been located there a couple of centuries previously.

Chile had a double purpose in establishing this post. One was its desire to hold the territory as a national possession, and the other was to establish a penal colony which would be so far away from the capital that the prisoners, even if they escaped, could not return. Several hundred prisoners were generally confined there, who were kept in subjection by a small company of soldiers. On two occasions the convicts rebelled and took possession of this settlement. On one of these the governor and many of the guards were killed and the mutineers boarded a ship that chanced to be in the harbour, but they were overtaken by a Chilean man-of-war and overcome. The men were hung, and it is said that a man was seen hanging from every yard-arm of the war-ship. After the first revolt a new settlement was established on the present site of Punta Arenas, which was given the old name. The tongue of sand there, however, the English-speaking people called Sandy Point, and thereafter the name Punta Arenas, which means the same in Spanish, was given it; at least it is entirely known by that name now.

In 1877 the last revolt occurred, when the convicts revenged the cruelties to which they had been subjected upon the commander of the garrison and many of the soldiers. When a man-of-war appeared they fled into the interior, where most of them died from starvation and hardships. The establishment of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company was the cause of the abandonment of this place as a penal colony. It proved to be a convenient stopping place for the steamers to take on coal and supplies, and this gave it a new life. Later came the discovery of gold, which brought many to the settlement. Still later a Scotchman brought some sheep from the Falkland Islands, and found that the region around Punta Arenas and on the island opposite was well adapted for sheep raising. Others took advantage of this experience, until the neighbourhood around became noted for its sheep culture. Some day, if a freezing establishment should be established here, Punta Arenas will become a still more important place, and it is undoubtedly only a question of time until such will be done. The town itself makes a poor foreground for the magnificent setting of nature. It is laid out on the usual checkerboard plan, with several streets running from the shores back up the hills. It has a plaza and the streets are unpaved. The beach is sandy and the streets are either filled with loose sand or mud.

Across the Straits the green hills of Tierra del Fuego may be seen rising, and over to the south the snow-capped peaks of Mt. Sarmiento and its neighbours appear above the horizon. To the west are mountains which are ever green and rise boldly up to the western edge, while to the north the hills are generally bare. At one time it was thought that coal had been discovered and the mine was opened up; some track was built and an old locomotive brought down. It proved, however, to be only lignite, and so the mine has been practically abandoned.

A considerable trade has been developed in Indian curios and goods. The Indians from the pampas and islands come here to sell their furs, feathers, bows, hides, etc. Passengers passing through the Straits on the various steamers usually lay in a supply of these goods, some of which are genuine and others are prepared especially for such passengers. One wonders at the number of palms and plants which are seen in this town so far beyond all other settlements, for even wild flowers of certain kinds seem to grow in great profusion, while ferns and lichens everywhere delight the eye.

South of Punta Arenas there is only one settlement of any importance, and that is Ushuaia. This town is situated on the Argentine side of Tierra del Fuego, and, small as it is, it is the capital of that territory. It stands nearer to the South Pole than any other civilized village in the world. The barriers created by nature are almost insurmountable. To the south is the unknown Antarctic, to the north the impassable barrier of snow-clad peaks, and in all other directions are the fathomless channels separating it from the other islands. Established first as a mission settlement, its site was selected as the capital of the territory. The Argentine flag was first unfolded over the first building erected for the use of officials in 1884. Shortly after that work upon prisons was begun, and it became a still more important settlement. Here, in this isolated quarter of the globe, guarded by a few score of armed men, are confined several hundred men, many of whom are the very dregs of humanity sent from Buenos Aires. These unfortunates work on the roads, dress stone for new and stronger walls, or make the garments worn by themselves and their fellow prisoners. Few attempt to escape and fewer still succeed, for the loneliness and desolation alone would keep a prisoner where human companionship may be found.

Small and unimportant as this town is to-day, and wretched as it would seem to many people, yet it has a full complement of officials with their secretaries and servants. There is a complete list of judicial officers and police officials, even though the police have no patrol to beat and the court has no docket. About the only part of the official equipment that has any work to do is the culinary department, for it takes a great deal of cooking and preparation to provide food for every one there. Out of a population of several hundred to-day, made up principally of prisoners and officials, there are only a very few plain common citizens who dwell there.

Most of the buildings in Ushuaia are frame structures, which have been erected near the bay that bears the same name as the town. It is situated on Beagle Channel. The houses consist of plain unpainted wooden walls, with a roof of corrugated iron. The governor’s palace itself is not much better than the other buildings. A few of the buildings have little green patches, enclosed with picket fences, in which they are able to grow a few vegetables. For a location so far south the climate is not so bad as one would expect, as the snowfall is not as great as in the same latitude in northern regions. In the winter time the nights are very long and the days short. The mountains just at the back of the town cut off the sunlight when the sun is low, so that the town only receives about four hours of daylight. It is certainly a cheerless sort of existence that the people lead in this southern capital. There are still one or two missions that are conducted by English missionaries on this coastland, but they have had very little influence upon the natives. One of the missions consists of quite a large ranch, where the minister in charge of the mission lives and employs the natives to do his work.

For several hundred miles north of Punta Arenas lies the formerly unknown land of Patagonia—the land of the Pata-goas, the “big feet,” as they were named by Magellan. One can see in that city almost any day descendants of that race in the Tehuelche tribe of Indians who come there to sell their furs and skins. Out upon the broad pampas away from the town, the traveller will occasionally stumble upon the toldos (huts) of the Tehuelches. These are simply made huts of the skins of the guanaco sewn loosely together at the edges, and supported squarely upon awkward-looking props, or posts, forked at the top to admit the ridge-poles. The skins are fastened to the earth by wooden pegs. The Tehuelches are the native Indians of Patagonia—the so-called giants—and are well built specimens of manhood. These Indians live almost as their ancestors did hundreds of years ago. They are still nomads, and exist entirely by the chase. They do not cultivate anything whatever, but sometimes own a few cattle. In general they still dress in skins, although some of them have purchased store clothes at the settlements. As a rule they are mild mannered, when sober, and do not deserve the name of being bloodthirsty savages. Their numbers have greatly decreased, since the first discovery of Patagonia, through dissipation and disease, and some have estimated that the total number yet remaining will not exceed a few hundred.

