HENRY STEPH CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY South American travels, | ci South American Travels By Henry Stephens Harvard, A.B., Vienna, Ph.D. (SH (( The Knickerbocker Press New York 1915 * aes CopYRIGHT BY HENRY STEPHENS I9I4 First Edition 12027 $30 “ys~ Ac. The hnickerbocker Press, Tew Work To Chase S. Osborn Governor of Michigan, 1911-1912 Whose excellent and meritorious work, ‘‘The Andean Land," gave the writer the idea of visiting the South American Continent This Book Is Respectfully Dedicated CONTENTS CHAPTER I From Batsoa Docks to Lima ‘ ‘ Steamship Guatemala. Chilean Crew. Passengers. Paita, Bubonic Plague. Filth of Inhabitants. Coast of Peru. Ports. Trujillo. Callao. CHAPTER II Lima Building Material. Modern Appearance. Cathedral. Pizarro’s Tom . Other Churches. Hotel Maury. Fleas, Barroom. Cafés and Saloons. Zodlogical Gardens. Insti- tutions. Wealth of Inhabitants. Political Disturbances. Population. Comparison with Athens. Maladies. Cho- rillos. Ancon. CHAPTER III THE Oroya HINTERLAND Soroche. Chosica. Henry Meiggs. Verrugas Fever. Matu- cana. Sickness of Passengers. Galera Tunnel. Oroya. Huancayo. Thickly Settled Valley. Junin Pampa. Cerro de Pasco. Mining Company. Brewery. CHAPTER IV From Lima To AREQUIPA. ASCENT OF EL MISTI Steamship Pachitea. Race with Limari. Mbollendo. Vile Hotel. Railroad up the Mountains. Scenic Beauty of . Arequipa. Building Material. Malaria. Arequipa. Ascent of El Misti. Night in Stone Hut. Snow. View from Summit. Springs of Jesus. Mr. Greenberg. Sisters Larramendi. Vv PAGE 21 53 7O vi Contents CHAPTER V From AREQUIPA TO LA Paz 3 . Yura, Altitudes. Soroche. Lagunillas. Quechua Indians. Uta. Titicaca Plain. Puno. Steamer Inca. Fever. Lake Titicaca. Storm. Bolivian Plain. Viacha. CHAPTER VI La Paz Poor Location of City. Edifices. Hotel Guibert. Theft of Watch. Aymara Masquerade. Native Odium of British. Chills and Fever. Plaza Murillo. Andine Peaks. Aymara Costumes. ; CHAPTER VII From La Paz TO VALPARAISO Miss Annie Peck. Signor Buono Braccini. Bad Indians. Lonesome Plain. Oruro Desert. Potosi. Its Former Opulence. Cerrode Potosi. Sucre. Salt Marshes. Colla- huasi. San Pedro Volcano. Calama. Antosagasta. Steam- ship Orcoma. Sefior Galvez. La Serena. CHAPTER VIII VALPARAISO AND SOUTHERN CHILE Poor Harbor. Good Hotel. Ascensores. Hills above City. Saloon Brawl. Trip to Santiago. Central Valley of Chile. Rancagua Volcano. Hotel Waechter-Piola. Concepcion. Parque Ecuador. Talcahuano. Araucanians. Puente de Malleco. Valdivia a German City. Temuco. Chillan. Plaza. Hot Springs. Talca. CHAPTER IX SANTIAGO Railroad Stations. Compactness of City. Poor Hotel. Plaza de Armas. Cathedral. Religious Tolerance. Alameda. Cousifio Park. Cerro de Santa Lucia, Quinta Normal. Beautiful Cemetery, Sultry Heat of City. Honesty of Chileans. Character of Men. PAGE 112 131 159 190 235 Contents vii CHAPTER X PAGE From SANTIAGO TO BUENOS AIRES . 2 : . 265 Los Andes. North American Spinsters. Aconcagua River. Tunnel at Summit of Andes. Other Andine Passes. Con- trast between Chilean and Argentine Uniforms. Aconcagua Volcano. Puente del Inca. Defile of Mendoza River. Rancho of Uspallata. - Zona del Riego. Vineyards. Men- doza. Hotel San Martin. Automobile Fever of Inhabitants. CHAPTER XI BuENos AIRES ; : ; . ‘ : . 284 Italian Influence. Fine Buildings. Poor Post Office. Hotels and Pensions. Amusements. Jockey Club. Retail District. Railroad Stations. Laziness of Natives. Russian Jews. Poor Police Force. Population. Small amount of Vice. Blackmailers. Carnival. Tigre. Temperature. Dressiness of Inhabitants. Uncleanly Habits. Millionaires. Doctors. Cemeteries. Zodlogical Garden. Beer Saloons. La Plata. Mar del Plata. CHAPTER XII From Buenos AIRES TO ASUNCION. : . 320 Train to Zarate. Return to Buenos Aires. La Plata and Uruguay Rivers. Concordia and Salto. Correntine Land- scape. Posadas. Missiones. Rudolfo Gabler. Villa Encarnacion. Manuel Brun. Paraguayan Travellers. Drunkenness on Train. Scenery. Fight on Train. Villa Rica. Beautiful Country. Revolutions. Lake Ypacarai. CHAPTER XIII PARAGUAY ‘ j , ; j é : . 349 Geography. Early History. Dr. Francia. Carlos Antonio Lopez. Francisco Solano Lopez. Madame Lynch. War with Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay. Brazilian Occupation. Recent Presidents and Revolutions. Eduardo Schaerer. Survival of the Fittest. No Social Distinctions. Country Aristocracy. Great Numbers of Women. Diseases. viii Contents CHAPTER XIV ASUNCION ; : Sepulchral City. Situation. Umbrous Foliage. Hotel His- pano Americano. LEdifices. Prison. Cepo Uruguayana. Post Office. Beautiful Girls. Oratory of Lopez. Cheapness of Articles. Market. Brewery. Secret Police. Espionage. Politics. Quarrel with Landlord. Murders. Belvedere. Collision of Victorias. CHAPTER XV CORRIENTES, SANTA Fé, ROSARIO, BAHIA BLANCA Paraguay River. Villeta. Formosa. Corrientes. Good Hotel. Rodolfo Gabler Again. Poguazus. Leprosy. Bar- ranqueras. Intensive Heat. Parand. Province of Santa Fé. Prickly Heat. City of Santa Fé. Corn Fields. Rosario. Wide Awakeness of Inhabitants. Hotel Savoy. Saladillo. Drinking Halls. Walter Teich. Boulevard Orofio. New Railroad to Puerto Belgrano. Wheat Country. Bahia Blanca. Southern Railroad. CHAPTER XVI ARGENTINE STATISTICS Population. Immigration. Speech of Sarmiento. Climate. Temperature. Rainfalls. Cereals. Live Stock. Sugar. Wine. Political Organization. Wages. Provinces. Pata- gonia. CHAPTER XVII MONTEVIDEO River Boats. Harbor. Architecture. Plazas. Bathing. Hotels. Cathedral. Artigas. Breweries. Police. North ‘Americans. Pleasant Drives. Williman and Batlle. Villa del Cerro. Comparison with other South American Cities. Villa Dolores. La Union. Cyclone. Professors. Café Easy Money. Brewery. Girls. . CHAPTER XVIII SANTOS. SAO PauLo. Goyaz STATE AND City Train Trip Montevideo to Séo Paulo. Steamship Oriega. Steamship Re Vittorio. Santos River. Coffee. Architec- ture of Santos. Hotel Washington. Ocean Drive. Scenery PAGE 382 41 453 490 543 Contents ix PAGE on Railroad to SAo Paulo. Crowded City. Luz Railroad Station. Cafés. Municipal Theatre. Avenida Paulista. Hygienopolis. Expensive City. Lottery. Police Uniforms. Pinheiros. Butantan.. Snake Serum. Ypiranga. Rival Railroads. Interior of State. Uberaba. Cataldo, Carriage to Interior of Goyaz. Entre Rios. Goitre. Degenerate Natives. Santa Cruz. Bomfim. Pyrenees. Priest’s House. Ouro Fino. Uruba River. Goyaz City. Italian Vice-Consul. Club. Dressy Place. Ball at Governor’s Palace. Foolish Questions. Return Journey. Santa Rita. Murderous Fight. Fear of Paulistas of Central Railroad. Night Trip to Rio. CHAPTER XIX BrRaziu. : : , ‘ ‘ é - 605 Geography. History. Immigration. Natural Resources. Climatic and Meteorological Conditions. Beri-beri. Navy. States. Territory of Acre. Islands. CHAPTER XX RIO DE JANEIRO 628 Population. Bay. Picturesqueness. Variety of Climate. Tijuca. Alto Boa Vista. Earthly Paradise. Cascatinha. Habitations. Aqueduct of Carioca. Curvello and Santa Thereza. Jesuit Flume. Corcovado. Mountains. Sugar Loaf. Laranjeiras. Botafogo. Copacabana and Leme. Trolley Lines. Districts. Avenidada Rio Branco. Opera. Gems. Automobiles. Hotels. Fauna. Botanical Gardens. Cleanliness. Inhabitants. Berrs. CHAPTER XXI NICTHEROY. VICTORIA. PETROPOLIS. Minas TOWNS 666 Nictheroy. Campos. Espirito Santo Landscape. Victoria. Tres Irmaos. Portella. Nova Friburgo. Marshes around Rio Bay. Beautiful Organ Mountains. Petropolis. To Cascatinhaes and Return. Narrow Escape. Juiz de Fora. Mantaqueira Range. Barbacena. Bello Horizonte.. Ouro Preto. A Decayed City. Rebellion of Tiradentes. Itacolumi Peak. ILLUSTRATIONS Port oF PaiTa, PERU. ; ; é ‘ PorT OF SALAVERRY, PERU STREET IN TRUJILLO, PERU HARBOR OF CALLAO, PERU Docks AT CALLAO PLAZA AND CALLE Lima, CALLAO CaLLE UnIon, Lima. UCAYALI STREET, LIMA STREET SCENE, Lima, SHOWING ANCIENT WOODEN BAL- CONIES PoRTALES DE BOTONIEROS, LIMA Casa MUNICIPAL, LIMA PALACIO DE GOBIERNO, LIMA CATHEDRAL, LIMA CATHEDRAL, Lima . ; : : : ‘ 3 INTERIOR OF CATHEDRAL, LIMA i ‘ : ; TOMB OF PIZARRO, CATHEDRAL OF LIMA . ; ‘ INTERIOR, CHURCH OF SAN AUGUSTIN, Lima . é SENATE BUILDING, LIMA . ‘ ‘ ‘ 2 i CHORILLOS, PERU. : : ; , a és BEeAcH AT ANCON, PERU . ‘ 2 ‘ ‘ 3 PAGE 12 13 16 17 19 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 45 49 51 Xii Illustrations PAGE CATHEDRAL, AREQUIPA. PicHu-PicHU MOUNTAIN IN BACKGROUND. ; : . ‘ 5 . 84 SIDE View oF FacapE, AREQUIPA CATHEDRAL . ‘i 85 PLaza DE ARMAS, AREQUIPA, WITH VIEW OF MISTI IN BACKGROUND. : 2 ‘ , . 87 PLAzA DE ARMAS, AREQUIPA, SHOWING HoTEL Moro- SINI AND PARODI IN BACKGROUND ’ ; . 88 CALLE MERCADERES, AREQUIPA ‘ : . 8&9 PorTALES, AREQUIPA ‘ ‘ ‘ , . 90 AREQUIPA. CALLE SAN FRANCISCO ‘ F . QI CALLE BOLOGNESI, AREQUIPA . : . 92 AREQUIPA, SEEN FROM LEFT BANK OF RIVER CHILI. 93 View ON CHILI RIVER, AREQUIPA . ‘ : . 94 PUENTE GRAU, AREQUIPA : 7 ‘ - 95 PUENTE BOLOGNESI, AREQUIPA F . 96 AREQUIPA, SEEN FROM HOUSETOPS . ; ‘ 3 97 CuHurRCcH OF LA RECOLETA, AREQUIPA. : - 98 Ex Misti VOLCANO, NEAR AREQUIPA, PERU. 99 SuMMIT oF Ext Misti, Peru. ‘ ; : - 104 Inca MONOLITHS, SOUTH SHORE OF LAKE TITICACA . 125 GENERAL VIEW OF LA Paz, BOLIVIA : ‘ . 129 VIEW OF QUARTER OF LA Paz CALLED CHALLAPAMPA SAN JORGE ; ; ‘ ‘ ‘ ; 5 » 133 ALPACAS, CHALLAPAMPA SAN JORGE . q : - 134 Main STREET, LA Paz, BOLIvIA , 5 . . 136 SIDE STREET, La Paz, Boivia : : : - 137 STREET IN La Paz, Botivia . ‘ ‘ ‘ . 138 Illustrations STREET SCENE, LA Paz, BOLIVIA « STREET, LA Paz, Botrvia, SHOWING CHARACTERISTIC ARCHITECTURE Post-OrFice, La Paz, Bo.ivia ADMINISTRATION BUILDING AND PLazaA Muritio, LA Paz ADMINISTRATION BUILDING, La Paz CATHEDRAL, LA Paz ORNAMENTAL Doorway oF OLDEST HousE IN LA Paz PiazA ALONSO DE MeEnpoza, LA Paz : ‘ : STREET IN LA Paz Mopern VILuLas, LA Paz. : ‘ ; 4 THE Prapo, LA Paz, BOLIVIA . AVENIDA ARCE, LA Paz . : : ; : . MAIN STREET, Corocoro, BOLIVIA . : ‘ ALPACAS ON SLOPES OF HuaINa Potosi . : ‘ CouNTRY SCENE, CENTRAL CHILE . : ‘ : PUENTE DE MALLECO, CHILE . ; ; ; : CALLE Barros ARANA, CONCEPCION ; : : STREET SCENE, CHILLAN . ‘ ; : : ‘ STREET SCENE, CHILLAN . : j ; : i STREET SCENE, CHILLAN . 5 ‘ 3 ‘ ‘ CALLE DE RoBLEs, CHILLAN . ‘i : ‘ ‘ CALLE DE ARAUCO, CHILLAN . ? : ; : STREET SCENE, CHILLAN . ; ji STREET SCENE, CHILLAN . ‘ : 4 j é PAGE 139 142 143 145 146 147 219 220 221 222 223 XIV Illustrations MARKET PLACE, CHILLAN : : ‘ F : Otp CuurcH, CHILLAN . , 5 ‘ i STREET SCENE, TALCA . i : ‘i ‘i - STREET SCENE, TALCA . ‘ ‘ i i ‘ STREET CORNER, TALCA . : : j 3 . MaIN STREET OF TALCA, CHILE ; i ; j PLaza, TALCA ‘ ‘ ; ; ‘3 ‘ , STREET SCENE, SANTIAGO és ‘ ; ‘ TERMAS DE CHILLAN, SOUTHERN CHILE . ‘ 3 NATIONAL LIBRARY, SANTIAGO . ‘ j ‘ : QuinTA NoRMAL, SANTIAGO. ; ‘ . GOVERNMENT HOUSE, SANTIAGO CATHEDRAL AND ARCHBISHOPRIC, SANTIAGO RECEIVING VAULT, GENERAL CEMETERY, SANTIAGO STREET IN SANTIAGO, SHOWING MODERN CHARACTER oF Buitpincs. MUNICIPAL THEATRE ON LEFT BEAUTIFUL SENATE BUILDING OF THE CHILEAN ME- TROPOLIS CALLE AUGUSTINAS, SANTIAGO . CALLE AUGUSTINAS, SANTIAGO . CALLE EstTabo, SANTIAGO PiazA Montt, SANTIAGO Cristo REDENTOR, OR CHRIST OF THE ANDES, MARKING BounDARY LINE BETWEEN CHILE AND ARGENTINA STREET SCENE, LA PLATA BoraNIcaL GARDENS, LA PLATA City Hai, La PLata MONUMENT TO SARMIENTO, LA PLATA > oF PAGE 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 236 237 238 239 241 244 245 246 247 251 253 273 491 492 493 494 Illustrations Park SCENE, LA PLATA . ; ; ‘ ‘ ParRK SCENE, LA PLATA . : Q . ‘ Park SCENE, La PLATA . ; : : 3 GENERAL VIEW OF MONTEVIDEO CALLE 25 DE Mayo, MONTEVIDEO STATUE ON CALLE AGRACIADA, MONTEVIDEO LirFE INSURANCE CompANy BUILDING, MONTEVIDEO STREET SCENE, MONTEVIDEO. LAYING OF CaR TRACK STREET IN MONTEVIDEO STREET IN MONTEVIDEO, SHOWING ADVERTISEMENTS PortaLes, MONTEVIDEO, LOOKING TOWARDS SOLIS THEATRE STREET SCENE, MONTEVIDEO CALLE SARANDI, MONTEVIDEO . CALLE SARANDI, MONTEVIDEO . PLAZA INDEPENDENCIA, MONTEVIDEO, DURING MILI- TARY REVIEW, MARCH 9, 1913 PLazA SAGANCHE, MONTEVIDEO PLAZA INDEPENDENCIA, MONTEVIDEO : ‘ CALLE PreprRAS, MONTEVIDEO . 4 ‘ 3 CALLE 25 DE Mayo, MONTEVIDEO . 3 ‘ . Sotis THEATRE, MONTEVIDEO . : ; : : PiazA Matriz, MONTEVIDEO . : ‘ . 5 New UNIVERsITY, MONTEVIDEO CALLE 18 DE JULIO, MONTEVIDEO INTERNATIONAL LOAN ASSOCIATION BUILDING, MONTE- VIDEO xV PAGE 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 Xvi Illustrations URUGUAYAN ROADSIDE SCENE VILLAGE OF SAYAGO, URUGUAY MoNTEVIDEO HARBOR FROM VILLA DEL CERRO VILLA DEL CERRO, URUGUAY VILLA DEL CERRO, URUGUAY PLazA INDEPENDENCIA, MONTEVIDEO EucaLyptus AVENUE AT THE PRADO, MONTEVIDEO BRIDGE AT COLON, URUGUAY ROADSIDE SCENE IN URUGUAY Country LANDSCAPE, URUGUAY STREET SCENE, SAO PAULO STREET SCENE, SAO PAULO STREET IN SAO PAULO NEAR THE RAILROAD STATION STREET IN SAO PAULO NEAR THE RAILROAD STATION STREET IN SAO PAULo VISTA OF OLDER PoRTION OF SAO PauLo, LOOKING UP RAVINE THAT DIVIDES THE CITY . MAGNIFICENT MunicipaL THEATRE OF SAO PAULO Rua SAo BENTO, MAIN STREET OF SAO PauULo STREET IN SAO PauLo . . j 5 STREET IN SAO PAULO AVENIDA DA RIo BRANCA, RIO DE JANEIRO. STREET IN RIO DE JANEIRO MINIsTRY OF AGRICULTURE, RIO DE JANEIRO CorcovaDo, Rio DE JANEIRO, FROM EXPOSITION BuILDING AVENIDA BEIRA Mar, Rio DE JANEIRO PAGE 528 529 53° 931 532 533 534 535 536 537 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 566 567 654 655 656 657 658 Illustrations XVii PAGE Rua Paysanbu, RIO DE JANEIRO . 7 ‘ . 659 Rua Paysanpbu, R1o DE JANEIRO . , * . 660 PaLacio IsaBEL, RIO DE JANEIRO . z 2 . 661 Hore, INTERNACIONAL, RIO DE JANEIRO . : . 662 AVENIDA DA R10 BRANCO, RIO DE JANEIRO. . 663 AVENIDA DA Rio BRANCO, R10 DE JANEIRO, SHOWING New HotTeL BuILDING . ‘ j 2 . 664 CHURCH IN NICTHEROY, BRAZIL ‘ 5 : . 668 CuyuRCH IN NICTHEROY, BRAZIL , ; ‘ . 669 ViEwW OF PART OF BARBACENA FROM THE VALLEY . 697 PARTIAL VIEW OF OURO PRETO, BRAZIL . i . 702 South American ‘Travels CHAPTER I FROM BALBOA DOCKS TO LIMA HILE in Panama I made the mistake of buying a ticket to Callao by the Company. Although I had been told that the liners of the Peruvian Line were the best, I did not act on that advice, because the boats of the latter company touched at Guayaquil, and I could get no information in Panama whether or not I would be subjected to several days’ quarantine at Callao, as, at this time, the Ecuadorean metropolis was conceded to be the worst pest-hole on earth, being afflicted both by bubonic plague and yellow fever. I only found out my error at Lima, for, notwithstanding that the Peruvian boats stop at Guayaquil, they make better time, and the passengers are not quarantined. The exporta- tion of cocoa from this latter port was formerly in the hands of the Company, but the Peruvian Line recently received a concession from the Government of Ecuador, so the business has changed hands, and only the smaller boats of the other company make Guayaquil. The agents of the Company tell the pro- I 2 South American Travels spective purchasers of tickets that Guayaquil is avoided by their ships on account of the epidemics, but this is not so, for it is for business reasons solely that they do not touch there. The steamship of the Company was widely advertised as being equipped with all modern con- veniences, and as the Peruvian boat the Ucayali left the day before, I decided to spend an extra day sightseeing in Panama, and take the other boat. This old tub of 3387 tons was anchored at Balboa docks, and presented quite a respectable appearance. I began to think that all the yarns that I had heard about the craft of this line were fairy tales, until a slovenly, pimply-faced native steward made his appearance and asked me for two dollars before he would surrender the key to my cabin. There is a rule that this money is to be returned to the passenger at the end of the voyage; in my case, for one, it was not, for the steward pocketed it as his tip. I was given no check for my hold baggage, and was told that, at Callao, all baggage would be brought up on deck to be claimed by the owners. Evidently I was misinformed, for, upon arrival at that port, I was obliged to drop into the hold and pick out my own baggage. My entire experience on the was certainly most unpleasant. The ship was four hours late in sailing, and then anchored out by the quarantine station to wait for the purser, a Chilean, who was on shore giving the Panama Railroad Company a receipt for the cargo, and who would probably fill up, and not return till midnight on a launch. The food that night was of the vilest description, and would baffle the culinary art of the worst lumber woods cook. The meat was a question mark; the ox-tail soup contained chicken feathers, and dead flies were in every- thing. I was told that the regular cook got drunk on From Balboa Docks to Lima 5 shore and that the ship sailed without him, the table boys preparing the meals. From the first day on, the food improved, and when Callao was reached, it was eatable. I was told that the animals that died in the hold were never thrown overboard, but were served up as different viands. I guess the narrator stretched this to me, but it was quite probable. All the coastal steamers carry live stock, as there is no cold storage. Many beasts die on account of the heat, and yet I never saw any being thrown into the ocean. Some pigs were slaughtered on deck one day, and the squealing was awful. There were no clean towels in the cabins and the water in the pitchers was coated with dust. No amount of bell ringing would bring my room steward, who could speak no English. One night, the bartender caught a couple of rats in a trap, and seizing them around their middle threw them overboard. Just then somebody in the dining-room yelled for ice-water. Without washing his hands the bartender picked up a hunk of cracked ice, and dropped it in the glass to be served to the passenger who wanted the ice- water. The crew was Chilean, and as villainous a looking bunch as was possible to get together. They all carried hooked knives, which I was told was the custom in Chile. They could grab somebody by the hook, and rip them open. One day one of the table waiters got a slash across the bridge of the nose from a butcher knife, but such trivial matters caused no comment. I saw one waiter kick another one who was carrying a tureen of soup into the dining-room. It is needless to state that he dropped the soup, causing quite a mess. The waiter at my table wore a long necktie, so loud that it roared. Every time he passed the soup around, the end of it would drop into the bowl and come out dripping. 4 South American Travels Among the passengers were three Limefios, returning home from Paris, where, from their accounts, they had a good time, mostly among the ladies. One was Sr. Don Carlos Forero, ex-Minister of Finance of Peru. He was a short and very dark man. So dark was he that in Lima he is called ‘‘The fly in the milk” in contrast with a bathtub in his house made out of Carrara marble. He spoke very good English, having been educated in the United States, and was interesting to talk with. At our table sat a Mr. Charles Gray, from New York, agent for Remington rifles, and a married couple, from England, named Ellis. Ellis was a human porpoise, and what he thought he did not know was not worth knowing. I came near slapping him several times, but refrained from doing so only because I felt sorry for his wife, a sweet little woman, for being tied up to such a creature. The rest of the passengers were mining men and engineers, mostly going to Cerro de Pasco, Peru. Many had been there before, and none seemed glad to be returning. One young pup, on his way to Valparaiso, imagined himself to be a chess player. He beat my wife a few games, and bragged about it, so that in order to make him shut up I was obliged to take him on fora match. I am no player, but I won a series from him in easy style. He would not play any more, but it put a stop to his bragging. The man with whom I became best acquainted was Haywood, a Canadian, from Winnipeg, on his first trip to South America. He was going as a mining engineer to Mara- cocha, one of the highest mining camps in the world. The second day out, the steering gear broke, and the crew had to steer by hand. I knew this to be so, for I heard them pounding all day repairing it. One of the officers told me that the rules of the company were that they had to steer by hand one whole day at least. Of From Balboa Docks to Lima 5 course it was a poor bluff, for the ship turned a complete circle about ten miles outside of Callao, through some mishap to the steering gear. Inspection was a farce, and there was never any fire drill. The captain, a congenial man, spent most of his time in the parlor, chatting to the ‘ladies. The first officer did all the work. One of the passengers, a Peruvian, tried to make love to my wife, and I was kept busy watching him. He even went so far as to ask her to elope with him. The third day out, we sighted the Ecuadorean main- land, and the island of Plata, arid looking, but with a short growth of underbrush. If anybody in these waters asks you the name of an island, and you reply that it is “Plata,’’ you won’t miss the mark very much. Many islands are given this name, which means “‘silver.’’ There is scarcely an island or mountain which is not supposed to be the hiding-place of treasure stowed away by pirates and forgotten. Hence the name. On the fourth day, we made the port of Paita, Peru, and the seaport of Piura. Much cargo had to be unladen, including condensers for a sugar mill, which were held in the hatch by means of very small and weak ropes, and which I constantly feared would fall overboard and stave a hole in the side of the ship. In the semicircular harbor were many craft, in- cluding the P. S. N. C. steamer Mexico, and a small oil steamer, the Chira, which had come down the same morn- ing from Lobitos. Indians with Panama hats for sale came on board with first-class articles. It is better to wait until one half hour before the ship sails before mak- ing a purchase from them, for they will then come down in their prices. These hats were exceedingly cheap. I bought some, and, doing them up securely when I reached Lima, I sent them home by mail. Upon my return a year later, I opened the identical package, and found 6 South American Travels three hats to be missing. This dishonesty was evidently perpetrated by the post-office clerks in Lima, who opened the package, extracted three hats, and sewed it up the same way as I had done. Peru is a country of settlements, few and far between. The towns are in valleys, in or near the mountains. To irrigate the arid land west of the Cordillera, the rivers caused by the melting snow are turned loose into the fields and never reach the ocean. Means of travel be- tween the chief towns are difficult. On account of the mountainous nature of the country, railroad connection is nearly impossible, owing to the great expense involved in the construction. Spurs have been built from the chief towns to the seaports, so that if a person cares to travel from one city to another in Peru, he is obliged first to go by rail to the seaport, there embark on a vessel that will take him to the seaport of the place he wants to go to, and thence to his destination by rail. Nearly all the railroads in Peru run parallel to one another, in an easterly to westerly direction. The reason Chile had but little trouble in whipping Peru was that she blocked the lat- ter’s seaports, so that the Peruvians had no means of communicating with each other and were unable to concentrate their armies. One of these ports is Paita, commercially one of the most important in the republic. The town, nestling in a pocket and the same color of the dun hills which surround it, does not, from deck, appear to have more than twenty houses, yet, once on shore, you can see that it has at least 5000 inhabitants. The city hall, painted light green, and having a tower, is the chief landmark. The passengers were told that they could go ashore, but at their own risk, as there was bu- bonic plague in the town. In 1908, over 1600 people died in Paita of this dread disease. At present, there were From Balboa Docks to Lima 7 but a few cases, only two people having died the day before. At Catacaos, a city in the interior, eighteen people succumbed the same day. There are two kinds of bubonica, one infectious, caused only by the bite of a flea that has become infected by afflicted rats; and the other a pulmonary form which is contagious. This contagion is spread by breathing the air befouled by the exhalations of the victim. This last form is nearly always fatal. Last year, in Paita, twenty-four people attended the funeral services of a victim of pulmonary bubonica. Before the next morning, all were dead, in- cluding the priest who performed the ceremonies. The services had been held in the room in which the patient had lived. The ordinary form of bubonic plague gen- erally takes five days to develop. It is made manifest by swellings of the lymphatic glands, in the groin, beneath the armpits, and at the side of the neck, accompanied by a most violent headache. The temperature of the patient ‘is very high, the victim being literally burned up, as it sometimes reaches 110° Fahrenheit. If these swellings, which are buboes, break, the patient stands a fair chance for recovery; while if they don’t the odds are eight to one against him. Pulmonary bubonica can develop in a few hours; bubos form on the lungs, choking off breath. My wife and I landed, and walked the filthy streets of the little city, visited the market, church, and places of in- terest. We made purchases in the shops with no thoughts of contagion. J went into a barber shop to get shaved, visited the prison, and saw every street in town in the company of a fellow-passenger, Mr. Haywood, after my wife had become tired of sight-seeing and had returned to the Guatemala. On the dock, I saw a man sick with bubonica. He sat, propped against a post, and groaned continuously, holding his head on his hands. I could 8 South American Travels see the glands on his neck swollen nearly to the point of bursting. A few hours afterwards I was told that people came to carry him to the lazarette, but that he had died on the way. The inhabitants of Paita make an earthenware pottery which is a good imitation of the Inca huaco. This is red, a species of hard terra cotta, polished, and has the healthy odor of clay. The specialties in this pottery are small drinking vessels in different forms, such as bulls, fish, lions, and various beasts and reptiles. I bought an olla in the shape of a bull, and carried it with me as far as Arequipa, where one of the hotel servants carelessly broke it while cleaning the room. In payment for the damages he presented me with another bull olla, of Arequipa manufacture, which I brought along as far as Buenos Aires and forgot to pack up, leaving it on the balcony outside my sleeping apartment. Another characteristic of the town are the ‘‘germ catchers’ worn by the women. It is the exceedingly unsanitary custom of the women to wear their skirts so long that they drag in the dirt, raking up every article of filth, excrement, and sputum. No wonder the town breeds bubonic plague. The native women all wear black clothes and these, combined with their yellow brown complexions, and ungainly corpulence, make them appear decidedly loathsome. This custom of wearing the skirts so long that they drag is universal in Peru, but to a lesser degree in the southern part of the country. The church is one of the oldest in Peru, and contains many fine mural paintings. Its brick towers have settled, and lean towards each other. The plaza in front of it contains stunted mimosa trees which try to derive nourish- ment from the sand, and do not succeed very well at it. The market is indescribably filthy. Flies innumerable From Balboa Docks to Lima 9 pester the meat, and the stench is that of a charnel house. It is only those that can afford to pay that are allowed a stall in the market. The poorer marketers place their wares on the gravel and sand of a dried river bottom, which during the rainy season in the mountains becomes a torrent. I saw a barefooted man with sores on his feet step on a dried fish that was for sale. The woman who owned the fish shook the dirt off by slapping it against the sand, and then wiping it off with her greasy skirt. Port of Paita, Peru Around Paita grows a melon, yellow inside, which is a favorite with many people. There is a good hotel at Paita named the Hotel Pacifico. Accompanied by a few fellow-passengers, I managed to - do justice to the beer in its barroom, which was far su- perior to that sold on the Guatemala. At this hotel I managed to become acquainted with an American, Mr. Nat Guiberson, from Los Angeles, of whom I saw a great deal in South America. This man stood nearly seven 10 South American Travels feet tall, and was proportionately well built. He had come from Lobitos oil fields that morning on the Clura, after a rough passage. I also met here a Mr. Nichols from Petrolea, Ontario, who had been for a year in Lobitos, and was on his way to enjoy a week’s vacation at Lima. The harbor of Paita is the third best in Peru, yet, when the wind blows from the north, the ships have to go out to sea. Nearly all nations are represented by consuls, Uncle Sam among them. The good arable country around Piura, the state capital, and sixty miles distant by railroad, produces much cotton and sugar. It is a city of about 20,000 inhabitants, the oldest Christian settlement in the republic, and founded by Pizarro three years before he founded Lima. Its inhabitants are noted for their patriotism, and it is the birthplace of the great national hero, Admiral Grau. During the war with Chile, he had his lower jaw blown off by a shell, yet, be- fore he died, gave the orders which defeated the Chilean man-of-war. The trouble with the whole state is lack of capital, and scarcity of labor. For eight years previous to the date of my arrival in Paita, it had not rained, yet when I stepped on shore, rain came down in a deluge; but I do not think I was responsible for it. It may be an unpleasant place to live in, but there are worse, Salaverry and Mollendo, for instance. If anybody has never seen a God-forsaken shore, let him take a cruise down the coast of Peru. Barren mountains of stone and sand rise tier after tier, until they disappear in the blue haze of the Andean background. The rays of the setting sun light them up in brilliant hues. With a binocular, from the ship’s deck, you may sometimes see a lion crouched on the cliffs that drop precipitously into the ocean amidst the roaring of the surf. There are but From Balboa Docks to Lima II three harbors on the whole barren coast, those of Chim- bote, Callao, and Paita. Chimbote is the best, being landlocked. The United States wanted to lease it from Peru to use as a coaling station, but the Peruvian govern- ment wisely refused. Yet it is there, idle, and in disuse, and has been so since the Chileans destroyed the docks there during the war. The next morning, out of Paita, the Guatemala lay to off Etén, the port of Chiclayo, with which it is connected by rail. Chiclayo is in the heart of the sugar-cane dis- trict, and exports blankets woven by the natives. Behind the sand dunes, verdure could be seen. No boatmen, called fleteros, came out in their rowboats to meet the ship; therefore nobody went ashore. Bubonic plague was raging here, likewise in Pacasmayo, the next port we made, thirty-six miles to the southward. We arrived at Pacasmayo at dusk, a new town with its white buildings looking clean against the reflection of the rays of the sun, already sinking in the ocean. Into the water juts a pier 700 meters long, the longest in Peru. At the end of the pier there is a large building, with a cupola, evidently the cabiido, or city hall. Above the town, on a hill, are numerous iron crosses. The town looked so inviting, that, although there were eighteen cases of bubonica on shore, I should have gladly landed, if the ship’s officers could have given information as to how long the vessel would remain in the harbor. As it was the captain went ashore, and remained there for some time. Early the next morning, we anchored off Salaverry. A long pier, much longer before the war with Chile, and about a mile from our anchorage, stretched out into the water. There were two Norwegian ships, one a five-mast sailing vessel, and a British steamer, in the harbor, if the 12 South American Travels word harbor will apply to this surf town. Indians sat astride of cigar-shaped balsas of bamboo, paddling through the swells with bamboo poles. The landing was rough and I stumbled getting on the pier, and nearly fell back into the water. Salaverry is one of the desolations of this earth, boasts of a few hundred people who live in bamboo hovels plastered over with mud, and is built on one of the most God-forsaken sand plains imaginable. A cemetery. Port of Salaverry, Peru on the side of a sand hill marks the resting place of those who went to a more fortunate place than the one in which they had lived. Yet Salaverry is an important place, for it is the port of Trujillo, about eleven miles away. When I got to the depot at Salaverry, I found out that the train for Trujillo had already left, and that there seemed to be no way to get to that city and back again the same day. There happened to be among the passengers on the Guatemala, a Scotchman named MacDonald, who was manager of a big sugar mill in the interior about From Balboa Docks to Lima 13 seventy miles distant from Trujillo, and who had arranged for a special train to take him home. He had invited the captain and another passenger to take a lift as far as Street in Trujillo, Peru Trujillo. I saw my opportunity, and with the Canadian, Haywood, we invited ourselves to go along also, by simply boarding the train without permission and taking a seat. What he thought of this action I do not know, but any- way it enabled us to see Trujillo. 14 South American Travels Trujillo, in population, is the fifth city in Peru, and the third in importance. It was founded by Pizarro, and boasts of a cathedral, bishopric, and university. The train, after leaving Salaverry, strikes inward, and the country soon grows fertile. The vegetation finally be- comes luxuriant, and a wilderness is formed of tropical trees and plants. A river is crossed which at certain seasons overflows the countryside, and in which we saw naked peopleswimming. Adobe walls, fencing in pastures teeming with fat cattle, are constantly passed. The rail- road also runs by the beautiful village of Moche with its gardens and villas, and connected with Trujillo by horse cars. When Pizarro landed and founded Trujillo, it was on the seashore, but since then the river has constantly been washing down its alluvial deposits, until, to-day, the place is about three miles inland. Pizarro was a native of Trujillo in Spain, hence the name of the Peruvian town. On account of its low, swampy location, it is a most unhealthy place, malaria abounding. A city of 25,000 inhabitants, it is laid out uniformly in square blocks. The plaza on which is the cathedral is large and beautiful, and filled with indigenous trees and shrubs. The build- ings are seldom above one story in height, and are painted dull colors. The inhabitants have a curious custom of hanging wooden imitations of fishes and fowls above their doorways. In one particular instance, I saw what I thought was a beautiful parrot perched on a ring above the entrance of a house. The imitation was so perfect that it was not until I was directly under it that I per- ceived that it was not the genuine article. There is a large market place where the town people meet to gossip, and several poor hotels in the town. The harbor of Callao is formed by a sandy point named From Balboa Docks to Lima 15 La Punta stretching into the ocean, and by the large mountainous island of San Lorenzo about a mile from the end of this point. There is now talk of joining the island to the point by a causeway, making the harbor entirely protected from the south. A bill to this effect is now before the Peruvian Senate. Callao has suffered much from the vicissitudes of nature and man. It has been destroyed by an earthquake, wiped out by a tidal wave, and bombarded by the Chileans. Yet to-day, it is, with the exception of San Francisco and Valparaiso, the greatest port on the Pacific coast of America, and will witness a great boom when the Panama Canal is opened. Its population of 35,000 inhabitants is one third foreign, the Italian element predominating. Its wharves and docks are of stone and cement and cost over ten million dollars. The approach to the harbor presents an ani- mated scene. Gasoline launches, rowboats, and other craft of various descriptions always come out to greet the incoming steamers, and are always filled with pleasure seekers. Over the many merchant vessels and men-of- war fly the flags of all nations, the dull gray hulls of Peru’s navy being most conspicuous. The government has re- cently purchased a torpedo-boat destroyer, named the Ferre, and an armored cruiser, the Elias Aguirre, of which all patriotic Peruvians are proud. In these, and in other ships which they are contemplating buying, they prophesy the destruction of Chile’s naval power. On arrival, ships do not go up to the mole, but anchor about half a mile out. This is done in order to give jobs to the inhabitants of the town, as nearly all are engaged in the boating business. It costs twenty-five cents to be rowed, and trunks and valises are taken from the ship to one’s destination at Lima for the prices of one dollar and seventy-five cents respectively. As I had been given 16 South American Travels no check for my trunks I was obliged to go to the hold and identify them. This was accomplished by an eight- foot drop over mail sacks, and at the risk of getting my head crushed in by the steam hoisting jack. Anybody could claim any one’s else baggage and receive it, and I do not see why this did not often happen, although I was told Wi ——= Harbor of Callao, Peru it was seldom the case. A fellow-passenger at my table, Mr. Gray, had, during the previous two days, come down with a fever, so I also identified his baggage. It was given to me, although the crew did not know nor seem to care who got the right baggage or not. At the custom- house, a most minute examination is performed. The only other custom-house that I know of where such strict- ness was shown to me was at Belgrade, and I am of the opinion that Callao has the former city discounted. If From Balboa Docks to Lima 17 it had not been for the timely assistance of an Italian, Francesco, the courier of the Hotel Maury at Lima, who came to meet the Guatemala, I should have been stung. Francesco spoke English, and, through his mediation, I was able to get by with an alligator-skin bag which be- longed to my wife, and which she had possessed for over Docks at Callao a year. The officials thought the rolls of films for my kodak were dynamite sticks or some other high explosive, for they handled them gingerly, and smelled of them. When I told them what they were, they insisted on un- rolling a roll to make certain, which act spoiled that particular roll. Callao is connected with Lima by an electric railroad and also two steam ones. The distance is eight miles, and the fare is ten cents. After leaving the seaport town, the 2 18 South American Travels car runs through a cultivated country, but the dust is terrific. The leaves on the trees are brown with their coating of this, for it never rains. Cultivation is done by means of irrigation, the water coming from the Rimac River. It is said that the first thing the Spaniards’ did on landing at Callao was to pray for rain. They might be praying yet, for all the good it did them, for at the time I am writing this it has not rained in Callao for twenty- five years. A heavy dew falls, however, and sometimes the sidewalks are so wet with it that they have the appearance of having been watered. The impression after landing is that Callao is a large town, because the buildings in the neighborhood of the docks are large and pretentious. These for the most part contain the offices and storerooms of importing and exporting firms, ship chandleries, and wholesale houses connected with the nautical trade. There is a nice park, named the Plaza Matriz, from a church of the same name which stands across the street from it, and another plaza in front of the main custom-house farther up in the city. Both these parks are pretty, but, though filled with brilliant bushes and flowers, are entirely lacking in shade. This impression of largeness soon disappears after the electric car enters the broad Calle Lima, the principal street of the town. This street is bordered on both sides of its long length with filthy hovels, saloons, and Chinese laundries. Few of these buildings are more than one story in height. On this street, is the Cerveceria Naci- onal, or National Brewery, which turns out a better bever- age than that of the large brewery of the Backus and Johnston Company, Ltd., of Lima. Yet it is too sweet to drink much of, and is likewise very strong. I saw a bullfight one day at Callao. It was a farce compared to those of Mexico and Spain, yet I am told From Balboa Docks to Lima 19 that occasionally really good ones take place at Lima. It cost me a dollar to see tame steers brought into the arena, and slaughtered to the accompaniment of a brass band uttering discords. The matador had considerable difficulty in slaying a certain steer with a tough hide; the crowd of spectators hissed him, and then jumped over Plaza and Calle Lima, Callao the balustrade to take a hand at it. A big nigger got too close to the brute, by that time goaded to fury by pain, and was charged at, much to the amusement of the crowd. The negro ran for shelter at top speed, the steer constantly gaining on him. He reached safety, but only a fraction of a second too soon, for at the moment he reached the barrier, the steer made a vicious jump, and struck his horns with such force on the wooden paling that he broke off one of them. 20 South American Travels The city is an extremely dirty place, abounding with mongrel curs of all kinds, which I imagine outnumber the human population. Bubonic plague is rife, the toll averaging about four daily. It is also a tough town, more so than most seaports, and it is quite common for drunken sailors to disappear never to be heard of again, especially if they have money in their possession. The side streets are, as a rule, wide, and flanked with unpainted adobe buildings, in front of whose doors play multitudes of ragged children. CHAPTER II LIMA MAN named Wendell Phillips Dodge recently wrote an article entitled ‘Historic Peru and its Magnifi- cent City of Mud,” the latter appellation referring to Lima. The Inca Chronicle, a periodical published by the employees of the Cerro de Pasco Company, took exception to Mr. Dodge’s article, because that gentleman happened to write that a good rainstorm would wash Lima away. Mr. Dodge was right when he used the metaphor styling Lima a city of mud, for, with the exception of the newer buildings, the structures are of adobe. In the other respect, he was wrong, for, so hardened are they with age, so reinforced by timbers and concrete, and so plastered over, that nothing short of a severe earthquake could demolish them. ‘The trouble with all the coast towns of Peru is that the inhabitants do not erect their buildings substantially enough. They care more for outside ap- pearance than for solidity. Even the great cathedral in Lima is built of adobe. Its towers are cracked by the work of numerous earthquakes, and the archbishopry adjoining it is in ruins. In Arequipa, where earthquake shocks are much more severe than in Lima, the cathedral has much better resisted Nature, because it is massively built of stone blocks. Stone is cheap in Lima, but adobe 21 22 South American Travels is cheaper, therefore the favorite. On the newer streets, where the buildings are copied after modern European architecture, the houses are being built of brick. It was on one of these new streets, Avenida Colmena, that I first stepped on Lima soil, as I alighted at the ter- minus of the trolley line linking the capital with Callao. About a dozen antediluvian cabs were in line with two or three good ones. I chose one of the good ones but it was an unfortunate choice, for the driver had not driven more than fifty steps before the horses balked, backed the cab against an iron post, and upset it with my wife, myself, and four valises, spilling the contents of the latter on the sidewalk. After we had replaced the articles, we decided to walk, and, as two urchins just then proffered their services, we let them do the carrying of the grips. While, Jater, discussing this experience, a certain chance acquaintance told me that, although there was much lacking in the Lima public vehicles, those of Santiago, Chile, were far inferior. Afterwards, at Santiago, I found out that this person was talking through his hat. We walked up the main street for nearly half of a mile, before we turned to the right to reach the Hotel Maury. This main street is named Calle Union; many people call it Espaderos. I was surprised at the fine displays in the store windows, for here were visible the best of goods of New York, Paris, and London. The sidewalks were crowded both by men and women clad according to the latest fashions, while the street was filled by auto- mobiles, victorias, with footmen in livery, and vehicles of all descriptions. Regarding the automobiles, one thing that I noticed in particular was that nearly all were of French manufacture. Sr. Daniel de Menchaca, the leading automobile importer and wholesale hardware man of Lima, told me that he alone sold over fifty Reniers in Lima 23 Lima during the year 1912. Lima has not many more than’ 150,000 inhabitants, yet her retail stores far surpass those of Havana, with a population of over 350,000 people. Here the retail district is comprised of stores owned by old, established, reliable firms, and not made up of shops as in Havana. There is an air of progressiveness and Calle Union, Lima modernity about the place that makes you forget that it is built of mud. Anyway, the fagades of the stores are so ornamental or disguised, that, by walking down the Calle Union, the stranger would not know that behind the newly painted plaster the masonry was adobe. The Calle Carabaya, on which the Hotel Maury is located, is, for a few blocks at its upper end near where it terminates at the Plaza de Armas, a retail street, but the rest of its long length running parallel to the Calle 24 South American Travels Union, one block to the eastward, is given up to banks, trust companies, and agencies for foreign manufactures. The next few parallel streets to the east, and one or two Ucayali Street, Lima to the west, of the Calle Union, together with their inter- sectors, comprise the wholesale district of Lima. Lima is the wholesale mart for Peru, and some of the largest firms in the world have agencies here. Since there is but little manufacturing done, nearly all the staple articles Lima 25 come from Europe; but the United States is fast coming to the front in this respect, and, to-day, has more com- merce with Peru than any individual foreign nation. Second in importance to the Calle Union in the retail line, is the Calle Ucayali, which runs at right angles to it. A block north of Ucayali, Carabaya and Union both Street Scene, Lima, Showing Ancient Wooden Balconies terminate in a large rectangular park, named the Plaza de Armas, which has the area of two large city blocks. This large plaza, set off in patches of native trees and plants, has a fountain in its center, at which point paths converge from eight directions. At night, a military band occasionally plays here. On two sides of this plaza, are arcades, named the Portales de Botonieros, and, under them, are situated the cheaper class of retail stores, tailor shops, and antiquarians, with which latter trade the city 26 South American Travels seems to abound. With but one exception, the buildings on this plaza are but two storeys in height, the. second. : storey being given up to club rooms. The exception is the Casa Municipal, three storeys high, with a cupola. - _ On the north side of the plaza, is a long low edifice cover- ~ ing an entire city block, each entrance zealously guarded Portales de Botonieros, Lima by soldiers. This is the Palacio de Gobierno and con- tains the different departments of the government. On the fourth and east side of the Plaza de Armas, arises one of the largest religious edifices in the world, and next to the cathedral at Mexico City, the greatest church in the Western Hemisphere. This magnificent and wonderful cathedral of Lima is built of adobe. The immense pile, the main part as high as a modern five- storey building, and with a broad facade, is surmounted Lima a7 by two great towers which loom up high above the other buildings of the city, and can be seen from a great distance. Its foundations were laid by Pizarro, in 1535, but it was ninety years later before the building was completed. At that time, it was the largest building in America. The two towers Casa Municipal, Lima were completed in the viceregency of Taboada, in 1795. The interior, high and vaulted, is supported by Ionic piers in a broad row, eight feet apart. The vaulted ceiling is painted in alternate ribbed designs of salmon and blue, while the piers are white. Numerous old paintings adorn the walls, and there are many recesses containing costly altars. In one of these recesses, to the left of an altar of solid silver, is a plain white marble block with an inscription, on which is set the glass-fronted 28 South American Travels coffin containing all that is left of the earthly remains of the immortal and heroic Pizarro. His skeleton is on exhibition to the public for a trivial tip to the sexton. In life, the conqueror of Peru must have been a large man, judging from the length of his skeleton, which is now crumbling to dust. His skull must have either been much handled or else polished, for it is as shiny and smooth as Palacio de Gobierno, Lima a billiard ball, although caramel colored. The English translation of the words on the inscription reads thus: “Captain General, Don Francisco Pizarro, founder of Lima on the 18th of January, 1535, died on the 26th of June, 1541. His remains were deposited in this urn, the 26th of June, 1891, in accordance with the provincial assembly of Lima, and on the initiative of the mayor, D. Juan Revoredo.”’ There are in Lima many other churches worth visiting, among which is that of San Francisco, two streets behind -Lima 29 the cathedral. It is of Saracenic architecture, contains an altar always lighted, and is also surmounted by two tall towers which are crowned by cupolas. The Merced Church has an ornate facade and no towers. Here the presidents of the republic take the oath of office, an old tradition handed down from Spanish royalty. The Cathedral, Lima late incumbent of that office, Sr. Guillermo Bil- linghurst, was the last one to go through the cere- monies there, his occurring in September, 1912. Nobody can become president of Peru unless he is a native and a Roman Catholic. Probably the most popu- lar church in Lima is that of San Augustin, on the Calle Union. This, the church of society, is the wealthiest, and, on account of its central location, is the most frequented. A cloister adjoins it, where, 30: South American Travels in the cool of the evening, cowled monks sit in the port- icos and chant hymns. I once met an American lady who had lived twelve years in Peru. She told me that the Maury, at Lima, - compared very favorably with the best European hotels, and she had traveled extensively. I do not know what this lady’s idea of a good European hotel is, but the Maury Cathedral, Lima falls very much behind the ideal. It had also been re- lated to me that this particular hostelry was the best on the west coast of South America. My informer as to this was far from being right, for the Waechter-Piola at Concepcién, Chile, draws first award. Lima is very backwards as to hotels, but I prefer the Maury to the Tivoli at Ancon, Canal Zone, which has a good reputation. The Maury occupies the western half of a whole block fronting the Calle Carabaya, with entrances on that street, and also on the Calle Ucayali. It also has another en- Lima 31 trance opposite to the cathedral. It was originally but one building, but, as trade increased, the management kept buying the neighboring buildings and joining them to the hotel. It now consists of five different houses connected with the original part by corridors so intricate as to form a maze. The hotel is fair, and with proper Interior of Cathedral, Lima management could be made good. The manager is a diminutive shrimp of a man, running entirely to moustache. He was formerly the head waiter, but could pass for a bootblack as far as manners go. When we entered he never rose from his chair, but addressed us in a sitting posture. He then led us through the maze to a room at the other end of the building, and which seemed to us to be a quarter of a mile away. In fact, it was only the length of a city block, but the intricate way in which we 32 South American Travels got there made it seem longer. My wife balked, and I was so dissatisfied that I was about to go to another hotel, when we remembered that Mr. Charles Gray, of New York, who had been on the Guatemala with us, spoke Spanish, and had also decided to come to this hotel. We determined to enlist his "CAPITAN GENERAL. DON FRANCISCO PIZARRO “A OPUNDADOR DE LIMA “EN IB DE ENERO DE (S35 MUERTO EN 26 DE JUNIO DE A541, napkoosrias Bi cera ea aa Tomb of Fizarro, Cathedral of Lima services in the translation method of explaining our wants. We were told that a suite of rooms had been reserved for the Uruguayan Minister to Peru, who was due to arrive six days hence, and that we could occupy his suite till he arrived. It was an elegant set of rooms, enormous in size, and composed of two bedrooms, each containing two beds, a parlor, a bath and toilet room. It cost us $17.50 for three people including board, for Mr. Gray took one of the bedrooms. It averaged $5.83 apiece, Lima 33 but with the luxury of the compartment it would have cost us at least $100.00 a day in New York. Besides board, the price of the rooms evidently included every species of bug known to Peruvian etymology. I was bitten by fleas, mosquitoes, ticks, and bedbugs, besides numerous other voracious insects whose names were Interior, Church of San Augustin, Lima unknown to me. Two days later, I was showing my arm, blotched with insect bites, to some friends in the hotel lobby. The proprietor happened along, and I like- wise showed him my arm. Later in the day, I was told that there was another room at my disposal, as the one I now occupied would have to be thoroughly disinfected and cleaned, for the advent of his Honor from Uruguay. I sincerely hope he got his share of the bites, for if he did, - and then complained about it to the proprietor, it would 3 34 South American Travels have had much more weight than any complaints that I could make, as Peruvians excel in toadying to persons holding government positions. The food at the Maury is unrivaled anywhere. There is a great variety and you can get all you want, living en pension. The bar is the most popular one in the city, and is frequented by foreigners doing business in the capital. The sideboard contains one of the greatest accumulations of liquors that I have ever seen. Every- body in Lima drinks mixed drinks, and a different kind every time he orders; this being the reason for having in stock every different kind available. There is a lunch stand in the barroom where all the different kinds of fish, sea-food, and viands, in season, can be obtained for a small sum of money. I found the bartenders slow, but that is in accordance with the nature of the people. I have no complaint to make about them, for I also found them accommodating and clean, even though a friend of mine said he saw a bartender at the Maury put the same piece of lemon in six different cocktails. After the first man had drained his glass, the bartender would put the same piece of lemon in the next cocktail, and so down the line. There were some royal parties pulled off at this same bar while I was in Lima, and a certain high diplomat fell under one of the tables in the adjoining coffee room where drinks are likewise served. The other hotels in Lima go by the names of the Gran, the Central, and the Cardinal. Some people prefer the Gran to the Maury because it is cleaner. If I ever go to Lima again, and am unaccompanied by a lady, I intend to put up there instead of at the Maury. The social life at the Maury is greater than at the Gran, and the table is better, therefore it is better adapted for a so- journ if ladies are in the party. Yet, at the Gran, there Lima 35 are no insects; there are no carpets on the floor for fleas to burrow into. There should be no carpets in any hotels in Lima, for fleas are the cause of bubonic plague, and they cannot flourish in places’ destitute of cloth. A couple of years ago a Mr. Morrow, from La Fundicién, Peru, was stopping at the Maury with his wife. In the middle of the night they heard an awful commotion in the adjoining room. The next morning they and all the guests were ordered to leave the hotel so that it could be fumigated. It happened that Sr. Ramirez, Secretary of the Colombian Legation, suddenly came down with bubonica while stopping at the Maury, and died during the night. I know of another man dying there of the same disease. He was a young American mining engineer who had come down from Cerro de Pasco on a visit. The proprietor of the Gran is an Italian, and is evidently an ardent patriot, as is evidenced by the martial pictures of the Italians slaying the Turks in Tripoli which are painted on the walls of his dining-room. There is a good bar with refreshment counter at the Gran, but the pro- prietor made the mistake of installing as head bartender a boy who is the son of one of his friends. This fellow is slower than molasses, and is puffed up with his own im- portance. The cashier is a Peruvian-born German, who, though he has never been out of Peru, has a constant longing to emigrate to the land of his ancestors. The thing that prevents him from doing so is lack of funds. The confectionery stores of Lima are high class. They all manufacture several varieties of ice cream and sell drinks, mostly alcoholic. Nearly all the large ones have their individual ice plants, and one employs fifty men at this occupation. One on the Calle Union is owned by a man named Broggi. He made a fortune by inventing a new kind of bitters, which is named Batida Broggi. As 36 South American Travels to the restaurants outside of the hotels, there are but few. The best is that in the exposition building at the Zoological Garden, leased by the proprietor of the Maury. It has a Viennese lady ‘orchestra which sometimes plays in the dining-room of the Maury. There is also the Café Berlin, a dirty hole of a place on the Calle Ucayali. There is nothing German about it, not even the beer, yet it is a paying investment. The slovenly waiters speak no other language but Spanish; the beer is so warm that it is unfit to drink, and flies feast on the pickled fish heads and tripe that are on exhibition at the counter. There are many saloons in Lima, and, in all my travels, I have never seen a town where, in proportion to the popu- lation, so much liquor is consumed. Even the lowliest saloon contains an elaborate variety of stock. German beer can be procured at all of them, but the product of the United States can only be found at a few of them. The natives drink their beer warm; it is only the foreigners that drink it cool. As most places have no refrigerators to keep the bottles cool, the saloons have an ingenious piece of hardware to make the drinks cold. They have a sort of a sieve that fits over the glass. Above this sieve is a partition which the bartender fills with cracked ice. On this ice they pour the beer, and by the time it reaches the glass it is cold. If a foreigner invites a bunch of natives to a round of beer, it will cost him more than if a native asks the same group. ‘The reason is that if invited by a foreigner the natives will all drink iced beer, while when the native extends the invitation, the only one in the whole bunch drinking iced beer will be the foreigner; and ice is expensive. The word Lima is supposed to be a corruption from the Inca word Rimac, the river which flows through the city. This is the popular conjecture, yet there is a Lima in Lima 37 Spain which may have given its name to the town. The river is crossed by two vehicle bridges and a railroad bridge. The north side of the river is the poorer and smaller part of the town. The main street of this section is the Calle Cajamarca, which is very dirty. There is little of interest on this side unless one desires to climb to the top of the Cerro de San Cristobal, a barren hill 400 meters high, on which is an iron cross and a wireless telegraphy station. I walked up there one day with an acquaintance, and by the time I got back to town I had perspired so much that my clothes looked as if they had fallen into the river. The narrow road circles the hill in its ascent, and the view from all sides is magnificent. It took us forty-five minutes to reach the summit, and twenty to descend. Instead of returning by the road we came straight down the hill on a footpath that ended at a shoot- ing range. The best thing to see in Lima is the Zodlogical Gardens. Next to those at Buenos Aires, they are the finest in South America. It is a beautiful park with pools of clear water, and shade of giant trees, both native and exotic. The animals of the large collection are in better condition than those in the zoos in the United States. They are better housed, have more room to run in, and are fed more according to their native mode of feeding than those at home. They are not like the lazy, caged wild animals that we are accustomed to see, who are too fat to brush flies from off their noses, and who yawn with sleepiness caused by overfeeding. The streets in Lima are in an awful condition. It is far better to take a trolley car than to drive, on account of the jolting one gets if this latter course is chosen. In the central business portion, there is a pretense at paving, but elsewhere, whenever a stone is knocked out of place, no effort is made to fill up the hole. The dust of the 38 South American Travels streets is terrible, so driving, instead of being a pleasure, is a great discomfort. This dust is nothing more than dried filth, for it never rains, and the street-cleaning de- partment is an apology to the name. There are a few fine houses, but as they all open into patios, their ex- teriors are unprepossessing. The finest house in Lima belongs to Sr. Carlos Forero; it is a large three-storey establishment on the Calle Union, across from the Church of San Augustin. The American Minister, Mr. Howard, has, about a mile from the city, a nice place, narned the Quinta Heeren. Quinta is the name for a piece of land, and Heeren was the name of the family who once owned the quinta, hence the name. There are several fine clubs, the Nacional being the foremost. In all of these the object seems to be gam- bling, and high stakes are often played for, especially by the foreigners. This gambling seems to be the chief diversion here; it is not only confined to the clubs, but urchins are constantly thrusting lottery tickets in your face. There is the San Marcos University, the oldest in South America, a medical school, a college of agriculture, and a school of mines. Every year, the government selects the most adept students of this mining school, and, at its own expense, sends them, upon their graduation, to schools abroad to complete their education. There is a mint, the best of its kind in South America, a public library, a museum in the Exposition Park, a hippodrome where races are held Sunday after- noons, a bull ring, anda jockey club. Among the societies one that deserves mention is the National Geographic Society. This was founded in 1888, and is supported by the government. From time to time, it fits out expeditions to explore unknown parts of the republic. Its chief geographer is an Italian. Not content with Lima 39 allowing Argentina the honor of having within its con- fines the highest mountain in South America, Aconcagua, he claims that Peru has one still higher. There are several hospitals, including an Italian and a French one. But little manufacturing is done. There are two breweries. That of Backus and Johnston, to my notion, brews one of the most miserable beers in the world, which is only exceeded in vileness by two Chilean beers, one Bolivian one, and one French one. The other brewery, the Piedra Liza, is a small one and is owned by Eduardo Harster. There are car shops, a couple of cloth factories, a porcelain works, and several brickyards. In Lima, as in the rest of Peru, there is either wealth or poverty; no in between. What is called wealth there, would not be called so in the United States. A man worth 200,000 soles in Lima is very rich. This is equiv- alent to $100,000. In the whole country, there are perhaps but a dozen millionaires. It is said that the ex- president, Sr. Billinghurst, has the greatest private for- tune, which is estimated to be $14,000,000. The Forero family is wealthy, as is also Frederico Hilbck, a banker who resides at Paita. The poor people are poor in the extreme, and the streets teem with many beggars. Lima is the stronghold of Roman Catholicism in South America, and always has been. The Inquisition outrivaled Spain in barbarity, many relics of it being shown by instruments of torture and pictures of it for sale in the curiosity stores. Yet with all the outward display of religion, there is much in Lima that is sacrilegious. For example, in the Café Estrasburgo in the Portales, there is a whiskey advertisement painted on the wall depicting Christ with a halo about his head, offering to a corpse, rising in a coffin to a sitting posture, a glass of whiskey. Underneath the 40 South American Travels painting words read to this effect :—‘‘ Lazarus rising from the grave and drinking whiskey.”’ Political disturbances are frequent. One night, I was walking along the main street with a chance acquaintance, when a howling mob, led by a negro, tore down the thor- oughfare. A victoria containing three well-dressed men drove by. Bricks, vegetables, and stones began to fly, the occupants of the victoria being the mark of wrath. Policemen stood by smiling, and offered no interference. I inquired into the cause of this riot, and the reason for no interference, and was told the following: The second vice-president, Sr. Leguia, is a brother to ex-president Leguia, who was succeeded by Billinghurst. This Leguia and Billinghurst did not get along very well together. Billinghurst was very popular; in fact so popular was he, that very often when Leguia returned from the Senate, the mob attempted to assault him, endeavoring to intimidate him so that he would resign. As Billinghurst approved of it, the policemen made no attempt to stop the riots. This particular evening the mob got so wild that the shopkeepers were frightened and closed their places of business. A missile aimed at Leguia killed a child, and a dozen people were injured. To avoid being hurt, I ducked down a side street, as the aim of a Peruvian mob is not apt to becorrect. When the violence of the mob had grown beyond all control, and the question was whether the soldiers should be called out to protect lives and property, a solution was reached by Billinghurst, himself, on horseback, together with a few friends, and preceded by a small detachment of infantry, riding through the principal streets of the city. He was loudly cheered by the populace, who then broke up and went home. During Leguia’s administration, there was much govern- ment graft, and the affairs of the country were generally Lima 41 mismanaged. Since I left Peru, I am informed that he recently made a plot to overthrow the government, and was imprisoned, being obliged to leave the country on his release. He was a man of great personal courage. Once when a mob threatened to kill him unless he resigned, he backed up against a lamp post, drew his revolver, and dared the mob to do so, saying that he would shoot the first man that made the attempt, and that even though he would be overcome in the end, there was enough justice in the country to convict and sentence the murderers. He held the crowd at bay until the soldiers came up. Billinghurst was the man for the place. A thorough business man, he saw the chaos that Peru’s financial mistakes brought on the country, and tried to place the internal affairs of the country on a footing with other strong nations. He was progressive, and did his utmost to get in foreign capital, and to open up the vast territory east of the Andes. Through his efforts Iquitos on the Amazon is now in direct telegraphic communication with Lima; and he advocated the building of railroads and the opening of waterways. In personal appearance, he is a small, oldish man, with gray hair and moustache, and rather severe looking. Having built up a fortune for himself before he became president, he endeavored to run Peru on strictly business lines. He was recently deposed in a revolution, and a man named Durand is provisional president. Peru has a gold currency standard on the decimal system. The monetary unit is a sol, valued at approx- imately 50 cents, and is made up of 100 centavos. There are many foreign banks in Lima, but no American bank. The strongest of the banks are the Bank of Peru and London, and the German Transatlantic Bank. The building of the Bank of Peru and London is a new edifice 42 South American Travels and is worthy of any city of a million inhabitants. Nine per cent. is paid on savings deposits that lie there for one year and over. The post-office is a fine new building, but not run on modern methods. I tried to send a money order of a few soles to Cerro de Pasco, but was informed that I could not send so small a sum. Also the officials there did a trick to the package containing the Panama hats that I bought at Paita. The Peruvian census has always been very unsatis- factory. Some years ago, the national census bureau claimed that the population of the entire republic was 4,600,000. The National Geographic Society, later, made a careful estimate, and came to the conclusion that 3,200,000 was the limit. This seems to be nearer correct. So it is with Lima. In 1892, Lima had 130,000 inhabi- tants; in 1912 it had slightly over 140,000, so, taking 10,000 as the increase for a decade, it has to~day about 150,000 inhabitants, with about as many dogs. Of the foreign colonies, the Italians predominate, with 11,000 members in Lima and Callao; next come the French. Then, in order, come the North Americans, the Germans, and the English. The North Americans number a few hundred, and the Germans likewise. The best physicians and professional men are Italian, while the Americans and English are representatives of foreign firms, and are connected with the mining business. The Germans are exclusively connected with the manufacture and sale of beer. As to location, Lima much resembles Athens. Athens has Pireeus; Lima has Callao. Athens has Phaleron; Lima has Chorillos. In both Lima and Athens the streets are laid out so as to form rectangular blocks, and in both of these cities the architecture is much the same, Lima copying the classic style. But the greatest and best Lima 43 comparison is sanitation. Both are extremely unhealthy, for Athens constantly has a typhoid epidemic, and Lima has this, also, besides nearly everything known in the way of disease. The water in each of these cities is unfit to drink. The death rate of Lima is one of the highest of all the cities in the world. Bubonic plague is never lacking, the cases averaging about four a day. Ninety per cent. here are fatal. There is a serum that will generally benefit the patient if taken in time, but so rapid is the progress of the malady that the victim is usually beyond all hopes by the time the antidote is administered. This disease is more prevalent on the north side of the Rimac, and on the outskirts of the town, than in the city proper, although it occasionally attacks the higher classes. For instance, a few years ago it ravaged Chorillos, which is composed of the homes of the wealthier people. Three hundred people died of it there in one season. The only way to stamp it out is to kill all the rats, for then the fleas cannot become infected and inoculate human beings. It would be for the Limefios too much of an exertion to kill all the rats, and besides the inhabitants do not worry about the disease. Their logic is that if a person did not die of bubonica he would die of some other disease. Yellow fever is uncommon, but everybody who has lived in Lima has, at some time or other, had the malaria, or paludic fever, called here terciana. If anybody in Lima gets this disease, the first thing the doctors ask him is if he has recently been in Trujillo, which town is ac- knowledged to be the hotbed of it. I imagine Lima is just as bad, but it is natural to lay the blame elsewhere if possible. Mr. Gray, who occupied the same suite with us at the Maury, had an attack of it or some other tropical fever, and was sick during his entire stay there. I never 44 South American Travels heard whether he recovered, because we left before he did, as he was intending to remain in Lima for some time. However, he was well enough to be around the town the day we sailed. I caught, in Lima, a fever, which some doctors pronounced malaria, and others a form of walk- ing typhoid. I came down with it in Arequipa a few days after I left Lima, and had it for five months, although I was only confined in bed fora few days. All the modern treatments for malaria failed to have any effect on me, and I have not yet regained my normal health. The vegetables and strawberries are beautiful and luscious, but cannot be eaten without running a chance of catching the typhoid. The cause thereof has been recently discov- ered. It happens that the garden truck is watered by the water that carries away the hospital sewage. Pul- monary complaints are common. In 1912, 1022 people died of tuberculosis. This is due to the frequent changes in temperature, and to the dust which blows into one’s nostrils. The death rate in this disease is seventy to ten thousand, while in London it is fifteen to ten thousand people. The climate is neither hot nor cold. The warmest month is December. The temperature is then much like that of Los Angeles for the same month. In winter, which is June, July, and August, it is cool and disagreeable. Women of the wealthier classes dress according to the latest Parisian creations. The mantilla of black lace, which was once a becoming headwear for ladies, is rapidly going out of fashion. The peasant women wear for their heads a broadcloth covering called a manta. So often a person hears these two words used indiscrimi- nately, but the mantilla of the classes should never be confounded with the manta of the masses. The Limefios claim that their city is famed for its beautiful women. Lima 45 If this is true, they evidently keep their women hidden from sight, for, during my sojourn there, I do not believe that I saw any woman that could be called beautiful, Senate Building, Lima although I saw a few little girls that I believe would make most beautiful women when they grow up. My wife wanted to steal one of these, and I had a hard job preventing her from doing so. Most of the women I saw in Lima had the color of a five-day-old corpse, and those 40 South American Travels that were really white were so powdered that all pretense of good looks was spoiled. The physical style for men seems to be short and fat, while their facial adornment is a moustache. They are as hard to distinguish from one another as so many Chinamen. They all dress in black, even to cravats, and hats, while the shirts they wear are white. The majority of the Limefios are of mixed blood, and are called cholos. This word, however, is one of contempt, meaning Indian, and should never be used in front of one of them. They are docile, quict, and rather lazy; yet they do all the menial work uncom- plainingly, and bear with patience the blows and insults of the white people, who consider themselves the superiors. They are of a poetic nature, have kind dispositions, sel- dom steal or lie, and crime among them is rare. They are honest and faithful, and, though more sluggish. than the people of pure blood, they make better citizens. The principal daily newspaper of Lima is El Comercio. It has one of the largest circulations of any in South America, and is non-partisan. It has espoused the cause of the pro-indigenes, and, through its columns, gave ut- terances that influenced the government to take steps against the Putomayo atrocities. There are also two periodicals published in the English language, the West Coast Leader, and Peru To-day, both dealing with topics for the improvement of the country. Peru To-day is read in some of the schools. An anecdote is related about Mr. Chandler, American vice-consul at Callao, once being in Trujillo. He met an urchin on the street who had quite a smattering of English and asked him where he learned the language so well. The ragamuffin replied that he had picked it up in his school where the teacher read Peru To-day to the scholars. I had no difficulty in killing time in Lima, tor I got ac- Lima 47 quainted with the foreign circle the day of my arrival there. All congregate at the Maury bar about the noon hour, and also about five o’clock in the afternoon. Nobody takes a drink unless it is shaken for by dice. As I never cared for dice, I refused to shake, preferring to buy the rounds rather than to shake for them. This, at first, gave the crowd a wrong impression of me, for they had an idea that I was religiously bent, which would be an uncommon thing in the colony. I also found out that the colony was a hard-drinking set, and I obtained much useful informa- tion from them about the country when they were in their cups; at other times they would talk local gossip, which was distasteful to me because I was a stranger. I made it a point to visit the other refreshment parlors and verify the statements I heard, and, in this way, I gleaned much more information in a short time than I could have other- wise obtained ina much longer sojourn. There was a new bar in Lima named the Bar Suisse, owned by an Italian who had recently come to the city from the United States. He had been in Bolivia and in Chile; had had an attack of soroche or mountain sickness in La Paz, and had dropped away in weight fifty pounds in three months up there, where he had followed the profession of stone mason. He gave me valuable advice as to what I should do when I went in the mountains. From different people I learned the names of the doctors and the hotels in the towns in the interior, and as to which cities were interesting and which were not. I was thereby enabled to travel in these places with the minimum of discomfort. I also became acquainted with a gentleman, Mr. Chester, of New York, who had been to the top of Misti, and had taken photographs from its summit. In the evenings, ‘this foreign colony would repair to the gambling halls of an American whom I also. met, and lose money, but 48 South American Travels as there is enough of this business to do in any part of the globe, I did not accept any invitation to join them. One morning, the captain of a passenger boat in the coastal service came to my room. It was only four o’clock but he had a ‘“‘good stew on.”’ He had bought three baskets heaping with fresh strawberries, and insisted that I should accept one. I did and was laid up with gripes all day. From a Jew, I bought a plate of solid silver made by hand in Cuzco, in 1636, and, although it is heavy and valu- able, I managed to bring it back to the United States, passing through nearly all the South American countries without having to pay a cent of duty. There was a doctor stopping at the Maury who was selling White Rock Water, being the South American sales agent. He was the limit. Although there are very good native waters which I prefer to White Rock, he tried to persuade me to drink it instead. As I refused he played a practical joke on me, the humorous side of which I failed to see. It was namely to send me out to a town named Ancon where -he told me were miles of Indian relics and bones. I spent the best part of the day out there and found the relics to be nothing more than the bones of cattle that had perished in the sandy wilder- ness. He also advised me not to go to Cerro de Pasco, La Paz, etc., on account of the soroche, which I afterwards found out does not affect everybody. If I had acted on his advice I should have missed seeing the most interesting part of Peru. A half an hour distant from Lima by steam and electric line is Chorillos, the popular summer resort of the wealthy Limefios. There is surf bathing, but the ocean at this place is filled with sharp rocks of all sizes, so that the pleasures of bathing are tempered. The dressing-rooms are dirty, and the bathing suits to let are as a rule still Lima 49 wet from being previously worn. The town itself is built on a high rocky bluff overlooking the ocean; it has, facing the water, a broad esplanade, named the Malecon. A wide stone walk of easy gradient descends to the bathing establishment. On this esplanade, are many handsome residences, but none of the cafés, music halls, and places Chorillos, Peru of entertainment which one usually associates with sum- mer resorts. Chorillos is aristocratic, and the people who go there spend the entire summer, so there is no need for these attractions. Up in the town, is the naval academy. Barranca and Miraflores, suburbs of Lima. are both popular ocean resorts, the former the more so. For pleasure, the best of the whole outfit is La Punta, at the other side of Callao, visited by great numbers on Sundays. It has a fine sand beach, and but little surf. 4 50 South American Travels Lima needs more bathing places, on account of the dirty nature of her inhabitants. Nearly all of them are dirty. When a woman hasa dirty face, instead of washing it, she smears it with powder so that the dirt spot won't show. The only clean people there are those who have been abroad, and these have been obliged to acquire cleanliness, for otherwise the foreign women would not have had anything to do with them. Of all desolate resorts, Ancon is the most desolate; and yet it is a favorite place for the inhabitants to bring their families to spend the summer. A Mr. Wakeman, whom I met in Lima, a Peruvian but of American parentage, is in raptures about it. The White Rock agent, Dr. Aughin- baugh, told me the place was probably the greatest burial- ground in existence, a place where the Incas buried their dead, and that the wind had laid open the graves, expos- ing miles of bones. I “‘bit,’’ and decided to go to Ancon. After once visiting the place, I came to the conclusion that Dr. Aughinbaugh had had a grudge against me, otherwise he would never have told me to go there. It turned out to be because I refused to drink White Rock Water. I took the train from Lima one morning at eight o'clock. It passed by the city dumping ground, where I saw workmen with faces covered by pieces of cloth, nothing being exposed but their eyes, on account of the stench. Even in the coach where I was I managed to catch a whiff of it, and it was so strong that it nearly knocked me out of my seat. Beyond it, was the pesthouse, and then we entered cultivated country. This soon gave way toa dreary sand desert with nothing to break the mon- otony. An hour and a half after leaving Lima we reached Ancon station. The sand was about a foot deep on the main street, and the odors and filth were “fierce.” Dirty shops of the lowest description flanked this street, and, Lima 51 in front of them, sat drunken negroes and leprous beggars. I walked to the ocean and saw before me a semicircular harbor with an elegant sandy beach. A short pier ex- tended into the water, and a few fishing craft were in evidence. Beyond, to the right, lay the desert, and a few sand hills, while to my immediate left, and facing the ocean, were wooden shacks containing the apartments of summer visitors. I walked every street of the small town, Beach at Ancon, Peru and then onto the desert: The bones of the Inca dead were fictitious, but the animals that had perished there were far better off than the human beings of this frightful -town. ‘This sight-seeing of mine did not take over half of an hour, as the population of the village does not number one thousand souls. I had four hours to put in before the next train left for Lima, and I was at a loss to know what to do. I had come very near to bringing my wife along with me, and I was now thankful that I had not done so. I went to the bath- house, had a swim, and then went to the railroad station 52 South American Travels where I held down a seat for a couple of hours. The rest of the time I spent in the hotel eating my dinner, and sitting in front of it, drinking beer with a Chinaman who could talk English. CHAPTER III THE OROYA HINTERLAND ONCE met a lady who told me that she had been “‘all through Asia.” After a minute catechism of her, I found out that the extent of her travels in that continent amounted only to the railroad trip from Beirut to Damas- cus, most of which was done after nightfall. Now, the average traveler to Peru visits Lima only, and, after a sojourn in that city for anywheres from a few days to a week, he returns to his native land and tells to his ad- miring friends about the wonders he saw in Peru. To visit Lima without a trip to Cerro de Pasco, or at any rate to Oroya, is like being at Gardner, Montana, without making a visit to the Yellowstone. Many people make the former journey, especially the mining man, and the commercial traveler, but the tourist, frightened by exag- gerated tales of soroche, prefers the life of ease and luxury always to be had at Lima. One of these individuals who preferred not to run any risk of soroche was none other than Mr. Haggin, president of the Cerro de Pasco Company, who, although it would seem to be his duty to visit the mining properties of the company of which he was presi- dent, preferred not to endure the imaginary hardship, and remained in Lima, while his colleague, Mr. C. V. Drew, made the ascent. The excuse given out for Mr. Haggin 53 54 South American Travels not making the ascent was that he had just passed through a severe sickness. Now unless the sickness is pulmonary, rare mountain air ought to be beneficial. There is abso- lutely no hardship in making the ascent to the Hill, as Cerro de Pasco is styled by the Anglo-Saxon residents. One enters a parlor car at Lima at 6.30 A.M., and thirteen hours later is at the terminus of the line, after having passed through some of the most remarkable scenery in existence. I have read many books of Andean travel in which soroche is spoken of, and have met many people who had’ experienced it in more or less pronounced forms. The affliction is a pressure on the lungs, due to the scarcity of oxygen in the air at high altitudes, together with the constitutional inconveniences that go with it. In the Southern Andes, it is called puna, an Indian word also meaning heights, for the traveler never gets an attack under 10,000 feet. With no two people are the effects of soroche the same. Some have dizziness, bleeding at the nose, and violent headaches; some faint; some vomit and have a terrible nausea like seasickness; others have diffi- culty in breathing: I know a man who, while he is at Cerro de Pasco, is afraid of going to sleep at night for fear he will never wake again. Not all people get the soroche, and I am one of the immune, but most people get it, or at least imagine they get it, for in this as in other ailments imagination has a lot to do. The ascent to the Galera tunnel, the highest point reached on the Central Railroad of Peru in going to Oroya, is made from Lima in seven hours. Here, the altitude is 15,865 feet, so it is not to be wondered at that the rapid change in at- mospheric condition has an effect on human and animal constitutions. Several years ago, the Peruvian govern- ment bought some bulls in Belgium; these bulls were to The Oroya Hinterland 55 be sent to the Montana country east of the Cordillera, and they are still on the way. They are moved every other week to a place a few hundred feet higher than that in which they had previously been, this care being taken that they may reach their destination in the same condition in which they left Lima. One should never indulge in strong alcoholic drink while in the highlands, for it undermines the constitution to such an extent that pulmonary disorders, such as pneumonia, are liable to set in. Those who are born, or have resided a long time, in the high Andes cannot make the descent to sea-level without inconveniences. They, also, are apt to be nauseated, and to experience a throbbing at the temples with a singing in the ears. Every time I ascended to low levels in my various trips in the Andes, I experienced this singing in the ears. It was like getting water in the ears after coming out of swimming, and it generally lasted for a whole day. Mr. Henry Stone, British vice-consul at Cerro de Pasco, has lived there for thirty years, and is afraid to come down to the coast. A few years ago, he won 30,000 pesos on a lottery ticket, the sum to be paid at Lima, and rather than to risk the descent, he sent a friend after it. Dr. Aughinbaugh, the White Rock man, told me that nobody ever made the ascent without getting the soroche, and that he knew of four Leadville miners who had been accustomed all their lives to an altitude of 10,000 feet, but who, in attempting to get to Oroya, became so sick that they had to be taken back in hand cars. He also said that a Frenchman recently crossed the divide to visit a mine that he owned. While in the altitudes he was taken ill, and had to besent back toLima. He died on his return trip a few miles after he had crossed the 56 South American Travels divide. Later I tried to verify this statement, and found out that the Frenchman died of pneumonia he had con- tracted while there. I have never known of a single instance where a man died of soroche, although several such yarns are prevalent among the foreign colony at Lima. If a person takes care of himself, does not over- eat, overexercise, or overdrink, the chances are that he will cross the mountains at a minimum of temporary sickness. It is also said that stout people are more sus- ceptible to soroche than slim ones; this is all bosh, for when I made the ascent I weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, and I met in the altitudes quite a few people of my avoirdupois. Women are less apt to become affected by soroche than men, for they do not smoke, drink, or eat as much as the opposite sex, overindulgence in any of which three things materially aiding in increasing the beatings of the heart, and that is the prime factor to avoid. People suffering from heart trouble should not attempt to make the ascent, any more than they should indulge in other excesses that have an influence on that organ. The Italian who runs the Bar Suisse, at Lima, told me the best method to counteract soroche was to drink a quart of Fernet Branco, a Milanese strong liquor, between Lima and Oroya, this guaranteeing immunity to the imbiber. I agree with the Italian, for the imbiber would be so intoxicated that he would have no time to think about soroche or anything else. I wanted to go over the Oroya Railroad, and, to make sure that there was nothing constitutionally wrong with either my wife or myself, we went to an Italian physician in Lima, Dr. Victorelli, who examined us both, and told us that we would probably experience no difficulty. He told us that sometimes he was called to go to high alti- tudes, and suffered slightly when he made the trip in one The Oroya Hinterland 57 day, but that he had no ailment if he broke his trip at either Chosica at a height of 2800 feet or at a height of 7800 feet. He advised us to do this, but not to get off to pass the night at any station between these two towns, for we should then run the danger of getting the verrugas fever, which is prevalent in that particular district. At the last minute, my wife backed out about going up the mountain, and refused to go any farther than Chosica, a summer resort for the Limefios, where she had been invited by a lady of her acquaintance to spend a few days, and where she said she would stay until I returned. So, one hot afternoon, at 4.30 o’clock, we took the train at Desamparados station in Lima for Chosica. The ride of nearly two hours in a comfortable parlor car followed the river Rimac, and the scenery reminded me of the Santa Clara Valley of Ventura County, California. In the valley bottom, the land was highly cultivated to cane, alfalfa, and market truck, with many houses denot- ing a large population, while the mountains that ran up from the