Only a few years ago the geographers labelled Patagonia “no man’s land.” To-day millions of sheep graze over its fertile plains. It is as large as several of our western states. It is a land of big distances and enormous holdings. In the pasture section it is often a ride of three or four days from one ranch to another. Most of these ranches are near the coast or along the few rivers. As one travels into the interior a white face becomes more and more rare; empty leagues surround you on every hand. One accustomed to cities only would find it very lonely indeed on these plains. One seems to stand alone with only the wind, the mirages and the limitless distances, and the blue sky above for a canopy. The last land to have been the habitation of the greater beasts of preceding ages, according to geologists, Patagonia is one of the last to receive its proper share of the human population.

There are three races of Indians who inhabit these Fuegian islands, the Yahgans, Alacaloofs and the Onas, all of whom are very low in intelligence. They are commonly known under the general characterization of the Firelanders. None of them are as far advanced as the Esquimaux, who build warm igloos for their habitation. Even though the climate is very cold the greater part of the year these aborigines formerly wore very little clothing, but greased their bodies with fish oil that keeps out the cold. In recent years, however, they have begun to wear warmer garments, when such can be obtained. The Yahgans are very treacherous, and many murders have been traced to them. They will mingle very little with white people, but always hold themselves aloof. Their houses are of the most primitive character, and are frequently little more than a rude construction of thatch on a skeleton of sticks stuck in the ground.

These Yahgans live almost entirely on sea food. They divide their time between these rude huts and canoes, or dugouts made from the trunks of trees, in which they paddle through the tortuous channels from one island to another. Should a storm overtake the boat and it becomes necessary to lighten it, the men show their instinct for self-preservation by throwing the women and children overboard. They are not particular about food, as to whether it is very fresh or not. There is frequently a dearth of food, and then it is that they are driven to eat the flesh of a stranded whale or of an animal found dead. Ground rats and the fishy-flavoured penguin are included on their regular bill-of-fare. Their camping-places can generally be located by the mounds of shells that accumulate. They are as near to primitive savages as it would be possible to find on the Americas. As usual among savage tribes, the women do the most of the work, and assist in the hunting and fishing as well as prepare the meat after it has once been caught. The Yahgans are short and muscular and below medium height. Their lower limbs seem rather stunted, but above the waist they are heavily built. Marriage is a matter of purchase and sale, and wives are sometimes exchanged. The marriage ceremony consists in painting the girl in a peculiar way, and then the husband takes her to his hut or that of his parents.

The Alacaloofs, or Alakalufs, occupy the western islands and are similar in their habits to the Yahgans. Their canoes are made of strips of bark or planks fastened together with vines and caulked with moss. Their huts look like New England haycocks made of boughs and covered with skins or bark strips. They frequently row out to meet passing steamers and beg for food. They are not an attractive people. In colour they strongly resemble the North American red men, but they are not much over five feet in height. The only domesticated animal owned by them is the dog. With this tribe, as well as the Yahgans, everything is held in common and it is no crime to take of your neighbour’s fuel or food.

The Onas are a hunting tribe and they are larger than either of the other tribes. They occupy the prairie lands and open bush of Tierra del Fuego. The men are active and athletic, and they are especially skilful in stalking the guanaco of that island. They are expert in the use of the rude bows and arrows which they make for themselves. The bows are fashioned out of a native wood cut with shell knives, and the arrows are made out of reeds armed with a flint or glass point. Horse meat is a great delicacy with them. The struggle for existence has made these people inexpressive in features and stoical in actions. A good fortune or an ill fortune is met in much the same way. Their homes are generally saucer-shaped hollows that have been scraped out, over which poles and brush are piled and guanaco skins are used as doors. All the family lie down together, and the dogs are included for warmth. They are nomads and wander from one place to another in search of food. Fire is made with bits of iron ore or flints and dry fungus. Some of this tribe are now employed as servants by the white people, but most of them prefer the wild life in the open.

With all the hardships that seem to fall to the lot of these Indians who live so far to the south, they seem to be fairly happy and are contented with their surroundings. This is truly fortunate. People who live in the temperate zones are inclined to think that they are the only truly happy ones. By travel one’s view is broadened, and at last he realizes the truth expressed by Oliver Goldsmith in the following lines:—

CHAPTER VII
THE BACKBONE OF THE CONTINENT

The trip across the continent of South America is now made very comfortably by train. The start is from the very pleasant station of the State Railway of Valparaiso. For a number of miles the tracks run almost along the water’s edge, and thus afford many beautiful views of the blue bay of Valparaiso. The trains on this road are very comfortable, for the Chilean State Railway is one of the very few railroads in South America that provide Pullman cars for their patrons. After leaving Viña del Mar the line soon abandons the bay, and threads its way through the coast range of mountains. One gets many glimpses of the higher Andes through the passes, and there are also green glens where advantage has been taken of the running water for irrigation. Cacti become very abundant, and one is reminded of the plateaus of Mexico, for these silent sentinels seem to keep watch over the herds of sheep and goats that feed on the slopes. Any one who has seen Southern Chile first will notice the difference as soon as the train leaves Santiago. The progressive dryness of the climate has a pronounced effect on the vegetation. The cacti are frequently from twelve to fifteen feet in height, and their entire surface is covered with stout, curved spines.