coast on either side were bare and destitute of verdure. There were, on the long platform of the station at Chosica, many gay and aristocratic-appearing people, to meet the train, on which were their friends or relatives coming to this resort for the week-end. The acquaint- ance of my wife was living with her husband at the Gran Hotel del Estacion, and, as my wife was going to stay there during my absence, we gave our baggage to the hotel runner, and walked across the street to this hostelry, which I found to be the cleanest I had visited in all Peru. How bracing and pleasant the air was here, compared with sultry Lima! A water cart had just sprinkled the street, and the coolness that it left, together with the scent of the orange blossoms, made us both glad to be away from the dirty capital. People troubled with many 58 South American Travels complaints come to Chosica, and invariably return home cured. The rooms in the hotel, though very plain, were clean, and the food excellent. I slept well and rose but half an hour before the Andean Limited, the train that was to take me to Oroya, pulled in the next morning. This road to Oroya was built in 1870 by the remarkable engineer and fortune hunter, Henry Meiggs, an American. It is one hundred and thirty-eight miles long, and is the best constructed mountain railroad in the world. Its gauge is standard, and the rolling stock is American, although it belongs to the Peruvian Government. Meiggs conceived the original idea of ascending the mountains by means of switchbacks instead of by the ordinary method of broad curves and curved tunnels as in the St. Gotthard, or of rack and pinion as on the Brazilian coast railways. There are, however, four complete circles in this line, but there are seven switchbacks, this method being much cheaper engineering, and giving better results. These switchbacks, seen from below, remind one of the great military wagon road on the mountain above Cattaro which leads to Montenegro. Chosica is thirty-five miles from Lima, and for ten miles more the railroad follows much the same kind of country as it traverses between Lima and that point. Then, at San Bartolome, a village at the junction of the Rimac with a river named the Santa Eulalia, the ascent really begins in earnest. From this point to the next station, which is Verrugas, where the Rimac is crossed on an iron bridge, the distance is only five miles, but in these five miles, 1000 feet is made in ascent. We are now in the district of verrugas fever, which was thought to be indigenous only to this locality, but which more recent observations have shown to exist at this height along the whole chain of the Western Cordillera The Oroya Hinterland 59 with Arequipa at its southern limit; and it doubtless extends as far north as Ecuador. This verrugas fever is a peculiar, but by no means fatal, disease. It begins with a high fever, and later, warts, sometimes nearly an inch long, tapering and bloody, grow all over one’s anatomy. I saw several cases of this. The natives tie black silk threads around the bases of these warts, which then, in time, fall off. These warts are named verrugas. Besides the warts, there appears a rash much like scarlatina, If the rash does not develop, the patient often dies, but the native doctors have a medicine which they give to bring out this eruption. It has not yet been determined whether verruga is caused by mineral or vegetable matter, but the scientists are now inclined to believe that it arises from the former source, since the vegetation in the depart- ment of Arequipa is not similar to that of Piura, while the minerals of these sections are much on the same order. In the department of Ancach, which lies directly north of that of Lima, this fever has been found at alti- tudes as low as 1000 feet and as high as 11,000. This disease is not contagious, and only appears through inocu- lation in the blood. Carrion and Barton proved the in- oculability of this disease, the former by experiment upon himself, and the latter upon dogs. Inoculation from the patient during the fever does not transmit it, but inocula- tion from the warts or serum drawn from them does. Since very few people have been known to catch it in the daytime, the present theory of its transmission is that it is carried by ticks who bite the person at night. Mosquitoes and flies do not carry it, and, in the daytime, people brush away the ticks. Credence is given to the tick theory because, at the confluence of rivers, where ticks abound, especially during the rainy season, the verruga is most prevalent. The man who first pro- 60 South American Travels pounded this theory, which has been generally accepted, is Mr. Charles Townsend, Government Entomologist and Director of Entomological Stations. The Verrugas bridge, the longest and highest on the Oroya Railroad, is 575 feet long and 225 feet high, and from its top the river in the canyon below looks like a silver snake. A tunnel named the Cuesta Blanca is entered, and from its eastern entrance begins panorama after panorama of great and rugged mountains. The slopes of these are covered with stunted bushes, and, in more favorable places, heliotrope abounds, as well as other plants whose roots do not need excessive moisture. A few miles farther on, Surco is reached, altitude 6600 feet, and then, at about 11 o’clock, Matucana, where everybody alights to eat breakfast. The train stops here for half an hour in the ascent, and a whole hour in the descent. I did not feel hungry, and, having been advised that overeating was the main cause of soroche, I strolled around the little town, instead of going into the dining hall. There is little to see in the place, which is a health resort with a sanitarium. It lies in a canyon hemmed in by high mountains, and has groves of eucalyptus and a few pines. A battle was once fought here against the Spaniards in the War of Liberation, and a conquered flag is on exhibition in the little church of the village. Fool- ishly, I had forgotten to bring with me heavy undercloth- ing and I now began to feel the effects of the chill of the atmosphere. I had on only the lightest kind of knee underdrawers and armless undershirt worn by the in- habitants of tropics. From Matucana onwards, the country becomes wilder, and mining camps are seen in the valleys. The Rimac is narrower, and the mountains are higher. We cross the bridge of Quebrada Negra, and then. those of Tambo de The Oroya Hinterland 61 Visa and Champichaca, and arrive at the station of Tam- boraque at an altitude of 9800 feet above sea level. Here one gets a glimpse of the snow-capped mountains ahead. Soon afterwards, we come to the station of the town of San Mateo, a mining camp which is deep down in the valley at our side. The railroad now enters a tunnel, and suddenly emerges on a bridge which crosses high above a seething torrent, only to enter another tunnel. This is the bridge of Infiernillo, or Little Hell, and the scenery in this spot reminds one of the foot tunnels and bridges in the upper valleys of the Alps; it is, however, on a much grander scale. Toa traveller who has once crossed the bridge of Infiernillo, the memory of this fleeting vision will never be obliterated. At Chicla, 12,500 feet high, there are two stations and two towns, one above the other in the valley. It is here that I noticed the first cases of soroche on the train. A Scotchman complained of feeling queer, and changed his seat a few times without seemingly good effect. It was his first trip, and although he knew it was mine also, he turned to me, and said: ‘‘What’s good for this?” I handed him out the bottle of Fernet Branca that the Italian of the Bar Suisse had given me. He took a long swig, and started coughing. Somebody handed him a glass of water with which to wash it down. No sooner had he done this than he made a bee-line to the water- closet where he heaved up all that he had eaten at Matu- cana. He soon came back and told me that he felt better, and wanted me to give him some more Fernet. I did so and it braced him up. Others in the train noticing this crowded around me, and the bottle was fast becom- ing exhausted. Out of twenty-six people in the coach, seven showed signs of sickness, but the others were read- ing novels and looking out of the car windows as if 62 South American Travels nothing ailed them. Of the remaining nineteen, one by one began to feel the soroche until there were but a dozen left who were in good shape after leaving the mining town of Casapalca. Casapalca is about 13,500 feet above sea level, and is the largest mining camp that we had yet reached. Its smelters, furnaces, and smoke remind one of the typical mining towns in the Montana Rockies. As in Butte, there is no vegetation; the mountains are bare, but, here, this is due to the altitude, and not to deadly fumes that permeate everything. At Ticlio, the highest junction on the line, and the only one in the ascent of the moun- tains, a branch runs to Morococha, which is one of the highest mining camps in Peru, lying at an altitude of 16,500 feet. The copper mines here are the property of the Morococha Mining Company. From that place, there is a beautiful view across a lake to the giant moun- tain Yonasama, meaning Black Nose. We are now in the cold region of perpetual snow, and, although I felt the coldness at Matucana, you may ima- gine what I now felt in my light underwear. Also I had no vest, and was beginning to sneeze, the symptom of catching cold. The Galera tunnel, in which we passed the height of land, 15,865 feet, is nearly a mile long, and directly under a huge mass of rock, the Monte Meiggs, 17,576 feet in height, on whose uneven sides were great patches of snow, not white but dusty on account of the winds that had been blowing in this desolate and fore- boding place. The air at the eastern entrance seemed even more rare than at its western one, but I noticed that some of the fellow-passengers, who, a few minutes before had been feeling sick, had now improved, and that some had even begun to indulge in beer and other refreshments. We were now in the great plateau, and, although all over The Oroya Hinterland 63 rose snow-capped peaks, they were not so impressive as before, since we now were nearly as high up as their sum- mits. The descent to Oroya for thirty miles over a barren waste was not interesting, and I was glad to alight from the train at this point, in order to purchase garments of suitable warmth. The next day, a train was leaving for Huancayo, and, as I was told that service in that direction was not as frequent as it ought to be, I decided to visit Cerro de Pasco on my return trip. Oroya is not much of a place, but its hotel is clean, and I was glad to break the journey. On one side of the town rises a precipitous mountain of rock, while, on the other side, and above the town proper, the hills are more curvilinear and easily scalable. A person can breathe freely here, as the altitude is only 12,179 feet, and to pass the remaining hours before dark I roamed around the place, climbed a small hill, and, in the barroom of the hotel, indulged in a few bottles of beer, named Cristalina, from the Herold Brewery of Cerro de Pasco. The new garments I bought were warm enough, and I admit that before I entered the dining- room I had a good sweat up. I met afew Americans who were inquisitive, and took it that I was in the mining ousiness. On denying this to them, they thought I was a spotter to report them to the manager of the mining company for which they worked, as they were nearly all in a state of semi-intoxication. That night, I slept the sleep of the blessed, and was awakened only by the rays of the sun beating down on me as I lay in bed. Soon after breakfast, I went to the railroad station and bought my ticket to Huancayo. The road here is owned not by the Government but by the Cerro de Pasco Company, and at some future time will serve as a link in the Pan-American Railroad. This line, as well as the line to Cerro de Pasco, was built -by 64 South American Travels a Mr. Blackford, of Columbus, Ohio. Under him, there worked as an engineer, a Norwegian named Bentzon, who later built the railroad from Juliaca to Cuzco, which will also be another link in the project that will connect New York with Buenos Aires. It is the intention to continue the railroad southward from Huancayo to Ayacucho, and thence to Cuzco. When this is completed, it will no longer be necessary for the passenger from Lima to Lake Titicaca to go first by boat to Mollendo, and thence upward to the lake via Arequipa. All he will have to do is to go to Oroya, change cars, and go direct to the lake. I imagine the distance from Oroya to Huancayo is about seventy miles, although nobody seemed to know the figures. The way descends the Mantaro River, each mile of the trip opening changes in scenery as the vegeta- tion in the valley increases. There were large fields of alfalfa and the omnipresent eucalyptus. At Jauja, the train backed into the town on a switch, and a crowd of people boarded it, not as passengers but to shake hands with everybody who undoubtedly were relatives or long- lost acquaintances. We stopped long enough to buy a drink at a saloon across the street from the depot, and to squabble with a native woman about the price of some cakes she had for sale. There was one thing noticeable, and that was that llamas were not in as much evidence as higher up in the country we had just come through. Huancayo is a city of about 10,000 inhabitants in a rich and well-watered valley. It consists largely of one long broad street, paved with small round stones, and having a ditch in the center in which is running water, this being the receptacle for the garbage from the houses as well as the public washing place for soiled clothes. The houses are mostly two storeys high with wooden balconies on their second floor. The Hotel Royal, where The Oroya Hinterland 65 I put up, is none too clean, and the cholo boys who act as bartenders and chambermaids have a habit of expecto- rating any place it suits them to do so. The landlord of the hotel was a middle-aged German, obliging, but with an air of self-importance. He had been in the United States, and was very partial to the beer of that country. which he sold for eighty centavos (40c.) a pint bottle. I don’t remember of ever having seen such a long street as the main street of this town, unless it is at Zombor, Hungary. The store windows offered for sale cloth and woolens of brilliant hue made in Germany. Though not so durable, these attract the native eye better than their home-made articles. There were vendors of all kinds in the open air, and I judged that I had arrived at market day. Some sold cheap jack-knives, potato peelers, and tin spoons, made in the United States; others sold seeds of native plants, bulbs, and dried coca leaves. Hawkers walked by with leathern sacks on their shoulders filled with poultry, and at every turn were beggars and vendors of lottery tickets.. Unkempt, long-haired dogs basked in the sun and quarreled with one another over putrid bones, while diseased cripples looked on, asking for alms. At the outskirts of the town, I looked down into the valley, and counted at least half a dozen villages of about the same size, each a little lower than its neighbor; in all of them, the church spires predominating. It is, without exception, one of the thickest-settled valleys in all Peru. One may follow from here the Mantaro down through the Montana, or forested foothill region, to the Rio Tambo, and that to the wide Ucavali, which is a tributary to the mighty Amazon. Two nights and a part of two days were enough of Huancayo for me, and it was with a feeling of relief that I again found myself back in Oroya one afternoon, in 5 66 South American Travels time to catch the train up to Cerro de Pasco. The journey now lay across the great Junin pampa, where, August 6, 1824, Bolivar defeated the Spaniards, mainly through the brilliant cavalry charge of Colonel Suarez: They were driven back to Ayacucho where General Sucre gave them a second dose. These two names, Junin and Ayacucho are warm to the hearts of all South Americans: no matter of which republic they are citizens, and there is scarcely a town of size on the whole continent that has not a street named after these two battlefields. The country is desolate in the extreme, and from the train Junin appears very dingy. It is near a large lake of the same name, which, also, is frequently called Chinchay- cocha. The ascent to Cerro de Pasco from Oroya is over two thousand feet, but it is gradual and presents little of interest. It was dark before we reached the great smelter of the Cerro de Pasco Mining Company, which is at La Fundicion. Cerro de Pasco is a “‘bum”’ town, although by a supreme decree of 1840 it was entitled to the euphonious name of the “‘Opulent City of Cerro de Pasco.”” It was founded in 1771, and belonged to the Department of Tarma from which it became separated to be the capital of the Depart- ment of Junin. Its name means “Hill of Peace,’ but there is no peace there, either for its inhabitants or stran- gers. The inhabitants have to work too hard to enjoy themselves, and the strangers are kept awake all night by the barking of dogs and the ribald voices of drunken natives. There are over 15,000 people in the place, and all make a living by following the mining trade, as here are the great copper and silver mines with their innumer- able chimneys, furnaces, and smelters. The altitude is 14,295 feet, and the air is chill and raw, while a strong wind is generally blowing. The silver ore is reddish, and The Oroya Hinterland 67 is named by the natives cascajo, meaning pebbles; and there is scarcely any ore, whether it is silver or copper, that is lacking in gold. The mining company is owned largely by Frick, Haggin, and the successors of J. P. Morgan, and so far has been unprofitable, largely on account of the costly operations and the cost of transportation. The Peruvian Central Railroad, owned by the Government, but con- trolled by the Peruvian Corporation, who once loaned money to the Government and then took over the road, charges too high prices to ship the ore to Callao, whence it is exported to Europe via Cape Horn. The Cerro de Pasco Company have had surveys made, and are starting a railroad of their own to the Ucayali; there the ore will be placed on flat-bottomed boats and sent to Iquitos, on the Amazon, from which port there is steamship connec- tion with Europe. This will save the high rates asked by the Peruvian Central Railroad, and also lessen the time to the market. At Cerro de Pasco, there is a German named Herold, who a few years ago managed to borrow enough money to start a small brewery. In a short time he paid back his debt, and is now on the way towards “‘easy street.” His brewery, the Cerveceria Herold, is the highest brewery in the world, and the beverage is good beyond all excep- tion. He brews a light beer, Cristalina, which is like Pilsner; a dark beer, Baviera, like Mtinchner; and a malt extract. J havea collection of beer labels from breweries all over the world, and I told this to a man who happened to live at La Fundicion. Nothing could convince him but that I made the trip to Cerro de Pasco from Lima solely to obtain a label from one of Mr. Herold’s bottles. One day I took a trip back to La Fundicion to look around. Although there is a lively and sociable bunch of Americans there, one hour’s time is enough for any tourist to devote 68 South American Travels to the place unless he has business there, such a desolate place it is. I spent most of my time there at the Smelter Hotel, opposite to the railroad station, waiting for the next train to pull out. The stores in Cerro de Pasco are mostly those of mining supplies, and of general merchan- dise, differing little from each other. As in towns of this nature, hardware is the staple line of goods. The hotel, named the America, was not bad, compared to the Royal at Huancayo, but much must be added to make it first class. There is scarcely a hotel in the interior of South America, especially in the mountain regions, that does not boast of at least one billiard table, as a rule antiquated, and with no tips to the cues. How these cumbersome pieces of furniture are transported, even to the most inaccessible places, is a mystery to me. On account of the great number of foreigners in the mining camps in this region, the inhabitants go in for sports. The na- tives amuse themselves by holding cock-fights, while the Americans have baseball games and horse-races. These ball games are for a few innings only, while the horse- races are for one hundred yards. Beyond this, endurance is exhausted on account of the pressure against the lungs. I know people here who seldom sleep, being unable to, and have to go to the coast at intervals to get their full benefit from Morpheus. If a man gets pneumonia, which is here the most common of all diseases, he has to be taken immediately to lower altitudes in order to save his life. Mr. A. A. Abbott of Lansing, Michigan, and formerly manager of the Cerro de Pasco mines, over- worked himself, lived a year at an altitude of between 16,000 and 17,000 feet, drank too much and died, while if he had done the same at a lower altitude the chances are that his life would not have had any such bad effects on him. The Oroya Hinterland 69 The railroad continues northward from Cerro de Pasco to the end of the Junin Department, where it terminates at the mining town with the highly euphonious name of Goyllarisquisga. Another town in the neighborhood is named Quisquarcancha. This railroad in time will also be a part of the Pan-American system, for surveys have been made to continue it from here to Huanaco in the department of the same name. Both Goyllarisquisga and Huanaco are lower than Cerro de Pasco, being down the Huallaga River which flows into the Maranon, the main tributary of the Amazon. From Huanaco, the road will cross the Western Cordillera to Huaraz, whence it will run northerly to Cajamarca, and thence to the frontier. CHAPTER IV AREQUIPA; EL MISTI HEN I left Lima, I decided to try one of the ships of the Peruvian Line as I had already had enough of travel on one of the smaller steamers of the rival company, my experience on the Guatemala being sufficient to dispel any notion of ever again attempting passage on one of them. Some of the ladies my wife met at Chosica, probably from their own experiences or from hearsay, had so frightened her by tales of soroche and heart failure in the high altitudes that, at the last minute, she refused to go to La Paz with me. Accordingly, I bought her a ticket to Valparaiso, and myself one to Mollendo, both on the steamer Pachitea of the Compania Peruana de Vapores y Dique de Callao, which means Peruvian Steamship and Dock Company of Callao. When I had finished visiting Bolivia, I was to meet her either at Valparaiso or at Santiago, Chile. I had several acquaintances sailing on the same steamer, and all had friends in Lima who came to the Hotel Maury in the morning to bid them good-bye. In fact, nearly all the male members of the American colony were present, and nearly all got drunk. Present were Mr. Chester from New York, a professional landscape photographer who made the first pictures of the crater of the Misti; 70 Arequipa; El Misti 71 Dr. Aughinbaugh, of White Rock fame; Mr. Nat Guiber- son of Los Angeles, with the American Tool Company; the editor of Peru To-day; Mr. Pohl, a professional gam- bler, and many others, including the courier of the Hotel Maury. Most of the bunch were drinking bitters. Dr. Aughinbaugh and Mr. Chester got in bad shape, and when the Pachitea sailed that night from Callao the former had not recovered. Passing his cabin about eight o’clock that night, I heard his wife raking him over the coals about something, and caught various clauses from her, such as “You should know better,” and “‘You’re getting along in years.” I took it that these remarks were on account of his jovial conduct the same day. Anyhow, I was glad of it, because it was he who sent me on the fool’s chase to Ancon. What the-Guatemala had lacked in comfort, the Pachitea amply made up for. This vessel, whose tonnage is 4000, was at anchor at the mole, thereby saving the annoyance of looking after one’s baggage, and of being rowed out to the ship in the harbor. She was built at St. Nazaire, France, in 1911, and is thoroughly up to date and swift. For a boat of its size, it is the best I have ever been on. Everything is provided for the comfort of its passengers. It is kept clean, and the stewards are most attentive. An orchestra is provided for the entertainment of the passengers, and the cabins are equipped with electric fans. There are on board a barber, post-office, and wireless telegraphy. The food is good; is served by waiters in uniforms, and the drinks are of the best. Unlike the disorderly arrangement on the boats of the other line, the passengers are given checks for their baggage, and the officers come around to inquire if everything is com- fortable. The only drawback I find is that oil is burned instead of coal. One of the fine new ships of the Peruvian 72 South American Travels line caught fire, and burned, two years ago, through negligence or ignorance’ of the use of oil. Happily she was near land, and in a quiet ocean, and thereby a loss of life was averted. It should be taken into consideration that the Latin is not as accustomed to oil as we are, and that this disaster has taught them a lesson. ‘Therefore, to-day, the chances of safety on one of these ships are just as good as on any of the others. The Pachitea was captained by an Englishman named Harrington, a man about thirty years old who was very courteous to the passengers. Several years ago, while he was an officer on another ship, he had the misfortune to be thrown into jail at Antofagasta. He had found a stowaway whom he attempted to put to work. The stowaway refused, was insolent and vindictive, and he and Mr. Harrington had a fight. The officer landed him a blow on the face which injured an eye, thereby causing Mr. Harrington’s arrest. After suffering the torments of a Chilean prison, which have not the reputation of being the best in the world, Mr. Harrington was released upon payment of a heavy fine. The chief steward is a Peruvian named Palacios. I was introduced to several of the pas- sengers, and was surprised to learn that one of these, Mr. MacDonald, could speak no word of English. In South America, one finds many Latins and natives with Anglo- Saxon names. They are the descendants of the early English settlers and adventurers, and only their name remains to show their ancestral extraction. For instance, the ex-president of Peru is named Billing- hurst. His father is an Argentino of English descent. I met an O’Connor and a Blackburn in Chile who were totally ignorant of the English language. Argentina had Admiral Brown, native born; Chile had O’Higgins of Trish and Montt of German extraction; while the hero of Arequipa; El Misti 73 the war between Peru and Chile, Grau, was a native of Piura. At noon the next day, a speck was seen ahead of us on the starboard horizon. It grew larger and larger until it finally outlined itself as the Chilean steamer Limari which had left Callao for Valparaiso three hours ahead of us. We passed it, and at night its lights were dimly visible behind us in the far distance. The Pachitea kept straight on, Mollendo being its first port of call, while the Limart made Pisco en route. Pisco is the seaport of Ica, capital of the Department of Ica, famous for its sugar cane and curative springs. These springs are supposed to have a curing effect on the reproductive organs of women, and it is the Mecca of the childless wife. This is unusual in Peru, where most women have more children than a setting hen has eggs in the nest. I know of a New York man who had been married for over twenty years without his wife having a child. They went to Lima where he was called on business, and while there his wife gave birth to twins. Next day we passed Lomas, vis- ible from deck, and several other villages on the deso- late shore. Early in the morning of the second day out, we anchored off the dun-colored cliffs of Mollendo. The Limart came in about three hours later, and the captain of that ship told Mr. Harrington that after leaving port he would give the Pachitea a race, and beat her. At Valparaiso my wife told me that they raced all the way to Antofagasta, the Pachitea beating the Limari a great distance at every port. At the present day Peru has it “‘put all over’ Chile as to the speed and equipment of her merchant marine, although Chile has a greater one in numbers. Mollendo, as seen from the ocean, looks large. The brown adobe facade of the cathedral, with its two towers 74 South American Travels of Mission architecture, rises above the other buildings. The city, which is perched on the summit of the cliffs, against which the breakers crash, boasts of six thousand inhabitants. The landing is rough, and, during the winter season, passengers have been known to remain at the town for at least two weeks before being able to land on account of the surf. There is no harbor, no pier, and always a heavy swell. Iron steps lead down to the land- ing place from a small area of level ground, at the farther end of which is the custom house. Although I had come from a Peruvian port, I found that I would be obliged to open my trunks. In order to avoid the ordeal I told the custom-house officials that I was the United States consul at Arequipa. Now, the United States is not re- presented there. I knew it, but the officials did not. I was shown great deference and allowed to pass unmo-. lested, while every other passenger had their belongings spilled out on the floor of the wooden shed that serves as custom house. They all looked at me in wonder, and tried to figure out who I was, to be permitted through the lines unchallenged. A very steep climb led to the sloping plateau at the top of the cliff, from which led another steep descent to the station where I had to check my baggage. I had about four hours before the train left for Arequipa, so I decided to walk about the town, It was terribly hot, and my clothes became drenched through with per- spiration. With the exception of Salaverry, a more un- inviting place I have never seen. There was a fire here a year ago which burned everything to the ground. All the buildings have been rebuilt in wood and in corrugated iron. They are hovels reeking with filth indescribable. Everywhere is sand. The only verdure is a few stunted trees in the plaza, paved with colored tiles, against which Arequipa; El Misti 75 the scorching rays of the sun beat with withering heat, and. weflect the glare to the neighboring streets. Dogs, eats, rats, vermin, and odors abounded; also bubonic plague. Seven people died here of the malady the day before. The proprietor of the Hotel Ferrocarril told me that there were many cases of the plague not reported, for when somebody of a better-to-do family came down with it, they would be treated at home to recover or die, in which