After creeping along the shore and then through a valley, the railroad soon joins the Aconcagua River, which leaps and foams along, thus forming a series of diminutive cascades. In the winter time the change in temperature is very marked as the upward climb continues. In places the valley spreads out to quite generous proportions, and one will see haciendas that are well kept up and which show evidence of careful cultivation. Contrast is afforded by the sight of oxen drawing one-handled, wooden ploughs. How powerful must have been the Moorish influence in Spain, for these ploughs are exact duplicates of the plough of ancient Chaldea and Egypt, which was carried along the coast of Barbary into Spain, and left there as a heritage to the Spaniards, who introduced it into the New World. The general impression left with the traveller over this route, between Valparaiso and Santiago, is one of comparative barrenness and desolation.

Viña del Mar, Limache and Quillota are three quite important towns that are passed en route, the latter two of which have some important manufacturing establishments. Llai Llai (pronounced Yi-yi) is about half way, and this is the diverging point for the two routes. One leads to the capital, and the other is the continuation of the transcontinental railroad. Llai Llai is a pleasant little town of five or six thousand inhabitants, and is situated about twenty-six hundred and twenty-five feet above sea level. A number of fruit sellers are sure to be at the station, and one who does not purchase a few of the delicious pears or peaches, that are sold so reasonably, misses a great treat. They are grown in a rich valley below which is a sort of agricultural Arcadia.

The through cars are switched to another track, a different engine is attached to them and the traveller is soon bound for Los Andes. The journey does not differ greatly from that already described. The city of San Felipe is the largest town passed and it is situated amidst well cultivated fields. It is a city of about twelve thousand. Soon afterwards the train reaches Santa Rosa de Los Andes, which marks a break in the journey. Here it is necessary to change trains, and frequently to stay over night. It is at the foothills of the Andes, and one can find many pleasant little excursions into the foothills here, if he has the inclination to tarry for a few days. The climate is good, and the physical wants of the traveller are very well looked after at the hotel. A few Americans will be found there, for the railroad is operated by that nationality.

If it is the summer time one will find Los Andes a very pleasant little place, with quite an abundance of vegetation around it. The altitude is about twenty-six hundred feet, which gives it a delightful climate. Fruits grow abundantly, and the fruit-canning industry has been considerably developed. This is in the province of Aconcagua, which contains some of the most notable elevations in the entire republic, and, in fact, in the entire world. This province is about as large as Connecticut and Rhode Island combined. In addition to the eastern boundary of lofty peaks there are numerous low hills, between which lie fertile valleys. Through the use of irrigation agriculture flourishes in these valleys, and there is a considerable production of grains and wine. There are also a number of silver and copper mines in the province. San Felipe is the capital, and is distant about seventy-eight miles from both Santiago and Valparaiso.

“Vamonos,” says the conductor of the narrow gauge train, as it pulls out of the station on its way to the limits of Chilean territory. One will begin to take notice of his fellow-travellers. The passengers will be found to be of many nationalities, and of many shades of colour, for, since the railway journey is continuous, fewer people take the much longer route via the Straits of Magellan. There will be Chilenos, with big hats and ponchos, and Chilenas, whose faces are coated with powder or paste. There will be priests in beaver hats and black gowns, which reach to their feet. Soldiers in uniforms modelled after the German army are quite likely to be companions as far as the border. Americans, British, French, Germans, Italians and Argentinians—all of these nationalities go to make up a potpourri of nations and national characteristics. As the start is generally made in the morning, one sees the stars disappear and the dawn break over the mountains. The gray skies turn to a steel-blue, then to a rosy pink, until, at last, the highest peaks are illuminated by the rays of the sun. One may leave Los Andes clad in its summer plumage, with myriads of butterflies and moths flitting about, but these characteristics soon disappear, for the upward climb begins almost immediately. In the next thirty-five miles this rack and pinion road climbs upward more than seven thousand feet. It is a much steeper ascent than on the Argentine side, for it requires three times the distance to reach the same level on that slope.

The track follows the course of the Aconcagua River. This river is at no time a great stream, yet the total volume of water carried down in its swift-flowing current must be considerable. Many glimpses of the simple natives, and their primitive means of conveyance, are afforded on the ancient highway that threads the same valley. On the mountainside an occasional mud hut may be seen around and over which climb creepers and flowering vines. The scenery is beautiful and full of variations. Every turn of the tortuous track reveals a new scene of beauty, and there are few railway journeys in the world that will afford a greater variety of views than this overland route to Buenos Aires. The mountains grow from grand to grander, as if Ossa had been piled upon Pelion. When sunlight and shadow play upon the rock the contrasts are dazzling and the senses gladdened. There is a prodigality of colours such as even the Yosemite, the Grand Cañon or the Dolomites do not surpass. Guardia Viega, the “old guard,” is one of the stations, and is so named because it was for two centuries a guard station on the Antiguo Camino, or ancient road between the two republics. The vegetation becomes scanter as the altitude increases, but, scant as it is, it is a pleasing change to the traveller coming from the other direction. Juncal, which for several years was the terminus, is passed. One of the most beautiful views afforded is that of the narrow gorge, known as the Salto del Soldado, the Soldier’s Leap, through which the tempestuous waters of the river foam and toss. There is a tradition connected with this strange freak of nature of which the Chileans are proud. During the war of independence it is said that a Chilean pursued by the enemy, leaped across this chasm and saved his life. Owing to the width it is an almost impossible tale to believe.

Just beyond Juncal is a beautiful little lake, which is as opalescent and translucent as any of the lakes of Switzerland, and several thousand feet higher. It is the Lago del Inca, the Lake of the Incas. Pure as crystal, and clear as an unclouded sky, this little body of water rests tranquilly amidst as harsh and severe a setting as one could well find. Masses of rock seem poised on ledges ready to project themselves down into valleys with destruction in their path. The mad gods who formed these eternal peaks must have paused for a moment in their work in order to add this one touch of real beauty to the landscape.

Here one may also see the huge condors, flying at such heights that they look no larger than a swallow. The glass will sometimes reveal others that can scarcely be distinguished with the naked eye. They sail and circle around in the rarefied air with scarcely a flap of the wing. In the winter time the condor may be found near the coast, but in summer they always return to the highest Andean peaks, where they rear their young. The eggs are deposited in lofty clefts or caverns, where no form of animal life exists that might destroy the young birds. A young condor during the first year clings to the parent bird, for its body is too big for its wings. This royal bird figures on the national escutcheon of Chile as an emblem of strength and independence. The Indians surround it with many legends, and some of them believe that the souls of the lost enter the bodies of the condor and are thus poised between heaven and earth, so as to see the glories of both and be able to enjoy neither, like the doom of Tantalus.

At last Caracoles, the name given to the little station at the Chilean end of the international railroad, is reached, at an elevation of a little more than ten thousand feet above sea level. The tunnel is just about the same length as the altitude, for it is ten thousand three hundred and eighty-five feet from entrance to exit. Near the centre of this hole bored through the Andean rock the international boundary is passed, and, when the train emerges at Las Cuevas, the other terminus, the traveller catches his first glimpse of Argentina. It is a scene of vast desolation that meets his gaze. It is a picture of solitude, with nothing to relieve it in the way of vegetation. The vivid colourings of the stratas of rock and the white summits of the many peaks in sight, however, make it a scene of wild glory that uplifts the soul at the majesty of nature. One stands aghast at the marvellous richness of colouring that is revealed on every hand.

The traveller may be thankful that he has not been obliged to traverse this pass in the winter time. Nothing can surpass these vast ridges clad in their winter dress. White and cold, they form a veritable valley of desolation. It is the cold of death, the white mantle of annihilation—something that the brain can scarcely compass. The feeling of solitude in the midst of the whiteness everywhere almost overwhelms the traveller with despair. In places the snow is frequently as much as fifteen feet in depth, deep enough to bury a horse and rider. Sudden storms are likely to overtake the traveller, and he would be snowed in in one of the casuchas. These are shelters that were built at intervals along the pass for the protection of travellers. They are dome-shaped structures which remind one of lime-kilns. They have a small door, but no windows, and will accommodate as many as twenty people at a time. The interior has a brick floor and is absolutely bare. Although protected from the weather, woe be to the traveller obliged to spend a day or two there with a group of arrieros, for filth is everywhere and the stench is almost overpowering.

Although fewer travellers ventured over this pass in the midst of winter, the mail service continued uninterruptedly, and there was seldom a day that some one did not attempt the crossing. A capitas, who was generally a man with a little capital, would undertake to carry the mails or other freight over the pass at a fixed price. He would then engage his force of porters as cheaply as possible, agreeing to furnish them with board and lodging so long as they remained with him. As time was not specified in the mail contract, if a traveller came along the capitas would dump the mails and carry his baggage at an exorbitant price. Everything was done up in packages weighing about sixty pounds. Some of the porters would even undertake to carry two of these—a terrible strain on a rough road. It is little wonder that this and unrestrained dissipation usually gave these men a short life. Sometimes they slid over a precipice, or were hurled to their doom by a falling stone. There are many graves of those who met an untimely end along this route, and it seems almost marvellous that they are not more numerous. After the highest point was passed the porters would toboggan down the slopes, seated on a sheepskin and guiding themselves with pointed staffs. In this way the descent was quickly accomplished. The packages were simply tumbled down, and oftentimes reached the bottom in a very dilapidated condition.

The Trasandino Argentino Railway threads its way out through the valley of the Uspallata, and follows a small stream which gradually becomes larger as little rivulets of melted snow join it. It soon becomes more of a stream, and is given the name of Rio (river) Mendoza. At a distance of less than a dozen miles the station called Puente del Inca is reached, which is so named because of a natural bridge of stratified rock at that place, which is very similar to the Natural Bridge of Virginia. Underneath it bubble up boiling waters which are claimed to have great medicinal value. It is said that the Incas in pre-Spanish times knew of the value of these waters, and their chiefs came here to receive the benefits of its curative waters. Near here one catches a glimpse of a marvellous freak of nature, called the Cerro de los Penitentes, the Ridge of the Penitents. The scattered rocky peaks and points standing up through the sloping debris of the ascent, with their remarkable imitations of toiling wayfarers, must have greatly impressed the Spanish pioneers when they first came upon this scene.

The route continues a picture of desolation, caused by volcanic upheavals and the erosion of countless ages. The Mendoza River, coloured by the various metals of the rocks over which it pours, tumbles along near the railway as both follow one pass after another. Las Vacas, Uspallata, La Invernada and other small stations are passed. About thirty miles before Mendoza is reached a change begins, and poplar and larch trees, alfalfa fields and the grape enliven the scene. Irrigation is utilized and the melted snows cause the land to bloom with remarkable fertility. At last the train runs into the creditable station of Mendoza, and the second stage in the transcontinental journey is ended.

At Mendoza a change is made to the broad gauge trains of the Buenos Aires and Pacific Railway, which will carry the traveller over the remaining leagues of the journey. After leaving the irrigated lands of this neighbourhood, another stretch of miserable scrub land is crossed before the level pampas are entered. From there to Buenos Aires the route is over as level land as is to be found on the earth’s surface. Hour after hour the train rolls over these pampas, past small towns and through great stretches of grain and alfalfa. At last, after about a day and a half’s journey, the train enters the suburbs of Buenos Aires, and finally, with a shrill shriek, rolls into the Retiro Station, which is the end of the trip.