latter cases the medical certificate would read that the victim succumbed to some other disease. The stinking Hotel Ferrocarril is perched on the sum- mit of the cliff, and is the only one in the town possible for a foreigner to go to. It is a one-storey, rambling structure of frame, painted dark green, with a wide veranda onto which open the rooms. As there is no sidewalk on the street, the populace of the town, which consists largely of fleteros or boatmen, loafers, and syphilitics, use the veranda as a thoroughfare, especially since it is shady, and shuffle past the bedroom doors continually. Flies, gnats, and fleas abound. The barroom, large, and containing antique billiard tables, has no chance to get dusty on account of the heterogeneous throng, mostly Germans from the commercial houses, that is constantly in evi- dence walking to the front of the room for liquid refresh- ments, with which to wash down the bubonic dust of Mollendo. A drunken priest entered the room, and after casting a lascivious glance at a native woman selling avocados or alligator pears, shook hands with the fre- quenters and to each one made some lewd remark about this woman. ‘‘Mollendo priest,” said the Italian pro- prietor to me. That was either the extent of his knowl- edge of English or else he wanted to convey to me the knowledge that the Mollendo priests are a sporty lot. That day at the depot I saw several other priests, but 76 South American Travels they conducted themselves in a different manner than this one, which went to show that all Mollendo priests are not drunkards. On the whole, I should not blame them if they were, because of the earthly inferno in which they live. As all over in Peru, when you sit down to a meal at an inn, no matter how humble the appearance of the place is, you are sure to rise from the table satisfied. I have never known an exception. The Hotel Ferrocarril puts up a fine meal. The Peruvians are great eaters of meat, consequently there is a large variety from which to choose. -The hotel is vile and stinking, yet the repast was all that could be desired. The train was scheduled to leave for Arequipa, a dis- tance of one hundred and eight miles at 12.30 P.M., and, as is the case of nearly all South American railroads, started on time and reached its destination on time, although stops were frequent and much time was wasted at these. The journey occupied six hours, and, besides the stops, taking into consideration the continual steep upward gradient, and the innumerable curves, the actual tunning time was good. Next to me sat a young doctor from Arequipa, who was returning from Lima. He spoke French excellently, having been educated abroad, and proved to be a fine instructor regarding the country we were traversing. He told me that although Arequipa was a considerable distance from the seacoast, and 7500 feet above the sea level, in the heart of the mountains, the inhabitants of the city like to class themselves as belonging to the Pacific zone instead of the Andean, because people coming from the former territory are sup- posed to be more cultured than those living in the latter. During the Inca Empire the culture of Peru was in the Andes, but this changed with the conquest by the Span- iards, for they built their cities on the coastal plain, and Arequipa; El Misti 77 in these were the civilization and refinement of the Old World. I have been on a few more beautiful rides than this one, Mollendo to Arequipa, for instance that from Limon to San José in Costa Rica, and on one more grand, that from Lima to Oroya, but never have I seen such constant changes of scenery as on this trip, nor did I ever before feel my heart in my mouth, thinking that the next minute the train would jump the track and fall thousands of feet into the gullies below. The trip is not beautiful because of a soft, pastoral kind of scenery or of the kind with rivers jumping from crag to crag in canyons far below, for it is that of an immense panorama, as if you were on the top of the world, where mountains seem atoms, and the whole vista is awe inspiring. For the first fourteen kilometers, the railroad follows the seashore past the bathing resorts of Ensenada and Mejia, the latter place a Mecca for Bolivians. To wus this sand- beaten desolate shore would be an inferno, but to these poor Bolivians living far up in their mountain fastnesses , such a place is regarded as a paradise. Mollendo, years ago, obtained its railroad concession and became the port of entry of Southern Peru through political graft. It has no harbor and is situated too high above the ocean for the economical transportation of merchandise. Ten miles to the north is the sheltered roadstead of Islay, now unfrequented, while twenty miles to the south a good landing can be effected on account of lack of high surf. All that is necessary is to build a pier into the ocean. This last mentioned scheme is contem- plated, for valuable iron deposits have been found in the nearby coast range, so my new acquaintance the doctor informed me, and the Southern Railroad of Peru is going to extend its line to that point. After leaving Mejia, the rails turn inland, and follow 78 South American Travels the valley of the Tambo, rich in alfalfa and oranges. We ascend to a plateau on top of one of the minor spurs of the Coast Range that can be seen from the ocean, and on which is built the village of Tambo, the fertile green valley appearing far below to the right, past disused silver mines in a gorge. Over the steeply ascending plateau to the summits of the foothills, the train wends its way up canyons to their heads, and then by loops and curves to a higher altitude, the tracks just traversed lying snake- like many meters below. The air becomes cooler, and the vegetation more sparse. Finally the summits are reached, and, at each successive curve, a different pano- rama is revealed of the whole countryside, domed hills and mountains, smaller and smaller in magnitude as they fade away towards the ocean, whose vast expanse of tranquil blue is blended on the far horizon with that of the _ sky. I could see the Pachitea, no larger than a fly, on its way to Arica, with the Limari about ten miles ahead. When the summits are reached, a vast plain opens in front, the desert of LaJoya, sometimes called the Pampa d’Islay; a more forbidding spot not to be found on this globe. The heat is stifling. Passengers close the train windows. Whirlwinds of dust are everywhere. For thirty-five miles we pass through this miniature Sahara, worse than the worst desert of North America, conical dunes of windswept sand appearing everywhere, some attaining a height of one hundred feet. After an hour of this hell, all passengers are glad when the train pulls up at the little station of Vitor,on a river of the same name, where there is a stop for ten minutes. On the platform, native women sell luscious figs and grapes. Leaving the station, the mountains are again entered. Their character has changed, for, instead of being covered with soil, they are of stone, reddish brown and shale in Arequipa; El Misti 79 formation. Huge boulders are everywhere, some held in place by iron bands to prevent their falling on the railroad track. Puffing and puffing the train ascends in steep zigzags first one canyon, then another, and finally emerges above a gorge far deeper than the Grand Canyon of the Colorado and much narrower, threadlike and very long, while way down fathoms below is the snakelike Chili River, its banks bordered with dark green trees, interspersed here and there with a terrace of cultivated cereals. If one has never been over this line, he is apt to become frightened. I was. We went around such sharp curves that I thought every minute that the loco- motive would jump the track and hurl us into the great depth thousands of feet below. I believe there are few rides on earth to compare with this. I saw trails on the opposite mountain side, and at once remembered this was the famous historical picture of a pass in the Andes, where donkeys were carrying packs, and where one misstep would land them far below in the roaring chasm, that was depicted in the geographies of my schooldays. Although this is the oldest railroad in South America save one, the famous picture which was drawn before the advent of the steam horse still remains, and is seen by scholars to-day in the elementary classes when they turn the pages of their, geographies to ‘“‘Peru.’’ The canyon widens into a valley and, although the railroad track still ascends, it does not do so in proportion to the ascent of the valley, for we presently find ourselves creeping along in its bottom with the river to our left. The soil looks poor, but its looks belie it, for everywhere that a drop of water can be brought to it, crops spring up with unsurpassable abundance. Wheat, oats, barley, and rye are present, but no crops of the tropical zone, although we are well within the Tropic of Capricorn. The figs have given way to pears. 80 South American Travels A blue haze appears in the far distance ahead. This is the atmospheric condition that is ever present before the main or central cordillera of the Andes. On clear days are visible the great peaks, but the doctor told me that at this tine of the year it is rarely that they can be seen, on account of the clouds that hang around them, this being the rainy season. Presently, a terraced cultivated country, more flat than mountainous is entered, streams constantly crossed that empty into the Chili. Most mountain rivers have their canyons which are located somewhere on their down- ward course, their sources however being a large pocket which is fed by many rivulets. Take for instance the Hudson. Around West Point it is flanked by high hills but its source is in more open country. The Rhine at Bingen is likewise, but at Tiefencastel in Switzerland it rises from a plain. Even the Au Sable in Michigan has its high banks, but its source is open plains and marshes. Likewise the Chili. The arable country we now enter is its pocket, which is about twenty miles long by five broad, and rises above Arequipa. This valley is one of the richest and most thickly populated in all Peru. Habitations are everywhere; large churches on eminences dominate the landscape, some white with blue spires and cupolas forming beautiful contrasts with the natural colors of green and yellow. Meadows of knee-high clover afford pasture for cattle, fat with the bounty of this paradise. Dark pools of cool water are present, in which native children are swimming. On account of the numerous villages, each one larger than the last one, the stranger is apt to think that each succeeding station is Arequipa. In fact I picked up my valises and started to descend at Tingo, thinking that was my destination, until. told differently. Arequipa; El Misti 81 The women seen at the station platforms, and on the roads are beautiful, many being blonde with dark eyes. No half breeds here. If anybody who has read the Ara- bian Nights and could place himself in the position of a caliph, who had nothing better to do than to lie on a divan at the side of a running stream, smoke a pipe, and be waited upon by houris, the environs of Arequipa would be the ideal place to ‘‘pull this stunt off in.” The men are tall and robust, with character to their faces; even the dogs are large and gaunt. Great is the contrast in life here in a fine exhilarating climate as compared with that in the hot lands of the seacoast. During the war with Chile, the inhabitants of this section were the fight- ing men of Peru. They are a race apart from the other inhabitants of the republic, and should be rulers of themselves. Leaving the train at Arequipa nearly everybody had a headache, and I was no exception. This was caused by the rapid ascent from sea-level to an altitude of 7600 feet combined with the dust of the desert of LaJoya. A dose of Rexall’s Headache Pills that I had brought with me from home soon cured me, yet I was unfortunate enough that night to come down with malaria, which lasted me for some time and caused me great inconvenience. As to the natural scenic beauty of the surrounding country, Arequipa can hold its own with any city in the world. The environs of Rio de Janeiro are more charm- ing, but those of Arequipa are far grander. It is situated in the narrow valley of the upper Chili River, an oasis in a desert of rock, at the foot of the snow-capped volcano Misti, whose conical summit rises directly above the city to a height of over 19,000 feet. This giant mountain is guarded on two of its sides by the twin cyclops, Pichu- Pichu, to the east, and Chacchani to the north, each being 6 82 South American Travels over 17,000 feet high. Ancient stone bridges, renamed by the nomenclature of the modern heroes, Bolognesi and Grau, span the turbulent muddy waters of the river, which divides the city and furnishes irrigation to the terraces on which are grown grains of the temperate zone. The pavement of the streets, as in all Peruvian towns, is bad, so it was with much jolting that I was driven in an antiquated hack, drawn by a team of mangy horses, to the Plaza de Armas, which-is a mile away from the railroad station. Halfway up this course, I was obliged to return to the depot for I had forgotten to take my umbrella from the rack in the car. I had been told to go to the Hotel Morosini & Parodi, kept by two Italians of the same names. There was no entrance to this inn, but a dark spiral stairway not over two feet wide led from the street direct to the top of the arcade, called portales, that projected over the sidewalk. I was shown a room too dirty for human habitation, and, on making a fuss, was shown to an adjoining one which was nothing more than a storeroom for empty beer cases, containing a bed, wash- stand, table, and chair; a sheet stretched across the middle separated it only from the conglomeration of empty beer cases, bottles, and dusty boxes. I refused to stay there, and hired a couple of boys to take my baggage to the Hotel Central, which is on the Mercaderes, the main street of the city. This hotel I found to be much better, although, as to the room I had, it was also lacking in comfort. Itis built around two patios, the first one having a fountain in which goldfish and a curious specimen of blackfish swim among moss and water plants, while the second one contains a bird cage, about fifteen feet high by eight feet broad, filled with many varieties of native birds and canaries. It was into this courtyard that my room opened, a large square vaulted room, lighted only Arequipa; El Misti 83 by asingle window near the arch of the vault above the other rooms. The floor of cement was covered with a large worn- out carpet. The bed was so short that I could not sleep in it, and roosters, hens, and turkeys, in a coop on top of the roof near the solitary window, made repose impossible. Arequipa, the second city of Peru in population and importance, contains a population of 40,000 inhabitants, and is the distributing center for Southern Peru. Like most South American towns, and most North American ones as well, it is laid out in rectangular blocks. It has a large plaza around which the life of the city centers, mostly at nightfall. Three sides of the plaza are given over to portales or arcades, uniform in architecture, while the whole of the fourth side is fronted by the massive stone cathedral surmounted by two low, pointed towers. Though the edifice is of good height, it is out of propor- tion owing to its great breadth, and instead of having the flat roof that it possesses, it should rise in the center to a gable or dome to do away with its flatness. A few small ornaments once surmounted the facade, but the earthquakes have long ago knocked them to the ground. Unlike most religious edifices, its aisle runs sidewise to its front. It is one of the most interesting temples of worship in America, and was begun in 1612. It has been twice devastated, once by fire, in 1844, and again by earthquake, in 1868. It has three entrances, is four hundred and fifty feet long and its facade is adorned with seventy pillars both Ionic and Doric. The interior is plain, with a marble altar. Like all the buildings in Arequipa, it is of stone, white and porous, of volcanic formation. All the buildings in Arequipa are low, and have vaulted ceilings to their rooms. They are built this way because it has been proven that the arch is more earthquake proof 84 South American Travels than the flat ceiling, and this is the headquarters of earth- quakes. Although the ravages of this menace are en- countered in every section of the city, the buildings are in no worse shape than those of Lima which are. built out of mud. Misti is blamed for these catastrophous visita- tions of nature, although this has yet to be proven. Cathedral, Arequipa. Pichu-Pichu Mountain in Background Though the mountain is never in eruption, and seldom smokes, subterranean rumblings are occasionally heard on its slopes. It smoked at the timeof the San Francisco earthquake, and, later, at the time of the one at Valpa- taiso. Harvard University maintains on the slopes of the mountain, a short distance from the city, an astro- nomical observatory in charge of a man named Campbell, who works at night, and sleeps in the daytime. I in- ES SSS Side View of Fagade, Arequipa Cathedral 85 Arequipa; El Misti 87 tended: to call:on him, but could never make connections. The first time-I got lost. in trying to locate the observatory, and when I did pass it on my ascent of Misti I had no time to stop. The first night I spent in Arequipa, I,was attacked with malarial fever, which I caught in Lima, and got no sleep. Plaza de Armas, Arequipa, with View of Misti in Background The next day, I became worse, and went to an English physician, Dr. Ricketts, for treatment, but the quinine failed to have any effect upon me. I had my room at the hotel changed on account of the racket the poultry made on the roof, mingled with the squealing of rats and cat fights during the night. I was given a good room on the street, and the remaining nights I slept as well as my fever would permit. The doctor gave me a hypodermic in- 88 South American Travels jection of quinine, which made sore that part of my ana- tomy where the injection was received. I was told that this treatment for malaria is sometimes fatal, as it is apt to form a blood clot on the brain if any air enters with the needle, and that abscesses are apt to be caused. This doctor knew his job, and I experienced no bad effects. I tried to remain in the fresh air as much as possible, .and Plaza de Armas, Arequipa, showing Hotel Morosini and Parodi in Background hired a saddle horse to take me to the observatory, but to my chagrin was unable to get on the right road as all seemed to terminate abruptly at the outskirts of the city at some garden wall or at some deep ravine. In appearance, the city is much like San José de Costa Rica, but it is not so clean a place. Running water used as sewers flows through the streets of the city, and an attempt is made to clean these out with shovels, which results in the filth being piled in the streets to dry and Arequipa; El Misti 89 cause typhoid fever, this being the only bad ailment in the city. The town is, and has always been, for some reason unknown, free from bubonic plague. It isa known Calle Mercaderes, Arequipa fact that the disease cannot exist there. People, dogs, and rats so afflicted have been known to come up from Mollendo, but have been unable to spread the contagion. Everybody that has a toothache binds up his face with cloth, so the unwary are sometimes erroneously led to 90 South American Travels believe that they are in the presence-of-a victim of the dread disease. A view from the Bolognesi: Bridge is beautiful, and carries one’s imagination back to the Middle Ages as one looks down stream at the terraces, above which rise the Portales, Arequipa spires and domes of numerous churches on the right bank of the Chili, and the houses, one above the other on the hillside in disorderly profusion, in the poorer quarter on the left bank. The river jumps over rocks, forming cataracts and waterfalls, and divides itself in many small channels, in which native women wash their garments. In certain respects, Arequipa is akin to an Oriental town, for almost each trade has its allotted section. Arequipa; El Misti 91 This is most noticeable on the Calle Bolognesi, the street that leads to the bridge of the same name, and the con- tinuation of this street on the left bank of the Chili, Calle del Beaterio. Here are shops entirely devoted to pottery. This is harder and more brittle than that of Payta darker red and glazed. Many shops are given exclusively to Arequipa. Calle San Francisco leather work, and the saddles with trappings rival Mexi- can workmanship. In many one-room stores, the dis- play is wood carving and walking sticks, the latter being made out of a wood, named Maco, grown in the neighbor- hood. This wood is very hard and red, and somewhat resembles Californian manzanita. The advantage of these sticks and cudgels are that they will last forever, and never break. In all these shops and houses, guinea- 92 South American Travels pigs run loose among the furniture, and when cooked are considered by the natives a delicacy. In Arequipa, are the railroad shops of the Southern Railroad of Peru, which manufacture freight and passen- ger coaches, some of the latter resembling the Pullman Calle Bolognesi, Arequipa parlor car. The town boasts of a textile factory, several brickyards, a porcelain factory, and a brewery named the Cerveceria Aleman, owned by a German, Ernest Gunther, who brews both a dark and a light beer, the best in all Peru, and which can be obtained even in the northern departments. It has a strong run even in Lima where there are two great breweries. The view of El Misti from the Puente Bolognesi is Arequipa; El Misti 93 superb, and I spent many hours gazing with wonder up - at the fascinating mountain. I often attempted to photograph it, but in vain, for in the morning when seen from the city, in all its grandiose glory, the sun is in the way, making a poor light, and at this time of the year, Arequipa, Seen from Left Bank of River Chili the summer season, clouds hover around its summit in the afternoon, obscuring the view. The pioneer photog- rapher of the city, Max Vargas, who possesses an excel- lent gallery in the Mercaderes, told me that all of his fine photographs of the mountain were made in the winter season, when there is a cloudless sky, and rain never falls. Yet the longer I gazed at what I consider the greatest masterpiece of Nature, the more I became thrilled, fasci- 94 South American Travels nated, and imbued with a longing to ascend to its apex. Even now, while writing this article, the desire is before me to see Misti again. From the remotest antiquity the natives have always held this mountain in awe and reverence, for, according to the Inca mythology, it was View on Chili River, Arequipa supposed to be the habitation of the evil spirit, and many were the offerings and sacrifices offered to appease the demon. It is easy of ascent, but superstition kept the natives away from its slopes until, in 1844, a German, named Wedel, accompanied by two friends, mounted to its summit. Since then, many ascents have been made, and Indians, their superstition dispelled, constantly go to its crater to bring away sulphur. Harvard Obser- vatory has erected a hut on its summit for meteoric Arequipa; El Misti 95 observations, and every little while some of its employees go there to take data. Annie Peck, the mountain climber, Mr. Chester, the New York photographer, and little old weasened Max Vargas have made the ascent, to say noth- ing of an Arequipa priest who occasionally holds mass at its apex. Probably a dozen or more North Americans have beheld its crater. I carefully weighed these matters and finally determined that I for one would reach its ( Puente Grau, Arequipa top. Curiosity, a panorama of the country, and a desire to test whether or not I would get the soroche were my motives, and I also had an idea that the cold altitudes would knock the malaria out of my system, which idea I wanted to try out. Against the advice of my acquaintances, and the pro- prietor of the Hotel Central, who told me that the depth of snow on its side would make the ascent impossible, I set out one morning about six o’clock to conquer its conical height, which I have been told much resembles Fujiyama, 96 South American Travels although the Japanese mountain is but a miniature in comparison. Not wishing to repeat the experience I had at Oroya, when I crossed the divide of the Andes in my summer underclothes, I took the precaution to en- cumber myself with four suits of heavy underwear, one over the other, two pairs of socks, and four blankets and an overcoat, which I strapped behind my saddle on the Puente Bolognesi, Arequipa mule. I was accompanied by a guide, Victorio Gonzales, a native of Tacna, and a cholo boy, Pedro, who, infected with the spirit of adventure, combined with the lust for lucre, which in this case would augment his bank account by ten soles ($4.80) insisted on my taking him along to cook for us. I at first demurred, but Victorio, thinking that it would add to his prestige to have somebody to wait upon him, told me that it was advisable, so I at last consented. Our road led out of town by crossing a creek at its outskirts by the church of San Lazaro, and, Arequipa; El Misti 97 for a short ways, followed the right bank of the Chili. This is the road that I should have taken to have arrived at the observatory, but, at the time of my horseback ride, I had to notice several small dilapidated stone bridges that span the rivulet, named a Woclla, that emp-. ties itself in the Chili but a short distance below. We passed through cultivated country with terraces planted Arequipa, Seen from Housetops with fruit trees, and fields rich in grain, and, at some distance from the city, passed the very doors of the ob- servatory, situated on an eminence. The dwelling house of the astronomers is a square structure with a veranda on its front, both on the ground floor and on the second storey, which is the top one. The building itself is ap- proached by a flight of steps. Behind it is the domed observatory proper, with several small buildings, sur- rounded on the left side by an adobe wall. I hada notion to call on Mr. Campbell, who is in charge, and to whom 7 98 South American Travels I had a letter of introduction, but thought it best not to delay, as I wanted to reach, before nightfall, the stone hut about three thousand feet below the summit. From the observatory onward, the ascent is gradual, up a crest of a range that defines itself more and more as one approaches it, and which from Arequipa appears to Church of La Recoleta Arequipa. Behind this lies the cemetery of the same name. The three people in the background, two men anda woman, indulged in a three-cornered fight a minute after I snapped this picture be a part of Misti. It was nearly noon when we reached its spinelike top, on which is situated a wretched inn, teeming with native children. It is more a shelter than an inn, for the travelers are supposed to bring their own provisions with them, although, in the enclosure, the landlord had a bevy of chickens and gamecocks, which would have made a good meal. The only thing we could buy were eggs and native beer, named pisco, of which Victorio regaled himself in a proper fashion while Pedro Arequipa; El Misti 99 was cooking our dinner. A couple of gaunt dogs looked longingly at us while we partook of our repast, but I was in no humor to give them a portion, as we had brought none too many provisions with us. At this wretched inn, or tambo, we wasted several hours, and it was not until three o’clock before we set out again. Clouds began to El Misti Volcano, Near Arequipa, Peru gather in the altitudes, and it was not long before a mist began to fall, and our vision was obscured in front as well as behind. The ascent was now becoming steep, the mules were puffing, and at every few rods would stop. Victorio, who had purchased three jugs of ‘pisco at the inn, was in jovial spirits, and once, when we stopped, fell in behind me, the cholo boy taking the lead. Once I turned around and caught my humorous guide from Tacna, in 100 South American Travels the act of taking a jug from his lips. I imagine he had done this many times, but seemed rather embarrassed to be caught at the act. I asked him for a swig, which he graciously offered me, and from then on our friendship increased, for he discovered that besides finding no fault with his vice, I likewise was willing to imbibe. It was nearly -dark when we arrived at the stone hut, erected for the shelter of travelers, and, to make matters worse, the few snowflakes which had begun to fall during the last half hour had increased in quantities, and we were in the midst of a fairly good snowstorm. There were crashes of thunder, which at first I mistook for the rumbling of the volcano, but I saw no lightning. The stone hut is narrow, with two rooms, one used for people and the other for beasts. Its roof is of rafters, on which is piled a quantity of dried hay. Its one open- ing has no door that can be closed, but, as the wind is always from the opposite direction, the room never fills with snow. The mule which Pedro rode carried two baskets of wood, which he purchased with my money on the outskirts of Arequipa, but which were unnecessary for him to carry, since piled against the hut was half a cord of hardwood, having been brought there by the astronomers. It, as well as that in Pedro’s baskets, was all damp, and the obstacle confronted us as how to kindle the fire. Victorio solved this by going outside and grab- bing from the roof an armful of hay. This we brought in and built a fire with, while Pedro did the cooking. I sat watching him make a soup out of Lima beans, fry some loin of goat, and make a stew out of some fresh vegetables and some beef that the guide had fetched along, and at the same time I warmed my hands on the fire. I did justice to the meal, but no amount of shaking and yelling would make Victorio arise to partake of it, for he lay on Arequipa; El Misti 101 the earthen floor wrapped in his blankets, snoring loudly in a drunken sleep from the pisco in which he had indulged. Before turning in, I went outside and found myself in a veritable blizzard, and in such pitch darkness that, only a few feet from the hut, the fire in its interior was invisible. I turned in early, but got little sleep, probably from fatigue and from excitement, and also from apprehension that the Arequipa landlord’s tale was true; that, on account of snow, our attempt to reach the summit would be a failure. When, finally, I did fall asleep, it was not for long, for I woke dripping with perspiration from the heat of the fire, and the excessive underclothing. I rolled over again just as the dull gray dawn of morning began to make visible objects outside the door, and finally woke again at about nine o’clock with the brilliant sun beating in through the