Grand and wonderful as is the ride through and across the Andes by railroad, the traveller has missed one of the most striking features of these solitudes. Almost immediately over the tunnel, and nearly three thousand feet higher, stands the famous statue, known as the Christ of the Andes. This statue was erected in 1904 as a symbol of perpetual peace between the two neighbouring nations. It was cast in bronze from the cannon of the two nations, which had been purchased through fear of impending war. Its location is on the new international boundary line that had just been established by arbitration. Near it is a sign with the words “CHILE” on one side, and “ARGENTINA” on the other side.

The figure of Christ is twenty-six feet in height. In one hand it holds the emblem of the cross, while the other is extended in a blessing, and as if uttering the one magic word “Peace.” On one side is a tablet with the inscription: “Sooner shall these mountains crumble into dust than the people of Argentina and Chile break the peace to which they have pledged themselves at the feet of Christ the Redeemer.” On another side is the inscription:

The Cumbre, as this ridge is called, is the highest point on the old trail. Travellers and baggage were transported over it by mule-back or in carriages, if the almost springless vehicles could be called by such a name, during the summer. It is a very zigzag trail up which the carriages wound, where as many as twenty twists and turns can be counted. On the downward trip the horses ran and jumped, until the timorous traveller began to have visions of disaster. Accidents were rare, however, and seldom was a vehicle overturned. Corners were turned on two wheels, with only a few inches between the outside wheels and the edge of the precipice.

One of the most striking aspects which impress the traveller crossing the Andes is the terribly bleak and desolate outlook that they present. Blades of grass here and there, or perhaps a few stunted shrubs, are the only signs of vegetation, for of trees there are none. There seems to be no tree line, as in most mountains. A huge expanse of yellow sand and stone spreads out everywhere with peaks rising up on every side in clearly defined and rugged stratification, whose many-coloured hues are almost bewildering to the eye. Great torrents flow down the middle of the valleys, the water being of a dull brackish hue. The fording of these streams is a very dangerous task for the explorer, as the torrents are exceedingly rapid and full of deep, treacherous holes.

On either side rise high peaks, and the traveller is always interested in knowing the names of these peaks. If he asks the average native which is Aconcagua, or which Tupungato, he is likely to be misinformed. There is to the inexperienced mountain traveller a disappointment when he finally has one of these lofty peaks pointed out, and which he knows to be above twenty thousand feet in height, because he has expected, perhaps, to see an isolated peak rearing its snowy head to the sky for a distance of four miles or more above the level on which he stands. The traveller forgets that he himself is above the sea level almost half that distance, before he gains a good clear view of the higher peak. It is well established that Aconcagua is the loftiest peak of the Andes, but it is a little uncertain whether Tupungato or the Mercedario is the second in height.

Ten thousand miles of majestic mountains stretch from Alaska to Cape Horn—the grandest range of mountains that can be found on the earth’s surface. Throughout this series of connected mountains, from the wilds of Alaska to those of Patagonia, and including the tropical plateaus of Ecuador, there are many peaks that pierce the ethereal blue of the skies. These are generally termed the Sierras, which is the Spanish word for “saw,” and the name is applied to mountains because of the fancied resemblance of their outlines to that of the carpenter’s tool. A dim knowledge of the majesty of mountains is obtained from the smaller ranges of North America, such as the Appalachian Mountains, but Mt. McKinley, highest of North American mountains, must yield in majesty to a number of peaks in the lofty Andean range of mountains.

The lure of altitude seems to have caught at the spirit of man from early times, and led him struggling up almost unscalable peaks. In recent years the fascination of mountain climbing has become the romance of geography. During the last half century daring explorers have conquered more mountains, and gathered more geological data, than in all the previous centuries. Many lives have been lost by devotees of this science, while pitting skill and strength against nature and her secrets. It has not been long since the elevations of the southern half of this continent were an unknown land; some lofty peaks were unexplored and unnamed, and only dim suggestions of their majesty and splendour had reached the scientific world, but they now hold an interest second to none. The loftiest peaks in the world, excepting only the Himalayas, are found along the western coast of South America. They are in truth and reality the mountain monarchs of the western world. In travelling along the west coast of South America by steamer the serrated backbone of the continent is ever in sight, but its hazy outlines are at such a distance that they give but a dim idea of their real height from the steamer.

It remained for European mountain climbers, men who received their schooling in the Alps, to first conquer these lofty giants of nature. Chimborazo (20,498 ft.), the “white watcher of the western seas,” was the first to yield its topmost secrets to Edward Whymper, who fought his way up the rugged snow-clad slopes to the very top. Next he conquered Cotopaxi (19,615 ft.), and has given this volcano the following recommendation: “Cotopaxi is an ideal volcano. It comports itself, volcanically speaking, in a regular and well-behaved manner. It is not one of the provoking sort—exploding in paroxysms and going to sleep directly afterwards. It is in a state of perpetual activity, and has been so ever since it had a place in history.” Could any volcano in the world show a stronger recommendation? It is certainly an exemplary exponent of the volcanic art. The explorer spent a night on the very edge of the crater, peering into the cavernous recesses that belched forth fire and smoke, and must have been under its hypnotic influence when inditing the above.

Going farther down the coast one reaches the mighty peaks of Peru and Bolivia. An American woman, Miss Annie S. Peck, has scaled Mt. Huascaran (22,051 ft.), and holds the unique record of having climbed higher than any other woman. It was an achievement that deservedly brought her great honour. Mt. Illimani (21,490 ft.) is the loftiest peak in Bolivia. It means “bright condor,” according to the generally accepted derivation. Its frozen crest was conquered by an Englishman, Sir Martin Conway, and the Union Jack was planted on the very summit. This mountain, and its neighbour, Mt. Sorata (21,490 ft.), were worshipped as gods by the Incas. A band of superstitious natives, on learning his intention to invade the sanctuary of their god, who dwelt on Illimani, made an attempt to murder him, but did not succeed in finding the party. Their tradition asserts that a great cross of gold was planted by the god on the summit, and they were afraid these strangers would carry it away. At the foot of these mountains lies Lake Titicaca, the sacred lake of the Incas.

The hardships endured on these climbs are almost indescribable. The intense cold and the rarefied air almost overcome the reserve vitality. The weakening effect of diminished atmospheric pressure is so enervating that exertion can only be made a few steps at a time. Headache, nausea and blood running from the nose and ears are the more violent effects. It is almost impossible to keep the feet from being frost-bitten, and they have to be rubbed occasionally to restore circulation. Says Mr. Conway: “I asked myself more than once whether the game was worth the candle, for there was something so cold and unsympathetic about the gloom and the ice and the bare rocks, that for a time it weighed like a nightmare upon my spirits.” The exhaustion is so great that it is almost impossible to enjoy the triumph of success. Speaking of this the same explorer says: “The moment was one of satisfaction, in that our toil ceased; but we had no sense of triumph, nor was there breath enough left in any of us for an exclamation of joy in the hour of victory. Nothing was said or done for several minutes; we just sat down and rested.” As compensations, however, there are frequently magnificent cloud effects. Out of the white sea of snow there mount, under the uplift of hot air currents, great towers of cloud, which rise high into the air like the smoke-discharge from a volcano. Huge caves and cloud avenues are formed, wherein dark-blue shadows gather, with occasionally a high mountain top peeping forth like the foundation stone of a gigantic cloud castle. Then one’s vision is so broadened that he seems to stand on the very top of the world itself.

In “Argentina and Her People of To-day,” the writer has given an account of an ascent of Aconcagua by Mr. E. A. Fitzgerald’s party, and in this work some mention will be made of the conquest of Tupungato by the same party. This mountain can be seen clearly outlined against the sky from the Pass of the Cumbre, although it is distant fully thirty miles. The route lies down through great masses of fallen rock, the stones being on an average twice the size of a man’s head. The stones are hard and unworn by the forces of nature, presenting a surface of sharp, jagged edges. It is an extremely difficult pass to traverse because of these rocks and danger of slipping, which in many cases would hurl the traveller many hundreds of feet below. Sudden and violent storms also rage around this mountain, which renders the work of climbing still more difficult and dangerous.

The distances, as in almost all mountain climbing, are very deceiving, and what oftentimes seems to be but the work of an hour may require many hours to accomplish. Terrific wind storms at times spring up, against which it is almost impossible for a man to stand, and this also adds to the dangers because of rocks which are sometimes hurled down the mountain sides. As the altitude increases the rarity of the atmosphere and the consequently intense cold render progress almost painful. It is necessary for the mountain climber to stop every few minutes to rest, as the cold and the wind and rare atmosphere all combine to exhaust the vitality. Three times Mr. Fitzgerald’s party attempted the ascent of Tupungato, and as many times were they compelled to abandon it. Bleeding at the nose, frozen extremities and weakness of the heart attacked the various members of the party, and compelled them to descend to lower altitudes. A fourth attempt, however, was more successful. Each failure had taught something, so that each effort was made under slightly better conditions and with better equipment.

Here is the description by Mr. Vines, as it appears in “The Highest Andes:” “I was on the summit of Tupungato at last, and all my efforts and disappointments were more than repaid. I stood on a great mound in shape like a pyramid, with a blunted top some two yards wide rising several hundred feet above the general surface of the dome. In the whole expanse of sky around over ocean and land I could not discern a single cloud. Only in the direction of the Pacific a haze hung over the mountains. In the brilliant air the spectacle that lay before us was one of vast extent and grandeur. Range upon range of mountains stretched away towards the great plain of Santiago, forty miles to the west. Far away, beyond the hills that almost seemed to lie at our feet, stretched the great waters of the Pacific, a tract of blue ocean sparkling to the horizon, and clearly visible, although the distance from Tupungato to the seacoast is not less than one hundred and thirty miles.

“The view from the top of Tupungato is in many ways even finer than that obtained from Aconcagua. The expanse of ocean visible toward the west is less vast, but there is ample compensation in the outlook over the great unknown plain on the eastern side. The Pampas of Argentina stretch almost without a break from our very feet to the South Atlantic Ocean. The Andes seem to rise up from Santiago in ever ascending gradations, until at last they culminate in the immense mass of Tupungato; behind, they fall brokenly away; the mountains disappear; and a country almost fen-like in its monotonous flatness succeeds. The only break on the Argentine side is that of the Sierra de la Plata, not many more than twenty miles to the northeast. On the Chilean side a score of dark peaks rear their heads, a sinister array of precipitous impossibilities from which any climber would turn away in despair. To the north and to the south the same great barriers arise. Looking along this distinct and sharp edged chain to the north and south it was hard to understand how any frontier question between the republics could come about.

“That Aconcagua was a high mountain we well knew. We had all suffered from its height, but, when near at hand, it was quite impossible to realize the vastness of its proportions. Not so from where we now stood on a pinnacle sixty miles away. I had long known it was over four thousand feet higher than any mountain within thirty miles of it, but it looked ten thousand feet higher as it reared its immense head and shoulders from amongst its brothers, like some huge rock projecting out of the waves of the sea. It stood before me without rival, even the great ridges of Juncal did not challenge it, although they were almost thirty miles nearer. Behind Aconcagua, but almost forty miles farther, and too far off for comparison, I could see the white slopes of Mercaderio.”

The guanaco and llama are animals which are peculiar to the Andean regions. The former is especially plentiful in Patagonia and the southern Andean ranges, and many of them are found in Southern Chile. To the natives it means food, garments and tents, so that it is hunted both for its meat and skin. Without the guanaco the question of existence would be a difficult one for those people to solve. The vicuña, which is found in Northern Chile and Bolivia, is of the same family but smaller and more beautiful. Its fur is very valuable and this animal is becoming scarce. The alpaca is still smaller but flocks of this animal are maintained as we herd sheep. The wool is almost as fine and soft as silk, and, after a year’s growth, becomes almost a foot long.

Of this animal family, which is closely allied to the camel, the most important is the llama. To one who has never seen the llama, except in a menagerie or “zoo,” its real usefulness is not apparent. Before the arrival of the Spaniards on the west coast this gentle animal was the only beast of burden known to the Inca races. Thousands upon thousands of these American camels were used by the natives in transportation on the plateaus and across the lofty mountains. Like the camel it can go for days without food or drink. Even to-day, with the introduction of the horse and mule, there are probably as many or more llamas in use than when Pizarro first landed on the shores of South America. It is to the Andean native what the reindeer is to the Lapp—milk and flesh for food, skin for garments, hair for cloth, sinews for thread, etc. Some are black, with pretty little white kids, while others are almost white and have black little llamas following them.

The llama is one of the proudest animals in the world. No matter where you see this aristocrat of quadrupeds he holds his head high up in the air, and looks out upon the earth as though he owned it. Unlike the camel the llama never sulks, although sometimes stubborn. I have seen camels grunt and groan as the loads were placed on their backs. They will sometimes snap viciously at whoever passes near, and at other times tears will flow down a camel’s cheeks like a baby’s, so it is said. The llama always carries his burden with a proud air, scanning the landscape as he goes, and pricking up his ears with interest at every new or strange thing. He will carry a load of just so much, about one hundred pounds. If a greater load is strapped on his back than he is accustomed to carry, the llama will neither grunt nor groan, but he calmly kneels down and will not move until the burden is lightened.

The llamas are the most common burden-bearing animals in Bolivia and on the high plateaus of Peru to-day. They will also be found in the extreme northern part of Chile on the Andean slopes. They form the great freight-carriers in that portion of the Andes, but cannot be worked successfully at a lower altitude than two thousand feet. They are never seen as near the coast as Lima, the Peruvian capital. One will see llama trains every day in La Paz, or the other towns of Bolivia, and herds of these animals feeding on the plains around Lake Titicaca are a common sight. They are principally used in the carrying of ore from the mines to the smelters or nearest railway station. These little animals, which are said to have the head of a camel, the body of a sheep and the legs of a deer, are only about four and one-half feet high and are really beautiful creatures. They are gentle when well treated, and become very fond of their masters. The Indians pet them and talk to them much as though they were human beings. They sometimes dye the wool on the backs in different colours, and tie bright-coloured ribbons through holes which they make in the llamas’ ears. The wool of the llama is much coarser than that of sheep, but one can see the Indian women spinning this wool into threads, and then weaving it into cloth in many places. It can easily be used in the coarse garments worn by these people. If offended the llama has a curious habit of spitting on the offender, which is rather disagreeable, as I know from experience. As the llama is a cud-chewing animal it seems to have this material always ready for such occasions.

CHAPTER VIII
A LABORATORY OF NATURE

The great desert of Tarapacá, which stretches along the coast of Chile for hundreds of miles, has proven to be the most valuable of its entire possessions. And yet it is as barren a desert as one could find on the surface of the globe. Darwin thus describes a part of it that he travelled over: “A complete and utter desert. The road was strewn with the bones and dried skins of the many beasts of burden which had perished on it from fatigue. Excepting the vulture which preys on the carcasses, I saw neither bird, quadruped, reptile, nor insect. On the coast mountains at the height of about two thousand feet, where during the season the clouds generally hang, a very few cacti were growing in the clefts of the rock, and the loose sand was strewn over with a lichen which grows quite unattached. In some parts it was of sufficient quantity to tinge the sand, as seen from a distance, of a pale yellowish colour.” It is this dry climate that has made possible the existence of the great nitrate deposits along this coast. Rainfall, even in moderate quantities, would dissolve the nitrate. These deposits lie as a rule just within the coast range of mountains.

Many theories have been advanced as to the cause of this chemical composition. The most ingenious one, perhaps, is that nitric acid is formed by a flash of lightning passing through a moist atmosphere, and electrical storms are very common in the Cordilleras. The other is that this coast was originally submerged in the ocean, and was gradually upheaved. This would leave a line of lagoons and marshes, in which seaweed and other plants flourished. As the lagoons successively dried up, the plants would be decomposed and nitric acid and iodine formed. This, united in combination with the gypsum-yielding soda found there, formed nitrate of soda. At any rate, Nature, by some mysterious process, has formed a chemical combination which has been of inestimable value to the world in general.

This desert coast is not all productive of nitrate. Some sections are valueless, and some produce other chemical products. One can take a narrow-gauge train at Antofagasta and travel inland for hundreds of miles across the Andes and into the plateaus of Bolivia, and the entire distance is almost as void of green as the great Sahara Desert. Occasionally there is a scrubby tree which looks forlorn in its loneliness. There are salt plains which reach to the hills on either side. In one place there is a great salt field that is estimated to cover more than eighty thousand acres. This produces almost pure chloride of sodium in crystallized form. The thickness of the salt layer is not known, but some wells are as much as eighty feet deep and the bottom of the deposit has not been reached. It is a good quality of salt. There are borax lakes along the route, where enough borax can be secured to supply the entire world. But it is from the beds of nitrate of soda that the greatest wealth of this region is secured. To it is due the prosperity of all the ports from Pisagua to Taltal.

This chemical product, which we call Chilean saltpetre, and which is locally known as salitre, is found over hundreds of square miles of territory. The only visible boundaries between the different owners are marked by white posts at the corners of the different properties. With this exception there are no marks whatever on the landscape, and no signs of life except the factories, known as oficinas, the numerous homes of the employees made of corrugated iron, and the workmen who are engaged in blasting and hauling away this mineral. The nitrate beds follow the coast line at a distance of from fifteen to a hundred miles from the sea, generally at an elevation of from four thousand to five thousand feet, and in deposits which vary from one to four miles in width. They reach from near Antofagasta to a point some distance north of Iquique. In some places the deposits play out, but they reappear again a little farther on. The fields that have been exploited look as though they had been ploughed over by gigantic ploughs, for immense clods are scattered here and there wherever the work has been carried on. On either side of this strip there is simply a mass of sand and rock, which extends from the sea to the topmost peaks of the Andes. There is, however, a wonderful colouring on the slopes of the mountains, and one will see many tints of violet, green, lemon and gray within the horizon.

Nitrate of soda is seldom found pure, and the nitrate rock, called caliche, will vary from ten to sixty per cent. of the pure mineral. In some fields it is found on the top of the soil, and in others it is as much as forty feet beneath the surface, with the strata of salt rock on the top of it. It varies considerably in composition. Holes are dug or drilled down through the caliche until a bed of gravelly material is reached, into which charges of dynamite or blasting powder are placed, and the nitrate rock is thus loosened up. When first exposed the nitrate is sometimes as soft as cheese, but it hardens on contact with the air. The lumps thus broken are then dug out with picks or crowbars and hauled in mule-carts to the oficinas.

There are many of these mills throughout the nitrate fields, and they are busy places. The lumps are first crushed, and are then lifted by elevators and placed in huge tanks filled with sea water. These tanks are encircled by coils of steam pipes, which heat the water that is poured in with the rock to any desired temperature. Nitrate is soluble in water, and this purifying process rests upon the fact of its greater solubility in water heated to the boiling point, than the other salts with which it is associated. When the water has become supersaturated in the boiling tanks, the nitrate of soda in solution is drawn into shallow vats which are exposed to the air. At this state it looks like pale maple molasses. As it cools, the nitrate of soda crystallizes in the vats, together with a little common salt and a small amount of other impurities, and the sides become covered with white sparkling crystals like alabaster. These crystals are then shovelled upon drying boards and exposed to the sun for a time, after which they are graded and put into bags weighing a little over a hundred pounds each. This product, which is ninety-six per cent. chemically pure nitrate of soda, is then transported to the seacoast, from whence it is shipped to Europe or the United States, the latter country receiving about one-fifth of the whole.

Another product of these nitrate beds is iodine, which remains in the liquid after the removal of the nitrate. This liquid is poured into smaller pans, and is chemically treated until the iodine is precipitated in the form of a black powder. This is then heated in a retort which changes it to a vapour, and it is again condensed into beautiful violet crystals. The iodine is packed in small casks which are shipped with bullion and other valuables, for each cask is worth several hundred dollars. As the consumption of iodine is not very large the oficinas refine only a part of the iodine in order to keep up the price.

More than two million tons of nitrate of soda were shipped from Chile last year, which is the greatest amount that has ever been produced. It has been found especially valuable for increasing the growth of the sugar beets in Europe, as it seems to provide the soil with the essential elements for their growth. The consumption in the United States is increasing rapidly, and it is looked upon as the best fertilizer provided by nature. According to horticultural authorities it has been found especially efficacious in stimulating the growth of vegetables, such as cabbages, onions, carrots, beets, etc., and for field crops of many kinds. It is said that even the Incas of Peru were acquainted with its value as a fertilizer. It is also extensively used in the manufacture of gunpowders and other high explosives, which in itself makes a considerable demand.

The discovery of the value of nitrate as a fertilizer was by accident. A poor Scotchman, who lived near where Iquique now stands, had a small garden which he cultivated with great care. One day he noticed that a part of his garden, which had been banked up with soil containing this mysterious white substance, flourished much more than the rest. This led to experiments and some of this soil was sent back to Scotland. The success of the experiments that followed gradually led to the development of the present industry, but the discoverer died as poor as he was born. The first nitrate works were established at Noria in 1826. It was not until after the war between Chile and Peru that the industry reached great proportions. Then an Englishman by the name of North began its development and soon afterwards became known as the “nitrate king.” Other nitrate princes rose, and thrived like the bonanza mining kings of Mexico and Peru in their best days. Englishmen became peers of that country through the influence of colossal fortunes paved with saltpetre. In its raw state the nitrate contains some properties injurious to plant life, but these are removed. As this process requires the latest modern machinery to do the work economically, the business has drifted into the hands of big combinations of capital.

As the government of Chile exacts an export tax on every sack of nitrate of soda exported, the revenue from this source is enormous and pays more than two-thirds of the expenses of that extravagant government. Chile owns practically all the nitrate of soda in the world. Small quantities have been found elsewhere, but in this region are the only deposits that can be operated at a profit. Most of the nitrate fields at one time belonged to Peru, but Chile appropriated them as indemnity, after a disastrous war was waged between the two countries in 1880, in which Chile was victorious. You can not meet a Peruvian anywhere to-day who does not swear vengeance against Chile, for thus robbing his country of her greatest source of wealth.