aperture. No vestige of the blizzard remained, except the whiteness of the snow which was melting on the lava rocks. What we had failed to see the nizht before through the darkness and the blizzard now revealed itself to me in all its gorgeous grandeur. To the west, and far below us, stretched itself in one enthralling kaleidoscope, mountain chain after mountain chain, so infinitesimally small from distance as to appear part of the plain, until they lost themselves in the broad expanse of the Pacific Ocean seventy-five miles in a straight line as a bird flies, and one hundred and twenty-five miles the way I had come. The mountains I had crossed on my way up from the seacoast were like pygmies, while to the south could be seen the giant cones of the Chilean vol- canoes, all lower than El Misti, their black summits devoid of snow. This hut stands 16,000 feet above sea-level, the highest I had ever been, and, instead of experiencing the dread soroche, I felt like a person born again. A cup of hot coffee and a crust of bread sufficed me for 102 South American Travels breakfast, but it was after ten o’clock before we again started to accomplish the ascent of three thousand feet, that would find us at what I felt would be the top of the world. The mules puffed, and progress was slow; occa- sionally I would dismount and try walking, but it is hard on pedestrians, and I soon had to rely upon the beasts of burden to carry me, for I would get out of breath, and would have to stop to recover it. At times, it would seem as if my heart would jump from my body, so rapid was my pulse. The exhilarating effect that I had experi- enced upon arising was fast leaving me, and as I plodded through snow, three inches deep, on approaching the summit, I thought I would never get there, and for the first time thought that I had been foolish in making the attempt. I should be glad when it was all over. In the early part of the afternoon, the feat was accomplished and then my spirits revived. Victorio, from the after effects of the pisco, was grouchy, while the cholo com- plained of mal a la cabeza or headache, but, nevertheless, was as willing to do his work as when he started out. The snow was a foot deep at the summit, and Victorio planted himself on the rung of a ladder that leans against an iron cross, while I went on a tour of inspection. Clouds were coming up from the west, obscuring the deep valleys and Lake Titicaca, which I am told can be seen in clear weather, but everywhere, where a peak could lift its top above the nebulous haze, the highest mountains of the Andes could be seen. Chachanni, which from Arequipa seems to be a distinct mountain, is a long chain, and some of its summits are even higher than Misti. Not far away, Coropuna, 22,000 feet high, jets its broad snow-capped crest far above the clouds, while, near it, is silhouetted lofty Sacsihauqui. In the far eastern horizon the giant Bolivian Cordillera, ice-crested Titans, loom their majestic Arequipa; El Misti 103 peaks skyward, Sorata, Illimani, and many others over two hundred miles away, while to the north, and dimly visible, are other colossi whose names I do not know. The crater of Misti is a double one, and is lined with yellow sulphur; it is an awful hole, and I took precaution not to get too near it. On the summit proper, are two crosses, one a large one of double bars of iron, ornate with the letters I N R I on an iron crosspiece near itstop. A ladder leads up to the cross-bars. Below it, and near a box belonging to the observatory, is a smaller cross, not the height of a man, with but a single iron shaft and cross- bars. There is also a hut of stone, large enough to admit ten people; this is used as a shelter, and built also by the observatory. Near these works of men’s hands, the side of the mountain ends abruptly in a stone precipice so steep that no snow ever clings to the rocks. I imagine that the temperature was not far from 0° Fahrenheit, and this, combined with an altitude of 19,264 feet, with the prospects of another blizzard, for the storm clouds were fast approaching, was not conducive for us to linger too long, so, after an inspection of half an hour, we started our descent, I on foot and Victorio with Pedro on the mules, my mule, devoid of its burden, taking the lead. Instead of taking the trail, I took some short cuts and arrived at the stone hut where we had spent the previous night some time ahead of my two companions, who supposed that my walking was another freak of a crazy American who could have just as well ridden, and thereby saved himself the exercise. This descent required no great exertion, and instead of having heavy and rapid pulsations of the heart, that organ again beat normally. I should have preferred to push on and reach the tambo that same night, but of this course Victorio did not ap- prove, for he had hidden his two remaining jugs of pisco 104 South American Travels in the neighborhood of the stone hut. Of course, as I afterwards learned, since these were all the landlord of the tambo had had, Victorio was unwilling to go to the tambo where he would have been obliged to stand treat to the landlord and to any other muleteers who happened to Summit of El Misti, Peru be there. As I had plenty of time before me, and as the tambo was so filthy, it did not take much persuasion for me to fall in with Victorio’s plan, especially as it had once more begun to snow, and the night was dark. That night I slept finely, and was up before either the guide or the cholo was awake. I thought that I should like to walk down to the tambo, and was about to prepare . my own coffee, and leave a note telling where I was, Arequipa; El Misti 105 when they began to stir. At nine o’clock we reached the inn, and were soon on our way down the foothills. Here a trail diverges from that on which we had ascended, and which leads to the springs of Jesus, the property of the Benevolent Society, which is famed all over Peru. In taste, this water is much like Apollinaris, though not so strong, but, according to my taste, more palatable. The water, which is sent to Arequipa in bulk and there bottled, is named Agua de Jesus, while the label on the bottle has a picture of El Misti. A stone building is built over the source, and this place is a favorite Sunday resort of the Arequipenos with their families, who make the excursion to see the beautiful scenery en route, and also to imbibe the carbonated waters. I remained around the place for a few hours to rest up, and saw several monks washing their socks in the spring. That evening, when I reached Arequipa, I had a re- currence of the fever, which took such a malignant form as to keep me in bed for five days. The doctor who visited me, now believed that I had a sort of walking typhoid, but I knew better, for, at intervals, I would have no temperature, while at others it would rise to 104 degrees, making me delirious. Icouldn’t sleep, but tossed around in the bed in a burning stupor, alternating with terrible chills. No amount of quinine taken internally and by hypodermic injections brought relief, and the only thing that eased my agony was a pack of crushed ice that I kept on my head. There were several foreigners at the hotel, and they would congregate in my room telling of their experiences with tropical fevers in different parts of the South American continent, and from the stories that they interchanged I could foresee my doom, if all they said was true. Fora while I believed that I was going to die, and my thoughts reverted to home, and to the won- 106 South American Travels derful cold water that comes out of my well for which I would have given twenty dollars a drink if I could have had a glass of it instead.of the carbonated Agua de Jesus. One Sunday morning I felt. well enough. to go out and an Englishman named Greenberg proposed that we go to Tingo, the favorite resort of the city, and about two miles down the valley. We took the train to this place, where there are numer- ous shady pools of transparent water used for swimming and for pleasure-boating. Here, on Sunday afternoons, the crowd turns out, walking back and forth on the corso listening to military music. All the elegantly dressed ladies of the city stood around gossiping, and flirting with young dudes dressed in ultra fashion. We walked around the corso with the crowd, and then repaired to a zantina to partake of some beer. We noticed, sitting on a porch at a small table some distance away, three young ladies throwing bread to the fish in a pond and, if resem- blance counts for anything, I took them to be sisters. Although they were beautifully gowned, I took no special notice of them, for I was not interested, and thought no more of them until we again met them on the street. We saw them later on at the railroad station as we were about to return to the city, but never a smile nor a glance from them would indicate to us that they had seen us, for when I now tried to size them up, they tactfully turned the other way. All the same, I thought that it was queer that we should meet them so many times in such a short lapse of minutes. The affair was soon forgotten, but was brought up again that night in a manner that I will never forget. While eating supper at the restaurant of the Hotel Morosini & Parodi, which, by the way, puts up a much better meal than that of the Central, a young man approached the table and, after introducing himself to Arequipa; El Misti 107 Mr. Greenberg and myself, stated that since his sisters had noticed that we had taken a fancy to them, it would give them great pleasure if we would come around to their home the following night at eight o’clock to call on them, and likewise to be presented to the family. I had no desire to become entangled in a Peruvian love affair, as I am a married man, and, moreover, only the youngest of the trio appealed to me, but under the circumstances I could hardly refuse. I felt like doing so, but Greenberg gave me a kick under the table to accept, so I couldn’t get out of it. After their brother had drunk a glass of claret, he made his excuses, and left us to ponder over and to talk out this adventure. It transpired that Greenberg preferred the oldest sister, so I knew that there would be no conflict there. Fortunately my wedding ring was in my trunk, and as Greenberg said that he had lost his long ago, we were on the safe side, and determined to see the thing through. - The next day, I did nothing but loaf. I met a few Chileans from Antofagasta, who amused me with their anecdotes, and with them I sat in the courtyard of the Central waiting for the clock to strike eight. Sharp on the hour the brother appeared and informed us that as he lived only a few blocks away we had better walk. Ar- rived at the Larramendi house, for that was the name of the family, he rang an ancient bell, by giving an iron bar at the side of the door a yank, and we were admitted to the patio by an old cholo woman. With a bow he ushered us into an elegantly furnished and upholstered room and made me acquainted with the owner, Don Ignacio Larramendi. An ancient dame, bepowdered, and so stout that she could scarcely rise from the chair she was ensconsed in, laid her cigarette aside, and bade me welcome. I foresaw what our belles would be like in 108 South American Travels thirty years’ time if they followed in the footsteps of their mother, Donna Larramendi. The host, a tall, lean man of the Don Quixote order, with military moustache and whiskers, offered us cigars and claret, and bade us be seated. ‘‘You are from Michigan, are you not, Mr. Stephens?” he asked me in pure French; ‘‘and you, Mr. Greenberg, are from Liverpool, is it not so?’’ To say that I was dumbfounded is to say the least, but Green- berg was onto the game, and not the slightest act of surprise showed up on him. The old fellow. also knew that I was in the lumber business, and that Greenberg was commercial traveler for the Browning Arms Company. I found out afterwards that it is the custom of a Peruvian paterfamilias to look up, through the hotel register, the police, the banks, and Dun’s or Bradstreet’s books, the prospective suitors to his daughter’s hand before he allows any courting. In this way, he had found out about us, a course which is quite simple but which was new to me, although not so to Greenberg, who had been through the mill before. It is a wonder that Larramendi hadn’t discovered that we were both married. After he had given us tactfully quite a catechism, ad- ministered with the greatest politeness, I could tell by his looks that he approved of us, for he presently went into an adjoining room, not to appear till the evening was well over. The girls now entered, giggling and laughing, and, at the same time, trying to amuse us. They apologized for their mirth and began to entertain us in a lively and interesting conversation and entirely different and with more body to it than the small talk the North American female sex indulges in at the present time. These girls were remarkably well educated despite having seen so little of the world. Lima was the limit of the travels of the oldest two, Felipa and Cristina, while Arequipa; El Misti 109 the youngest one, Anastasia, had only been as far as Mollendo to the west and Puno to the east. They were interested about my ascent of Misti, and informed me that their father had been to its summit five times, and they also showed me great sympathy regarding the fever. I devoted most of my time talking to Anastasia, who later told me that she was eighteen years old, and let Greenberg entertain the other two. My choice of the trio was of medium build, rather slender, with well molded arms, somewhat tanned and nice and smooth, an elegant figure, well developed but not over matured. Her dark hair matched finely with her fair complexion and steel blue eyes, but the main redeeming feature about Anastasia was her rich soft voice. It was like listening to a siren to hear her talk, and I think she was doing her best. The chance of matrimony doesn’t come as often to a Peruvian girl as it does to a North American one, and these were evidently the intentions of the sisters. After we had been there for half an hour the funny stunt of the evening was pulled off. Cristina offered us cigars and, after lighting them for us, each girl helped herself to the weed and commenced smoking; this was a novelty to me, especially to see such well brought up girls smoking cigars with a past-mastership of the art. When the room became filled with smoke, we repaired to a balcony, which overhangs the terraces of the river. Cristina com- plained of a headache, probably because Greenberg was showing Felipa the most attention, and went to bed, leaving us four together. With the skill of a general, Anastasia drew me apart from the other couple, and, as we stood watching the moon play on running water of the river, she broached sentimental subjects, and no matter how I changed the subject the conversation always reverted by her aid to the most serious moment in a girl’s -IIO South American Travels life. It was one o’clock in the morning when we left, with an invitation from the father and girls to come again the next night. The brother, Martin, escorted us to the very portals of the hotel. There were plenty of doings the next day at the Hotel Central. M. E. Cremieux, the proprietor, is the most excitable Frenchman that I have ever seen. When he goes off the handle he bellows, howls, cries, and yells so loudly that the whole neighborhood is roused; yet he is not dangerous. The first incident that happened to make him fly up in the air was when the principal of the local high school had him arrested for hiring his janitor away from him to do duty as a table waiter in the hotel dining-room; the next thing was when an American, named Mack, from San Francisco, upbraided him for having coffee served that had coal oil in it. The final catastrophy came when one of the cholos took some trout from a pail in the courtyard, and put them in the goldfish tank. Cremieux had intended sending these trout to the proprietor of a hotel in Puno, and now he couldn’t catch them without letting all the water out of the tank, for he had no net. An old Irish lady, past her eightieth birthday, had come up from the coast, and had had her heart examined, for she was bound to see Cuzco before she died. The Peruvian consul to Potosi was stopping at the hotel with a young lady that he had brought with him from Lima; his wife had found out about it, and had sent some of her male relatives to Arequipa to chastise him. The consul tried to dig out, leaving his mistress behind, but missed the train, and was in hiding, although the police of the city were trying to locate him, having accepted a heavy gratuity from relatives of his wife. The Limefia, knowing that in the course of a week her paramour would arrive by some obscure route in Potosi, Arequipa; El] Misti III and not willing to pose as mistress, especially during the hunt, had one of the cholos send me into her boudoir, and there she made the proposition that, in order to shield her lover from chastisement, she should travel as my wife until I reached La Paz, and thence she would travel alone to Potosi. Upon asking her why she selected me instead of the other guests, she said that she liked my looks best, and that since we had both been on the same boat leaving Lima she felt that she was acquainted well enough. The next night at the Larramendi’s, while on the bal- cony, I unintentionally overheard Greenberg proposing to Felipa, and didn’t like the idea at all, especially since he was a married man, and by doing so was breaking the confidence of a family that had used him well. Anastasia also heard it, and from her actions, I knew she expected me to do the same thing. That I couldn’t very well do, so made up my mind right there to leave town the next day very quietly, and without even letting Greenberg know about it. As he was a late riser that part would work all right, but I had a feeling that, no matter how early I arose, I should find the consul’s mistress waiting for me at the door. I foresaw, the way affairs were turn- ing out, that I would get my fill of adventure if I remained much longer, and thought I made a lucky move when I found myself orice again sitting in the train. CHAPTER V FROM AREQUIPA TO LA PAZ ITH a ticket straight through to La Paz, I boarded the train at the Arequipa depot, and took a seat in the parlor car. The car was crowded, likewise the other coaches, for from here to the terminus, Puno, 352 kilometers or 220 miles distant, there is but a tri-weekly service, trains leaving Arequipa on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. In the parlor car were a Major Shipton, military attache to the United States Legation at Buenos ' Aires, a Mr. Lewis and wife, and a Mr. Lee, Americans, the last mentioned being a resident of Arequipa; and all were going to Cuzco. In this car were several people from Cuzco, including a man with three small boys. Besides these there were a brewer from La Paz and the consul, who had been in hiding, and who had managed to escape the vigilance of his wife’s relatives. He was alone. There is a long iron railroad bridge across the Chili below Arequipa, but it has recently been condemned for heavy locomotives, therefore the train descends nearly to Tingo before it branches off on the road up the moun- tains. For ashort distance, the fertile valley is ascended; the track then deviates to the left, runs for twenty-seven kilometers along the barren rocky foothills of Chacchani, and enters the upper Yura Valley. The station, Yura, 112 From Arequipa to La Paz 1i3 is on a desert plateau, and is the descending point to visit the famous Yura springs in the valley to the left, where there are baths and a hotel. There are two springs here, one sulphurous and one ferruginous. Next to Agua de Jesus, Yura water is the most widely known water in Peru. It is stronger than the former, and has a pro- nounced medicinal taste. From Yura to Pampa de Arrieros, the railroad gradually ascends, the gradients being easy. Misti is to our right, and the grand mountain, from this side, presents a similar aspect as when seen from Arequipa. It stands alone, a huge cone, rising high above its neighbors. At Pampa de Arrieros, 12,157 feet above sea-level, everybody tumbled out of the coach and over each other to see who would be first in the dining- room. I prudently sat on a bench outside the station, my meal consisting of a bottle of Agua de Jesus. At these stations, the food is but half cooked, and I had no desire to get indigestion. Many people are afflicted with this ailment by gorging themselves, get sick, and lay it to soroche. Only one other passenger did not enter. With flushed face, the print of soroche, he walked the length of the train and back several times. From Cafiu- guas, altitude 13,254 feet to Sumbay, 13,413 feet, a dis- tance of over twenty kilometers, the snow-capped peaks of Sacsahuaqui were visible, the train gradually approaching nearer and nearer, until at Vincocaya, altitude 14,225 feet, the mountain was left behind us. The creeks that are crossed in this neighborhood are the sources of the Rio Sumbay, which empties into the Chili to the north of Misti. It seems that when the railroad to Lake Titicaca was built, it would have been much more convenient to have followed the valley of the Chili and the Sumbay to the station, Sumbay, than to cross the spurs of Coropuna as the present road does. 8 114 South American Travels Shortly after leaving Vincocaya, Crucero Alto is reached, altitude 4450.70 meters or 14,465 feet, the highest point on theline. There is a mountain to the left, where church gold is supposed to be hidden. An Arequipa company is issuing stock for the exploitation of the treasure. Crucero Alto consists of a water tank and a few hovels. Pigs run loose, not like our tame pigs at home, but swine, identical in shape to the European wild boar, but lighter in color. They are undoubtedly descendants of the wild specie, but have become domesticated. By the time we reached the divide, most of the passengers were fit for an ambulance. In the smoking compartment, the La Paz brewer sat in a semi-sleep, the expression on his face not that of a man enjoying himself. His arms were crossed, and his hands rested on his portly paunch. The man from Arequipa who paced the depot platform at Pampa de Arrieros sat in a relaxed but painful attitude in a cushioned chair. His bloodshot eyes stared into vacant space, while the color of his face, swollen and as red as a beet, was accentuated by the livid blue of his lips. Major Shipton wasn’t troubled, neither was Mrs. Lewis, although, at Arequipa, I heard her remark that she was afraid of getting the soroche, and was vexed that she had forgotten to buy smelling salts. Her husband stood the altitude well, and said that he felt fine, yet his face was flushed. All the rest of the crowd except Mr. Lee, myself, and the father of the three children were sick. It was something awful. The children vomited on the floor, and one man locked himself in the toilet, fainted there, and had to be released from his imprisonment by the conductor who crawled through the window at a wayside station and unlocked the door from the inside. In the other coaches, affairs were also bad. Several women were deathly sick; Peruvian officers lay against From Arequipa to La Paz 115 each other groaning and writhing in agony. One man was screaming that he was dying, while another, his head resting on the window-sill, was allowing a stream of vomit to trickle from his mouth onto the dusty exterior of the car, nearly obliterating the numbers. A few monks sat stolidly by, gazing with indifference upon this scene, as if it were a common occurrence not worth while bothering about. The mess in the Oroya train was bad enough, but this trip had it beaten. Now, although I selfishly enjoyed the discomforts of my fellow-passengers, elating on my constitution, this soroche is nothing to be laughed at. Ifa person has got a bad attack of it, it is nothing less than horrible. I know a man in Arequipa that got it every time he crossed the divide. He was one of the first ones to hear of the hidden treasure near Crucero Alto, and mounted to the top of the mountain in quest of it, without giving the sickness a thought. His mind was too busy to allow himself to be attacked, and from that time on he has never been troubled with the ailment. Leaving Crucero Alto the road descends in easy grades to Juliaca, altitude 12,547 feet. Juliaca is in the bottom of the Titicaca basin, so it can be seen that while the road rises to 14,465 feet from the west, it descends only 1918 feet to Juliaca, and 1957 feet to the Lake Titicaca, which has a level of 12,508 feet above the ocean. Shortly after crossing the divide, we pass two large lakes, their water light green in color, one on the left side and one on the right side. These are called Jagunillas, or ‘‘little lakes,” yet I can’t understand why they are given the diminutive termination, as they are both of good size. Taking both together, I suppose that their length is fifteen miles, and they are separated from each other only by a narrow saddle upon which the railroad tracks are laid. They are of fresh water. The first one, that on the left, is 116 South American Travels named Saracocha, and is 13,593 feet above sea-level, while the second one, that on the right, is Cachipascana, and is ten feet lower than its sister. Saracocha contains several islands. While looking at it, it occurred to me that here would have been a much better place for a feudal lord to have his stronghold than on Lake Trasi- menus. Unfortunately Europe was discovered first, otherwise the complexion of things might have been different. Countless llamas browsed on the grass on the lake shore and on the hillsides. It was in this neighbor- hood that I first saw llamas running in freedom, and on the shores of Cachipascana the first lamas browsing with packs on their backs, while the driver lay in indolent ease on the banks of the green Jagunilla. We now enter the valley of a small river, broad and shallow, flowing tranquilly over a pebbly bottom. The country opens and becomes well settled. Small villages are passed, some surrounded by compounds to keep off the attacks of marauding Indians. Even some estancias and ranchos have walls around them. Large adobe churches loom up against the receding landscape. Here and there are relics of the Inca civilization, large mono- liths, marking the boundaries of the fields, and painted white by the present inhabitants. The arable land is planted to potato patches, cereals, and vegetables, intér- spersed by grazing pastures. A short green grass abounds, on which graze llamas, donkeys, and sheep. Large bulls, quite tame, are scattered with their herds, while dark skinned children, with staffs in their hands, mingle fear- lessly with them. The houses are but one storey in height, adobe, with red tiled roofs, and every time one is passed, the family, congregated on the doorstep, is seen watching the train go by. These Indians are a bad lot, and are the direct descend- From Arequipa to La Paz 117 ants of the Incas. They are named Quechuas, and are treacherous and marauding. Probably this is because they are ill treated by the Peruvian Government, and want to get even. When soldiers are needed, a company of men is sent to an Indian village, which they surround, and drive all the inhabitants to the central square. They are here hemmed in, and, at the point of the rifle, are driven off like so many cattle to enter upon their three years of military service. Regardless of age, and of their duties toward those dependent upon them, they are torn from family and friends, probably never to see them again, as the inhabitants of the altitudes die off in multitudes with the fevers of the coastal region and the hardships they are forced to endure in the blazing sun. Besides being treacherous and surly, these Indians are very filthy, and disease is always rife among them, especially smallpox and uta. Uta is strictly Peruvian, for it is not known to exist in any other country, although there is no known reason why it shouldn’t also be met with in Bolivia and Ecuador, under the same climatic conditions. It is a skin disease, never mortal, cancerous in nature, and affects only the uncovered parts of the body, generally the lips, ears, and nose. The word is derived from the Quechua huta meaning “‘to rot.’’ The first symptom is a pimple,. reddish in color, like the sting of an insect, and which popular supposition believes to be the cause. This is followed by a local eruption, which gradually expands, and becomes coated with a yellowish crust, from under which blood frequently oozes. In this stage it remains dormant for some time, and then it continues on its regular course, gnawing and eating the flesh away, which, in some cases, it does until the bone is exposed. Most loathsome in appearance, this disease has been handed 118 South American Travels down from antiquity, for the huaco pottery of the Incas portrays human beings with mutilations depicting the uta cancer. If treated in time, it is curable, but after reaching an advanced stage, medical treatment is of but little avail. Children living in the uta districts usually contract this affliction, but get over it, as is manifested by the scars one sees on them, and the natives of these regions have it in a much less virulent form than people belonging to the white race or natives of other parts of the country who are unfortunate enough to catch it. It is prevalent only to a great extent in the deep valleys hemmed in by the Cordillera, which become over-heated in the day time and are poorly ventilated. Juliaca is a town of 6000 inhabitants, built on a hill to the right of the railroad track, and is predominated by a large white church visible from a great distance. It is the junction for Cuzco, 357 miles away, an all-day trip, and a railroad which will form one link of the chain of the Pan-American if this is ever completed. Juliaca boasts of a fairly good hotel named the Ratti. By this time, those who had suffered from soroche had recovered and were making a wild rush to ascend with their baggage, because the hotel has but limited accommodations, and the first to arrive is the first to obtain quarters. In order to get to Cuzco, one must stay the night in Juliaca, for the train does not leave until 9.15 the next morning. These trains run but twice a week, and if, at other times, a passenger is desirous of reaching Cuzco he must take a mixed train, stopping over-night at Sicuani, which is half-way between Juliaca and the City of the Sun. The railroad to Cuzco was engineered by a Norwegian named Bentzon. Only three people who had come from Are- quipa in the parlor car were going to Puno, but a crowd, mostly Germans, some in the state where the voice becomes From Arequipa to La Paz 119 strong and the legs become weak, boarded the train at Juliaca, and livened up matters by trying to drink the buffet dry. The country now becomes thickly settled, always pasture land, each field separated from its neigh- bor by an adobe wall, and as flat as the palm of one’s hand. There had been heavy rains lately, for the heavy red clay soil was literally soaking. It is only twenty- three miles from Juliaca to Puno, the railroad terminus, and capital of the department of the same name, one of the largest in Peru, and containing the greatest popula- tion. This town has 12,000 people, lies on Lake Titicaca of which it is its greatest port, and does a thriving business in wool: It boasts of a brewery, a branch of the Cerve- ceria Herold of Cerro de Pasco. On the main plaza is a cathedral with two towers, small and uninteresting. The train does not stop long at the station, but runs to the dock which is named the Muelle de Puno. There are two boats doing passenger service between Puno and Guaqui the Bolivian port at the south end of the lake. One is named the Inca, of 1000 tons burden while the other one is of only 160 tons. I had been in anxiety all day lest we should be obliged to take the smaller one, which, at that time of the year, summer, would be no fun, for at that season heavy squalls come up suddenly on this mammoth lake, and render the water as rough as the ocean. A person would have no chance if the boat capsized, for the water is as cold as ice. My fever had now come on again, and this time quite high, so if I took the smaller boat and should be crowded into a narrow berth with other passengers, there is no knowing what turn it might take. Great was my joy, however, when I found out that the boat was the Inca. On the dock, I got out of breath dodging hissing locomotives trying to get to the weighing room. When I finally got on board, I was 120 South American Travels given an inside room, No. 13, I am not superstitious, but didn’t relish an inside room, especially since this one happened to be across the gangway from the engines, which emitted a heat equal to that which one reads about in Dante’s Inferno, so I went to the purser and told him the world-famous superstition, namely that I thought it would bring me bad luck if I occupied room No. 13. That individual should have been an Irishman instead of a native, for he was of the same way of thinking, and straightway ordered the chief steward to give me another room. Only one room was vacant, and that a fine large one directly across from the captain’s quarters on the upper deck. The ship was laden with lumber and various consignments of merchandise, so heavily that the main deck was nearly level with the water. On board there were no life-belts nor life-preservers, and a terrific storm was approaching from the west. It was dreadfully cold, yet I was like one on fire. I discarded my overcoat, and took off my vest. I went into the dining-room, but my fever was so bad that I could only drink water, which I constantly craved. I sat there in a daze watching the others eat, but not to let on that I was ailing I managed to take a bite out of a sort of a hash with a crust around it. One mouthful was enough. As the Titicaca basin lacks fuel, cooking is done by burn- ing llama dung, and this hash certainly tasted of it. Most of the other diners who were Germans were satisfied with only one bite, and it was ludicrous to hear them conjecture what was the matter with it, for they did not know what sort of fuel did the cooking. I knew, because I had read about it. I went to my cabin and took my temperature which was 104 degrees Fahrenheit. I was thoroughly frightened, and thought I was going to die, yet it was not the thought of dying that annoyed me so much, but the From Arequipa to La Paz 121 idea of .dying without my relatives knowing what had become of me. I thought of my wife, who was in Val- paraiso, and wondered if she, too, was sick, and longed to get there. I was cursing myself for ever attempting to take this trip, and felt like a fool not to have gone to the seacoast to take the first boat to Valparaiso, when I felt this fever come on about two weeks previous. There was a young German doctor on board, and I had the steward send for him. He asked me a few questions, took my pulse, temperature, and looked at my tongue. When he finished he pronounced my case typhoid, and said he would make arrangements to have me taken to the hospital as soon as we reached La Paz. This was the second doctor that said that I had typhoid, and so I began to believe it myself now, although, thinking it was malaria, I had scoffed at the first one who told me so at Arequipa. I sat on the couch in my cabin, for how long I have no idea, except that I was awakened from a deep sleep, into which I had fallen, by the blowing of whistles. “The boat is afire” ran through my mind and I ran on deck to see what was up. All the other passengers were on deck also, most of them in their pajamas. Fortunately it turned out to be nothing but the Inca passing another boat of the same line. I was now beastly cold; my teeth chattered, and I shivered all over. I put on my vest and overcoat and took my temperature again. It had fallen to 101% degrees. Outside, I could hear the wind blowing, and could occasionally see the reflection of sheet lightning on the mountains east of the lake. As sleep was now out of the question, I went out on the deck. I was alone there. The rest of the travelers had retired, or were playing cards in the dining-room. The wind was blowing a gale on the starboard side; sparks were flying from the smoke- 122 South American Travels stack leaving a fiery trail through the air. I went to the port side. It was pitch dark, yet the heavens were filled with stars. Way off to the-east the roars of thunder could be heard, and the flashes of lightning in that direction were increasing, to be met with other flashes now appear- ing in the southwest. At last, over one distant mountain peak, when a ribbon of lightning illuminated it, I could see in the background a great cloud, like a dark wall, approaching. The lightning increased in flashes, and, at each successive one, the outlines of the distant moun- tains showed plainly, some of them snow-capped. It was not lightning and thunder such as we are accustomed to in the United States. It was like stage lightning and thunder, such as one sees in the plays Rip Van Winkle or The Tempest. It was like beating on tin pans to the accompaniment of a photographer’s flashlight; instead of cutting a zigzag streak through the air, this lightning with one flash opened the whole sky. I was so fascinated that I forgot all about my fever. I must have stood on deck for three hours watching the approaching storm, alone except for the Quechua watchman, who was on the lookout, his brown face nearly hidden by a woolen muffler as he swiftly walked the deck, the streamers from his muffler flying in the breeze, and who every few minutes reported to the captain. The water became rougher and rougher; the boat pitched and rolled. The bow went up so high that at one flash of lightning the mountains ahead were not visible, and then it sank so low that, at the next flash, they loomed way above the mast. Rain and storm came on with a vengeance, and all of a sudden too; not the perpendicular tropical rain that one reads about, or ex- periences at Panama, but a beating, driving, violent rain, with all the deluge of the tropics but with the force of From Arequipa to La Paz 123 the Arctics. Latitude 16 degrees south crosses Lake Titicaca, yet there never is any summer. The air is cold and wintry at night, and none too warm in the day- time. The storm drove me inside. Flash after flash, and boom after boom; the center of the storm was now overhead. There came one flash that was nearly blind- ing. A round ball of deep yellow hue, with purplish scintillating edges, was with spiral-like rapidity encircling the smoke-stack. At the bottom it followed an iron bar that ran across the deck and disappeared over the edge of the ship with a deafening roar. The boat had ‘been struck, but no damage was done. The whole thing from the time of the flash to the roar of the thunder had not taken the hundredth part of a second, yet it seemed ages. Another flash revealed the Quechua watchman, unafraid, walking back and forth, his muffler ends still flying, and beating his chest with mittened hands to keep up the circulation. He had passed within ten feet of the smoke-stack when it was struck. I lay down again, with all my clothes on and with my overcoat on top of me, for I was suffering with a chill. I dozed away and had bad dreams. I dreamed that I stood on the steps of the Jacksonville post-office, and was talking to a man long dead; my dream switched, and this time I was talking to my father, alsodead. I awakened with a start and, looking out of my window, saw that land was only a stone’s throw away. I went on deck, and a more beautiful sight can hardly be imagined. Everything was clear, excepting here and there a string- like cloud floating in the color-changing sky: Behind us was the great lake, dark green and cold, narrowing down to two headlands in our wake. A dark island lay far behind, Coati I was told, while on either side of us, in the narrow passage we were entering, steep brown rocky hills, 124 South American Travels semi-cultivated and sparsely covered with grass, dipped into the water. We were now in Bolivian territory. Then, suddenly, as if we had passed the extremities of the earth, the land came to an end at the headlands of St. Peter and St. Paul, and, once more, we were entering open water, brownish in color, the lower part of the lake, and separated from the mainland by these narrows. To our left rose a mighty mountain chain, the Cordillera Real, capped by the snowy summits of Sorata, Illampu, and Chisel. Lake Titicaca is the highest large lake in the world, its altitude being 12,508 feet above sea-level. It is a body of brackish water, generally rough, and its main body is light greenish in color, although the southern end is brownish, probably due to the sediment that is carried into it from the Desaguadero River. It is crossed by latitude 16 degrees south, and by longitudes 69 and 70 degrees west. It is about one hundred and twenty miles long by thirty-five miles broad, is filled with small islands, and lies from a southeasterly to a northwesterly direction. Properly speaking, it consists of two distinct lakes sepa- rated by a narrow passage, the northern one being so deep that its bottom has never been found, while the southern one is shallow. Its shores are lined with bulrushes and aquatic plants among which water-fowl abound. Shoot- ing and fishing are excellent, but the fish are small. Indians have queer sails on their craft, square and made out of reeds; their boats are called dolsas. On the hills surrounding the lake are many Inca ruins, especially at Copacabana, on a peninsula of the same name, in Bolli- vian territory, where there is a great church and where, on festival days, the Indians masquerade with false faces and gaudily colored woolen garments, and mix the Inca myths with the Catholic religion, producing a semi- barbarous effect. Inca Monoliths, South Shore of Lake Titicaca 125 From Arequipa to La Paz 127 The town of Guaqui, where begins the railroad to La Paz named Ferrocarril Guaqui a La Paz, and owned by the Peruvian Corporation, consists of a few warehouses and a red brick depot. My fever had left me, andI knew now, for an absolute certainty, that I wouldn’t have to go to the hospital upon my arrival in the Bolivian metropolis, only four hours distant, although the German doctor was now at the telegraph window of the depot despatching a message for an ambulance to meet me upon my arrival there. La Paz is ninety-six kilometers (sixty miles) from Guaqui, and thirty-six kilometers (twenty- two and a half miles) from Viacha, the junction to Oruro, and to Arica. It is a gradual ascent with an easy grade. At kilometer twenty-one, we reach the small town of Tiahuanaco, formerly an Inca stronghold and sacred spot, where there are still extant ruins of a temple to the sun, and huge monoliths. The country is fertile and well settled, yet, since leaving Yura the day before, I have not seen a single tree, in the accepted sense of the word. A long stop, about an hour, is made at Viacha, which gives the passengers to La Paz ample time to see the town, after changing cars. Viacha, with about 8000 inhabitants, is a town on the boom, and, at the time of my visit, re- sembled a new town on one of our western prairies. A company was about completing the railroad connecting that place with Arica on the Chilean seaboard, and which will bring La Paz within twelve hours from the Pacific Ocean, thereby greatly facilitating and shortening the trip that now has to be made, for the metropolis has now only two means of reaching the seacoast, one via Oruro to Antofagasta, and the other via Titicaca and Arequipa to Mollendo, each journey occupying two full days. On this new railroad, the mountain pass at the summit is a thousand feet lower than on the other two railroads. 128 South American Travels It was being built from both ends, and Viacha was now swarming with Italian laborers. Also, being a railroad center to the north, south, and east, and built on the plain which is as flat as a pancake, thereby giving the city a chance to expand, Viacha promises in time to be one of the leading cities of the republic. Northward, the great Bolivian plateau, or puna, slopes gently downward to the lake, and ascends southward as far as Uyuni, twenty- two hours distant by train. It is the basin of the Desa- guadero River, a broad but shallow stream, which rises in Lake Poopo and empties in Titicaca. As both of these lakes are nearly of the same level, and the plain is but a few feet higher, and taking into consideration the sluggish condition of the Desaguadero, which often overflows its banks, bringing to a standstill, for weeks at a time, all railroad traffic between Oruro and La Paz, geologists have correctly argued that both these great lakes belong to the same system, and formerly used to be one. On account of the rain of the previous night, the air was of remarkable freshness; the Indians all had shawls drawn up over their noses, as if they thought that they would catch cold by breathing the raw morning air. It is nearly a straight line due east from Viacha to Alto de La Paz, the grade continually rising. From the latter place, eighteen and a half miles away, the car shops and white buildings of Viacha are plainly visible. At Alto, one wonders why the train does so much switching and attaches an electric engine, for here is nothing to break the monotony of the flat scenery. All there was at the depot were a few empty drygoods cases, labelled ‘‘ Mol- lendo,” and a corrugated iron hotel, and I should have had to have been in bad need for accommodations before I would have boarded there. This hotel went by the appellation of Gran Hotel, which in English means Grand From Arequipa to La Paz 129 Hotel. After the train switched around for nearly half an hour, during which time the train crew gossiped with the ticket agent and his family, we pulled out, and within one hundred yards of the depot I saw the necessity of the electric engine. The ground suddenly opened up. So clever was Nature General View of La Paz, Bolivia that within fifty feet of the brink one would never know that there was such a chasm. The ground opened up over a vast cliff, and 1600 feet below, amidst trees and foliage, lay the red-roofed city of La Paz. From the Alto a single machine gun could control the whole town. The city was right at our feet, and it seemed as if one could drop a stone on it. A wonderful city, like those in a fairy tale, but so far below as to appear flat in the abys- 9 130 South American Travels mal depth. Round the inside of these massive cliffs the railroad led down and down, making numerous curves and three large loops. Formerly, the wagon road to the Alto was used entirely for passenger and freight traffic, the only .depot for the city being that at the summit of the cliffs. Houses, which from the top of the Alto appeared to be on the same level, were now seen to be hundreds of feet above their neighbors. The hillsides were brilliant with wild flowers, red, yellow, and blue. On one side was a rushing river, jumping from rock to rock, in which gaudily clad native women washed their clothes, this water con- tinuing down to the city to be drunk after all the filth of dirty garments had been swept away in it. For twenty minutes, this beautiful mountain panorama was un- folded, and, then, the train pulled up at the platform of the La Paz depot called Challapampa San Jorge. CHAPTER VI LA PAZ F you should ask twenty-five people who have had a good schooling, ‘‘What city is the capital of Bolivia?” I do not believe that I am wrong in asserting that twenty- four out of that number would unhesitatingly reply: “La Paz”; that is if they had ever heard of any Bolivian city. Some geographies, on their maps of South America, have La Paz with a star, and one well-known steamship company advertised a trip to the highest capital in the world, meaning La Paz. I have met men who have been several times to La Paz on business, and they have told me in all frankness that La Paz is the capital of Bolivia. La Paz is not the capital of Bolivia nor ever has been, although several other cities have already enjoyed that distinction since the Spanish Conquest. Sucre is the capital of the republic, although La Paz is the metropolis and the chief commercial center. As Sucre is difficult of access, and off the main road of travel, Congress has for some time been convening at La Paz, and it has been the headquarters of the foreign diplomats, as well as the residence of the president. There is an article in the Bolivian Constitution permitting the national Congress to hold session at any city they choose. Upon the laying of a railroad to Sucre, the entire seat of Government will 131 132 South American Travels undoubtedly move to that city. In 1549, a Spanish captain, Alonso de Mendoza, came up from what is now the Argentine Republic, and of which territory he was later governor, with an army, and found on the spot where the city of La Paz now stands, an Indian village named Chuquillayo, meaning “field of gold” in the Aymara language. Here he founded a city which retained the old Indian name, till 1825, when the inhabitants, in order to perpetuate the name of a famous battle in their War of Liberation from Spain, rechristened the city La Paz de Ayacucho. As the city grew in size, the last two words gradually dropped off, and the city is known now to the white race as La Paz, although the Indians still cling to the old name, and always speak of La Paz as Chuquillayo, much to the annoyance of its inhabitants. The river flowing through the town has no other official name than the Rio de La Paz, but the Aymaras always refer to it as the Chuquillampo. La Paz, in spite of its poor location for a city, is steadily growing, and it now has such a lead over the other cities of the republic that it is doubtful if any will ever catch up with it in population. It has 80,000 inhabitants, double that of Sucre which is the second city in size in Bolivia, and for a city of its size and importance can equal none in the poorness of location, both from a mili- tary and a commercial view. Nearly inaccessible from a standpoint of trade, it lies in a pocket of the source of the Chuquillampo River, with only two means of en- trance, the railroad and the wagon road from the Alto, at the northwest; although the railroad from Arica will presently reach it from the Alto at the west. The streets of the city are so steep, and the altitude is so high, that it is a constant wear and tear on one’s system in going from one’s house to one’s place of business. Soroche, La Paz 133 which south of Lake Titicaca goes by the name of puna, has this city for its headquarters, and I have known many travelers that have passed immune from it through other and higher regions to become affected with it here. Pneumonia extorts a heavy death roll. If the Spaniards as View of Quarter of La Paz Called Challapampa San Jorge had wanted to build the city in an inaccessible spot, and the Bolivians had wanted such a spot for their metropolis, it would have been far better if they had gone a few miles down the river valley in the territory named the Yungas, which is semi-tropical, fertile, well-wooded, and richly endowed by Nature. The Chuquillampo descends steeply from its source through a rocky chasm, and drops into the Beni at Huachi, about 150 miles distant at an altitude 134 South American Travels of 1422 feet above sea-level. La Paz is 11,960 feet above sea-level, while the Alto is about 13,600 feet high. The conflux of the Beni and the Mamoré, at Villa Bella, Bolivia, Alpacas, Challapampa San Jorge form the Madeira, and this Madeira empties itself into the Amazon, midway between Manaos and Santarem, Brazil. The Chuquillampo, at La Paz, is a large and turbulent torrent, and is walled in from the main street which leads from the railroad station to the town, forming La Paz 135 its western boundary. I could look far down the valley, and every time I did so, had a longing to go on a trip to its mouth. I intend to do so some day. In the far distance, below the city, could be seen groves and vegeta- tion, while here in this cold town, the only trees were eucalyptus, of which there were plenty, and a few stunted trees of other varieties. On alighting at Challapampa San Jorge, which is the name of the suburb in which the depot is located, I was told to return at one o’clock in the afternoon for the custom-house inspection of my trunk. That left me two hours’ time in which to get settled at the hotel. An Indian boy started down the street carrying on his back my two heavy valises, and by the pace in which he led off I, fol- lowing, imagined that the hotel was only a short distance away. Down the broad well-paved street we descended, following the right bank of the river, and, from an opening in the adobe wall that separated it from the street, I could see women washing and scrubbing clothes. The buildings increased in size, and became respectable in appearance. Finally, we reached a point, where in two directions the streets led upwards, and in another down- wards. It had been easy walking so far, for it had been all down hill, but now when I saw the Indian boy climb the grade ahead of me, steeper than the steepest grade in the ascent of Misti, I knew an ordeal was coming. The buildings on the streets were large, square, massive and modern in architecture, three and four storeys high, with iron and bronze balconies in front of the large arched windows. The stores were shamefully up-to-date for such an out-of-the-way place, and there was a bustle and hustle about everything that would put Lima in the back- ground. People were hurrying, and the air was resonant with the clang of the trolley-car gong. The Gran Hotel 136 South American Travels Guibert is the best hotel in the city, and,.as it. isthe only good one, it is nearly always filled up, although it is a large establishment. In order to accommodate its sur- plus clientele, the proprietor has been obliged to rent other quarters for their accommodation, one of which is called the annexo and which occupies the two top floors in the Main Street, La Paz, Bolivia Cerculo Militaro, a large building diagonally opposite to the original building. The hotel was built in 1775, as can be seen on a stone tablet in the wall in the dining- room, and was once used as the palace of the Viceroys. It is a solid building with a plain exterior, three storeys high on the front side, and four at its rear. Its cellars opening onto a patio have an arcade, the arches supported by Corinthian columns. The bed-rooms, sumptuous, La Paz 137 some even luxurious, all well carpeted open onto two patios, one containing the dining-room, which is glassed over, and the other onto the courtyard which is open. Side Street, La Paz, Bolivia Balconies extend all around the sides of these, except in the third storey where the north side is open. I had a room on this courtyard, which was fairly good, and cheap. I had to climb a rather steep staircase to get there, which made me puff and pant. It seems that during my stay 138 South American Travels in the city I was always out of breath. There was a large café opening onto the street, much like the bars in our cities, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of business done there. There was also a large billiard room, and at the hotel entrance a cigar stand, where all kinds of tobacco, photographs, and curiosities were for Street in La Paz, Bolivia sale. The Guibert was a large and complete establish- ment, and considered by many people the best on the western side of the South American continent, although the landlord at Arequipa and a few others had previously told me that it was no good. I was perfectly satisfied, and it was fine, after stopping at some of the inns at which I had recently put up. The barber who shaved me nearly cut my lower lip off, and it took ten minutes to Street Scene, La Paz, Bolivia 139 La Paz 141 staunch the flow of blood. It was now time to be at the custom-house, so, fortified with a sip of Fernet Branca, which nearly burned my insides out, I made a running jump for a swiftly-moving street car, only to fall on the street and roll around in the mud, much to the amusement of the barbers and bartender who had witnessed the act. When I arrived at Challapampa San Jorge, the custom- house officer had evidently forgotten about opening up, for while I waited there in the company of a few other people to get our trunks examined, nobody put in an appearance. Here I became cognizant of a most clever case of theft that had been played on me the night pre- vious. I pulled out my watch to see what time it was, and in place of the golden timepiece with my initials that I had carried for years, I found that it was missing and that I was now in possession of an American-made nickel affair with the copper engraved coat-of-arms of Bolivia on the reverse. It was nearly the same size and heft as my gold watch, and, owing to this fact, it was only now that I became aware of the deception. Figuring the matter out, I remembered that I had taken my vest off on the steamer the night before, and had left it lying on my bed as I went to the toilet. Somebody, who had been watching it, now took advantage of my absence and pur- loined the watch, substituting the cheap one, in order that some time might elapse before I should become aware of the trick. I should have willingly waited another day to have my baggage examined, but, as long as I was now at the depot, thought that I might as well hang around ‘ until the inspector came. There was, at the depot, a traveling man, also waiting for the same thing. At first I took him for an American, until I noticed his sideburns, which had the English flunky cut. He spoke to me several times, and tried to engage me in conversation, 142 South American Travels but, noticing his foreign accent, I gave him no chance, as I loathe the foreigner who apes the American as much as I loathe the American who apes the foreigner. I went to the jefe de estacion and had him call up the custom- house inspector on the telephone. Fortunately, the latter was at home, and said that he would be around Street, La Paz, Bolivia, Showing Characteristic Architecture right away. I waited an hour. Finally, a young Englishman whom I took to be a Bolivian, came to me and said that the inspector was there. Think- ing that he was rolling off some Aymara jargon, I” answered him in Spanish that I didn’t understand. He looked at me queerly, and then repeated the same statement; it was only then that I caught on to his talk. It is funny how all Englishmen talk as if they have hot Post-Office, La Paz, Bolivia 143 La Paz 145 biscuits in their mouths. The inspection was only a formality. At the street entrance to the depot I was obliged to stop, for one of the oddest processions that I had ever witnessed was passing. It was made up of members of both sexes, and all wore masks, the women even wearing false faces Administration Building and Plaza Murillo, La Paz on which were mustachios and beards. The women wore hoop-skirts of multicolored cloth made from vicufia wool, and derby hats. A native band of Indians with aboriginal instruments led the caravan, which would march a few steps, stop, and then the male members would swing the female contingent around to the melody of barbaric music. They would then resume their march, stop again and march again. This is a national custom To 146 South American Travels among the Aymaras, and the participators are called maquarias. I had a letter of introduction to a prominent physician, Dr. Villegas, and wanted to pay him my respects. Having been told that he lived near the Plaza San Francisco, I made my way in that direction, stopping every few minutes Administration Building, La Paz to inquire my tortuous route. Near the depot, where a bridge crosses the river, is a public urinal. I stood on this bridge and watched the flush of this urinal shooting into the Chuquillampo, the water supply of La Paz, and wondered why the inhabitants were free from epidemics. A steep descent down a malodorous street, in which natives were cooking their meals in braziers in the open air using !lama dung as fuel, led me to a triangular park, Plaza Alonso de Mendoza, in which a fountain played. La Paz 147 A crippled Indian, gigantic in stature, crawled on his hands and knees, his useless legs trailing behind him, the soles of his feet turned upwards. I went into a Cathedral, La Paz saloon to drink a glass of beer, for the sight nearly turned my stomach. On inquiring of the Italian proprietor as to the cause of this man’s misfortune, he replied, ‘‘the English in Putumayo.’’ They had tortured him and beaten him on the feet so as to paralyze him for life. 148 South American Travels No wonder the English are hardly tolerated in La Paz. For years that country was without diplomatic representa- tion in Bolivia. It happened that a certain representative Ornamental Doorway of Oldest House in La Paz of that nation to Bolivia was officious and overbearing enough to incur the displeasure of a former dictator, who, to show him in what esteem he held him, invited him to a dance at the palace, and let him be received by his mistress. The British minister left in anger. The La Paz 149 next day, by the order of the president, this minister was mounted upon a donkey face backwards, and, tied in that position, was marched to the outskirts of the city, ridiculed, hooted at, slapped, and spat upon by the jeer- ing La Paz populace. For the next eight years, Great Britain ignored Bolivia, the Minister to Peru, residing at Lima, acting as agent. I soon arrived at a market. Quaint and low substan- tial buildings lined one,side. On another was a college of Mines; on the third side was the ancient church of San Francisco, while the fourth side was adorned by large buildings, the headquarters of German firms. In this neighborhood, Dr. Villegas lived, but hunt as diligently as I could, I was unable to find his residence. Approach- ing the Hardt Building, a four-story edifice, I noticed some German clerks at the main entrance, holding an ardent conversation. Interrupting them in their own language, I inquired where Dr. Villegas lived. They did not know but called a subordinate, who was at work sampling cloth in an adjoining cellar. He came up, and, answering their questions as to where the doctor lived, replied that he had gone to Europe. Interpreting the reply, although I understood it perfectly, the foremost German told me that Dr. Villegas had gone to Germany. When he said it, he heaved a great sigh, thinking of the Vaterland for which he was doubtless homesick. I knew that the clerk was lying, for the subordinate had said that Villegas had gone to Europe, and had not mentioned Germany. I felt sure that he had gone to Paris, the Mecca of all South Americans, which supposition I later found was true, for, a few days afterwards, I picked up an Oruro newspaper and learned that he had arrived in Valparaiso en route for Paris. La Paz is full of Germans who control the business there, and nearly all are home- 150 South American Travels sick, especially the clerical class who are waiting only long enough to save up enough money to take them home. I felt sorry for this particular clerk. The return to the Hotel Guibert from the Plaza San Francisco is only a matter of four blocks. Yet the walk San Sebastian is by no means pleasant. One has to descend one short block, and mount three long ones at an angle of forty- five degrees. I started out at a pace that I thought was slow, but it must have been the opposite, for when I arrived at the main square of the city, the Plaza Murillo, I looked back and noticed people, whom I thought I had just passed, barely half way up the ascent. Without being conscious of it, I had hurried all the time during La Paz 151 my tour of the city. Others, sensible people who are used to the altitude, take their time. All of a sudden I remembered that I was shy on pocket money, and that Street in La Paz I must hurry some more if I wanted to get to the bank before it closed. The Banco Aleman Transatlantico was my correspondent on a letter of credit, and, accordingly, to that place I went. The blond and serious, skinny German cashier asked me if I had any identification 152 South American Travels papers with me. I expostulated, telling him that with a letter of credit no identification was necessary, as the letter itself was the identification. He was firm, and told me that in order for me to get money I must present my passport. It was three long steep blocks back to the hotel, and the time a quarter to four. In fifteen minutes the bank would close. J ran back the three steep blocks, ran up the staircase of the hotel, got my passport, and ran back to the bank, which was just about to close. I got my money and loitered in the bank for a few minutes discussing politics with a German that I had met the day before on the boat. I was suddenly seized with chills in the lower part of the body while my head and hands were like as if on fire. I went to the hotel, and took my tem- perature which was quite normal, and had one of the bell boys send for a doctor. It was then that I was overcome with a general weakness and voices seemed a long ways off. In order not to be the object of a gazing crowd, I laboriously made my way to a corner of the billiard room, where I sunk into a chair. Everything swam before my eyes, and I felt myself sinking, although the sensation was very pleasant. The bell boy came back with the information that the doctor was not at home, but the proprietor, Monsieur Guibert, now came in, and, seeing the condition I was in, sent in haste for his own family physician. Scarcely had the proprietor left the room, than just as suddenly as I had been taken sick I began to recover, and by the time the medico arrived, I was feel- ing my usual self again. He found me standing at the bar indulging in a glass of claret, and was inclined to be angry, as he believed himself the victim of a hoax, until the manager of the pool room and Monsieur Guibert told him differently. He took my temperature again and also my pulse beats; finding both normal, he decided that my La Paz 153 condition had been due to breathlessness from over- hurrying, and warned me not to do so again, for, if I should get anything the matter with my lungs, pneumonia would be apt to set in. He said that in case I should get such a spell again for me to crush some nitroglycerine tablets, named ‘‘spirites,” in a handkerchief, and to sniff at them through a cloth. My burning sensation he Modern Villas, La Paz diagnosed as the last touches of malaria or terciana get- ting knocked out of me by the altitudes. I guess the doctor was right, for that attack was the final wind-up of my fever. As to the breathlessness, it is dangerous to get in this condition here. A certain man told me that if anybody was to put a million dollars in a package at the end of any block in La Paz, and say that he could have it if he would run for it, he would refuse to do so, for a person would be apt to fall down with heart disease 154 South American Travels before he could get there. Many foreign residents. of the city find that they cannot sleep well there, and ever so often have to go to the seacoast or as low as Arequipa or Calama in order to rest up. I, later, met a Colombian. from Bogota, which city is 8000 feet high, and he told me that, while in La Paz, sleep was impossible for him. On The Prado, La Paz, Bolivia me the altitudes had the contrary effect, for there was scarcely a night that I didn’t get in nine hours of heavy slumber. The night after my attack, I slept so well that I did not even hear the thunderstorm which, I was told the next morning, was a terrific one. Around the Plaza Murillo, the actual commercial life of the city centers, although the neighborhood of some of the minor plazas teem with greater aboriginal population. La Paz 155 The buildings in the central part of the city are superior to those in Lima, not only in size and construction, but in modernity as well. They are built of stone or brick, stuccoed over, and, by their massive foundations, they are meant to stay. The Administration Building, re- cently completed, is a long high building facing the Plaza Murillo, with a high and slender clock tower. It is here that Congress meets. The eastern and northern sides of this plaza are occupied with stores, while the western, and lower side, is comprised of the President’s Palace, and a cathedral in the course of erection. This church, which will be an enormous affair when completed, was com- menced over seventy years ago but, through lack of funds, work was stopped, and two small photograph stores occupy two of the unused massive arched portals. The money has finally been raised, and work has again been resumed. The largest building in the city is that of the Department of Colonization, which institution was created for the purpose of settling the unused lands of the republic. The audience room of this structure is leased to a moving picture show company, while the second floor is occupied by the offices of the Bolivian Railroad Company. A boulevard named the Prado circles the western part of the city, and one section of it, shaded by tall and majestic eucalyptus trees, is called the Avenida Arce. A wonderful view can be obtained here of some of the mountains, but, in order to see the chain of the Cordillera Real in all its glory, it is necessary to be on the Alto. This Cordillera Real is the highest range in the Andes, although solitary peaks like Huascaran and Coropuna in Peru, and Aconcagua in Argentina rise higher. For average height, this Cordillera Real is only exceeded in the whole world by the Himalayas. It lies due east of 156 South American Travels La Paz, and continues north as far as the middle of Lake Titicaca. Its summits are Sorata, 18,715 feet, Ilampu, 21,275 feet, Ancohuma, 21,490 feet, Corpapato, Chacha- Avenida Arce, La Paz comane, Chisel, 20,100 feet, Condoriri, 20,030 feet, Caca- aca, 20,320 feet, Aillaico, Huaillara, Chicani, Taquesi, Muruata, 18,980 feet, and Illimani, 21,190 feet. This last named is the most southerly, and shows up the best. Probably in no place in the world can a mountain chain La Paz 157 be seen to such good advantage as from the plain above La Paz onaclear day. From the city itself the superb view cannot be seen so well, for the city lies nestled too deeply in the valley. The inhabitants take great pride in their town. It is kept clean, and is well paved. The old pavement is being torn up to be replaced by new, and, to protect the streets against landslides, the hills in the central portions of the city are being reinforced by stone walls. There is an electric-car system which, on account of the unlevel character of the city, is very advantageous. The main fault to find, is the unsanitary system of water supply. There is scarcely any manufacturing done, and what little there is includes small woolen mills, brickyards, a mosaic factory, and a match factory. Like most towns, it possesses a brewery, the Cerveceria Nacional Boliviana, which turns out a nearly undrinkable beer. It is owned by local people. To encourage manufactures, the Govern- ment made matches a state monopoly, therefore it built a factory at La Paz, in order to give the natives employ- ment. It manufactures safety matches only. Most of the inhabitants of the city are Aymara Indians many of whom cannot speak Spanish. In no other South American capital have I seen so great a predominance of Indians and people of mixed blood. Both sexes, men and women alike, dress in clothes of bright-colored alpaca wool, orange, scarlet, and purple apparently being the favorite colors. The men wear a peculiar peak-shaped woolen cap, much like those the clowns in the circuses wear. They are multicolored, have ear protectors, and the peak terminates in a tassel which falls over to one side. The women wear straw hats, in form like an old-fashioned derby, but stiff, and lacquered over with some shiny substance, and painted black or light yellow. Some of 158 South American Travels the women wear hoop-skirts, which reach just below the knee, while all wear many petticoats, each one of a differ- ent color. It is nearly incredible how they can encumber themselves with so much clothing. The men wear pon- chos while the women cover their shoulders with shawls. The richer natives have their ponchos and shawls of vicufia wool, which is much more expensive than alpaca, and most of these are of a deep yellow or orange. Sociel status in La Paz goes a great deal by a person’s dress, and those natives who have social ambitions have discarded the national costume, and have assumed the garb of the European. La Paz is a city of contrasts, for here civi- lization meets the wild, and progress goes hand in hand with the primitive. In front of the agency for typewriting machines sits the scribe, feather quill in hand, writing letters for the illiterate, and in front of a wholesale grocery store, with smart German clerks, sits an Aymara woman in her home-made clothes, selling potatoes, fruit, and roots. On Sunday afternoons on the Prado, richly begowned women, wearing the latest Parisian lingeries, pass the many-skirted native dames, and, on the main streets, where the trolley cars are constantly passing, can be seen herds of llamas laden with merchandise. These are the beasts of burden of the Andes, known by the Spanish pioneers as Peruvian sheep. Each one will carry one hundred pounds and no more, beatings being of no avail. Petting is the only method by which they can be per- suaded, but, if a stranger approaches too near them, they will spit into his face a fluid that is said to blister. CHAPTER VII FROM LA PAZ TO VALPARAISO NE of the things that I did while in La Paz was to go to the police department and notify them about the theft of my watch and the substitution of another one, in the vain hope that, sooner or later, it would be found in a pawnshop. I told them when I would leave the city, and they had the courtesy to send an officer to my room at 7 A.M., the day I was leaving, to tell me that my watch had not been found as yet. The officer politely told me that, by this time, the police of the other Bolivian cities had been notified, and that it would be only a ques- tion of a short time before I should be in possession of the watch again. He was kind enough to accompany me to the railroad station, and had the diplomacy to conduct me to a part of the platform unoccupied by transients, where I managed to slip a piece of paper currency into his out- stretched hand. He accepted this amidst expostulations but made no attempt to hand it back. — There is a certain personage, an American spinster, named Miss Annie Peck, who lays claim to have scaled the Huascaran and other peaks of the Andes. She was well known in La Paz, on account of assuming male garb, and riding horseback astraddle, which, to the Latin, is the greatest breach of decorum. The police officer, on point- 159 160 South American Travels ing out a chain of the Cordillera Real, and remarking what a beautiful view it was, said: ‘‘Your Miss Annie Peck ought to be here.’’ He said it smilingly, and yet in such a way that I asked him what he meant. “She claims to have scaled the Huascaran, and the Peruvian Government gave her a medal for it. Anyhow, it makes a good story, and shouldn’t be spoiled.” ‘Don’t you believe she did it?” I asked. “Certainly not,’’ was his quick reply, ‘‘nor does any other sensible person. At La Paz, we all pretend to be- lieve her, but nobody does in reality except a few English and Germans. She was the laughing stock of this city when she was here, and misused her servants till they deserted her. She was given the escort of an officer on her way to Sorata, but she was so rude to him, that he refused to stay any longer in her company and returned. After that she could get nobody from here to accompany her.’’ Now, I have heard her word doubted in nearly every place I have been in these regions. The Cerro de Pasco people believe that her ascent of the Huascaran was a fake, but, to her face, gave her the benefit of the doubt. It is said that snow and ice project concavely over the only possible ascent of the Huascaran, making the feat impossible. It did not take much over an hour to reach Viacha, where the train for Oruro was waiting, and where I changed cars. The train that I had just left continues on its way to Guaqui. Some distance west of Viacha, on the trail from Viacha to Tacna and Arica, lies the large native town of Corocoro, altitude 13,287 feet above sea-level, and one of the most populous towns in Northern Bolivia. It is a great market town, and the seat of a fair to which natives flock in great numbers from all around. From La Paz to Antofagasta, in Chile, the distance is From La Paz to Valparaiso 161 748 miles, and the running time is a little less than two days, changes being made at Viacha and at Oruro, where the sleeping car is attached. This road is a narrow gauge, and is owned by an English company. The railroad to Oruro runs in a southwesterly direction over nearly level grazing land; the tough grass which abounds on this plain, Main Street, Corocoro, Bolivia named oca, is the stable diet of the llamas. The few stunted shrubs are named ccolli, and their roots are invaluable as fuel. Cereals grow, but they do not ripen; they are cut green, and used for fodder. The climate is too cold and damp for them to ripen. This great plain is named the Puna, arid in winter is covered with snow from here to Uyuni, twenty-four hours’ distant by train to the south- ward, while in summer the air is raw and disagreeable; Ir 162 South American Travels yet the soil, of a dark reddish brown, is very fertile. Heavy clouds hanging over the Chuquillampo Valley now obscured the mountains from view, and, from the flashes of lightning and distant intonations, I knew that La Paz was getting a deluge. Calamarca, forty-four miles to the southward, is the highest place between La Paz and Oruro. A jovial fellow shared my seat on the train. He intro- duced himself as Buono Braccini, an Italian, a native of Pisa, who had resided in La Paz for over fifteen years, where he was in business as a contractor in stone masonry. He had with him three quarts of Chilean wine, much adulterated with alcohol, which he endeavored to consume in short order. He first borrowed my corkscrew, and then my drinking glass, and, upon my refusal to share the beverage with him, he downed it all himself, not invit- ing anybody else in the car to join him. He got sloppy and talkative, his theme being against all foreigners in general, excepting Americans and Germans, the brunt of his dislike being the subjects of Great Britain. A group of Englishmen were playing cards in the seats directly behind us, and Signor Braccini endeavored to raise their wrath by turning around in his seat and hurling at them obscene and profane invectives in the English language, but which nobody understood, so far off was he in the pronunciation of them, He explained that he had five children who all spoke English well. Since these English- men were proof against his appellations, he singled out a couple of Chileans sitting across from us, whom he twitted and likewise unsuccessfully attempted to rile. They shrugged their shoulders in haughty contempt, and, when he got too bold, they told him curtly to mind his own business, or else there would be trouble. With a growl he desisted, but occasionally, in an undertone, though sufficiently loud enough for them to hear, told me what From La Paz to Valparaiso 163 his opinion was of all South Americans, especially Chile- ans. The cholos fell under his tirade, and the southern Italians. He would lean on me when he was conver- sing, and I was anxious for him to fall asleep. Different from most drunken men, sleep with him was out of the question, and, seeing that I would only reply in mono- syllables, he turned again to the Chileans, this time telling them that he wouldn’t mind his business as far as they were concerned, but would teach them a lesson in manners if they spoke to him again in the tone which they had previously used. The Chilean addressed was tall and lazy-looking, but as active asacat. Braccini was a good- sized man, also quick and active, but more powerful than the Chilean, who was the taller. All the passengers had now turned around, and were listening to the row, all expecting a fight. Fortunately, the conductor opportunely interrupted the scene by entering the car, and calling out “Patacamaya, twenty-seven minutes for luncheon.” This Patacamaya is a fierce-looking place. It consists of a large depot, and an eating house, on the windswept treeless plain, with a cluster of hovels behind them. The eating house is run by a down-east Yankee, who had been in Bolivia for thirty years. The settlement is quite a market place for Indians, of whom there were a large number present, squatted on the bare ground in a huge semicircle, and shivering beneath their ponchos, offering for sale vegetables and roots. The Aymara Indians are a bad and treacherous race. Before the railroad was extended from Oruro to La Paz, the journey by coach used to take two days and two nights. Frequently, in lonely places, the natives would sweep down upon the unwary traveler, murder him, and plunder his goods. They do so now, when they catch a stranger alone, espe- cially at night. There used to be post-houses on the 164 South American Travels stage-route, the first one at Ayo-Ayo, fifty-eight miles out from La Paz. This wasa particularly dangerous neigh- borhood, and the travelers, besides locking themselves in for the night, took precaution to tie the doors on the inside. In 1904, a certain traveler arose in the night to answer a call of nature. His murdered body was found the next day, partially covered by a sand pile. He had been completely buried, but the wind had blown much of the sand from his grave during the night. At Challapata, the Indians caught a party of travelers, among whom were a woman and her baby. They stripped them of their clothes, and made them don leathern garments which they drew up tight. These garments had been immersed in water, and their wearers were tied down in the sun on the roof of a hut. When the heat of the sun began to shrink these garments, the suffering undergone by the travelers was indescribable. When the soldiers arrived on the scene, three were already dead and the others nearly so. A loathsome occupation practiced by the Aymaras is that of despefiadora, or ‘‘reliever of pain.’’ It is an an- cient custom among these aboriginals to put to death the aged and infirm as well as those incurably ill. Whena person is too old to be of any service to the community, a despenadora is called in. This latter person is generally of the female sex, and is supposed to have occult powers. Being shown the afflicted or aged person, she will get on her knees astraddle his body, seize him by the neck, and with a couple of quick wrenches will wring his neck much as we do a chicken’s. Sometimes, the aged person has more strength than she supposed. A battle then takes place, the despenadora sometimes getting the worst of it. The white residents of the Puna live in houses, surrounded by compounds to keep off incursions of hostile From La Paz to Valparaiso 165 Indians. Alcoholism is very prevalent among the Ay- maras, and will eventually be the means of their exter- mination. They also chew coca leaves, which has upon them much the same effect as the cocaine habit. These coca leaves are brought up from the valleys by the Indians who inhabit the Amazon watershed. When the train started, Braccini again became talka- tive. This time he was pleasant, and, as he was not insulting, the Chileans and he became engaged in a con- versation. The wine was all gone, but the Italian had purchased three quarts of beer at Patacamaya, of which he now began to drink freely. He had also bought a basket of fruit. The air in the car was stuffy, and full of smoke, so I went out onto the platform, and sat down on the steps, till within one half hour of Oruro. The Desaguadero River could sometimes be seen to the right. Sometimes it overflows and holds up traffic for weeks, by washing the rails away. Llamas, mules, sheep, alpa- cas, and donkeys browse on the coarse oca. Here and there are long spaces, where there is no cultivation, just one enormous plain terminating with the Maritime Andes to the west, whose snow-capped summits could be plainly seen in the distance, and by the main chain or Cordillera Oriental to the eastward and much higher. This is a country of loneliness. No human beings can be seen, but, in the distance to the right, there rises occasionally a huge adobe church, showing up well on account of the rarity of the atmosphere. The names of the stations are appropriate. One is Silencio, which means Silence; another is Soledad, which means Solitude. Every rule has its exception, for there is a station named Eucalyptus, where there is not a tree in sight within many miles. The afternoon was elegant, and I caught a glimpse of two mirages. At a lake surrounded by semi- 166 South American Travels tropical trees, cattle were drinking. A stone house, white, with a red tile roof, stood near its banks, and a lawn sloped down to the water. As the train approached, it gradually lost form, until there was nothing but the dark moist ground. Another large lake was seen, but on approaching disappeared. Mirages are often seen on the Pampa de Islay, between Mollendo and Arequipa, but I was not fortunate enough to see any there. When I re-entered the car, Braccini was in a boisterous condition. He was now on the best of terms with the Chileans, whom he was offering fruit from his basket. The conductor came in, and sat beside one of the Chileans. Braccini offered him some pears. The conductor refused, whereupon Braccini threw them out of the window. He had a shawl, a beautiful piece of workmanship, made of cloth from vicuna wool, and the natural color. He had been telling us, earlier in the day, that it had cost sixty- five bolivianos, or about twenty-six dollars. He now offered it to me as a present, and as I didn’t want to de- prive him of it, I refused to accept it. He then tried to throw it out of the window, but by the combined efforts of both Chileans, the conductor, and myself, he was pre- vented from doing so. He then asked me again if I would accept it, telling me that if I refused, he would throw it away when he got the first chance. I accepted it, and all he asked for in return was a railroad time-table that I had been studying. About 4 P.M., the train pulled up at the station of Oruro. This city is the seat of the tin-mining industry, and has a population of 25,000 inhabitants; it is said that, seventy- five years ago, the population of the city was 80,000. Hard times were seen; there was lack of capital, and mis- management of the mines. Now, Oruro is getting on its feet again as a business center, and, in a few years, will + From La Paz to Valparaiso 167 be the second city in Bolivia, for it is growing rapidly. According to the last census, which was taken about ten years ago, Cochabamba was the second city in Bolivia in population, Sucre the third, Potosi, the fourth, and Oruro the fifth. Oruro is now larger than Potosi, and the differ- ence between it and Sucre is not great. The city, which is 12,119 feet above sea-level, is built on a gently sloping plain, while the suburbs extend to the mountain, on which are iron mines. Braccini told me that the Hotel Ferrocarril, across from the station, was the best, but, as a rule, the best. hotels are on the Plazas or near to them, so I refrained from getting a room ‘until I could look around. I left my hand-baggage in the barroom, and then walked up the street. Following the street-car track for a long half mile, turning frequently to the left, I reached the business section of the city. I came to a plaza in which a few sickly shrubs were growing, surrounded on all sides by two-story balconied buildings. At one end stood a cathedral, half in ruins, probably the work of an earthquake. Next to it was a massive build- ing of stone in the course of erection; this is going to be the new City Hall. A narrow street leads but half an ordinary city block to another plaza, the main one of the city. Great was my surprise to find this one planted to apple trees. No other trees can grow in the neighborhood. Apple is one of the hardiest of trees, and can stand the cold weather remarkably well, when it once has a good start. Oruro, in 1903 the capital of the republic, is the capital of the Province of Oruro, and the government building which corresponds to a Capitol Building in the United States, occupies the whole length of the western side of this plaza. It is arcaded, is two storeys high, and from its center rises a cupola. -On all other sides of this plaza, are shops. There are two hotels on it, the Gran 168 South American Travels Union, run by an Austrian, the most popular hotel in the city as well as the most expensive one; adjoining it is another hotel whose name I have forgotten. I wasn’t much “stuck on”’ these hotels, although I believe they are all right, otherwise the American engineers and German traveling men that I met on the train wouldn’t have patronized them. I, however, preferred the Hotel Ferro- carril, near the depot, although it was out of the way. There is a café on this plaza that brings one’s thoughts back to Europe. It is a nice, comfortable place, with magenta upholstering, marble-topped iron tables, and iron chairs. The shops in the city are good, and from the number of bookstores I should judge that the inhabitants were intellectually inclined. As all over in Bolivia, the Indians here outnumbered the whites, but not in so great a pro- portion as in La Paz. In that city, the Germans were a near second to the Spaniards and native whites as far as numbers go, but here, in Oruro, there were but few Teutons. Turks rank third in number, and in their hands lies the retail business of the city. The postoffice is a fine building with a circular skylight of colored glass. It is on a side street, and is near the market, which is the most interesting that I had so far seen in South America. The Indians offer for sale arrowheads, queer stones, samples of minerals, seeds, most of which were unknown to me, garments, bags, and peaked caps of many colors, hides, rugs of vicuna skin, and leatherware. A whole street is given up to leather goods, all hand-made. The saddles are elaborate affairs of a style somewhat similar to Mexican workmanship. I returned to the Hotel Ferrocarril, and was shown a room on the patio. In the barroom I met Braccini, and another Italian, this one a Florentine. Braccini had From La Paz to Valparaiso 169 quite recovered from his inebriation, had shaved, and changed his clothes. Wearing a derby hat, and a dark long-tailed coat of German make, he could have passed off as a lawyer or a professional man. We sat around the barroom the remainder of the afternoon drinking beer . brewed in Stockholm. In the Bolivian towns, one can get all kinds of imported beers very cheaply, although, for some reason, the dealers always try to rush La Paz beer. There is a brewery in Oruro, named the Colon Brewery, yet I was unable to buy its product at any place that I went to, La Paz beer having the preference. When I arose the next morning, the ground was covered with snow to the depth of eight inches. It had evi- dently snowed heavily during most of the night, although, when I had retired, there had not been a single vestige of the white and beautiful. The roofs were covered with the glimmering mantle, and the streets presented a north- ern winter scene. On arriving at the central plaza, with extremely wet feet, as nobody had attempted to shovel the snow off of the sidewalk, I noticed that all the leaves on the apple trees had been nipped. This was their warmest month of the year, January, which corresponds to July in latitudes north, and Oruro is not far distant from the equator, latitude eighteen degrees south running directly through the city. From Oruro to Antofagasta, the distance is 578 miles, and the duration of the trip is two nights and one day. The trains run but twice a week, and are always crowded. I was obliged to put up with an upper berth. My room- mate was Sefior Ignacio Galvez of Bogota, a wealthy man and a writer of political essays. He was also a chess- player, having recently won the championship of Colom- bia in that game. That country once produced a world’s champion. Sefior Galvez could speak no English, and, 170 South American Travels as my Spanish is limited, we conversed in French. We sat up late that night conversing with other men in the dining-car. One of the travelers had, that day, just got in to Oruro, from Cochabamba. The journey should take only two days from Oruro by stage, but, owing to the swollen rivers and mud, it had taken him four. At present there is in course of construction a railroad from Cochabamba to Oruro. Cochabamba is at an altitude of 10,000 feet, in a valley where there is much vegetation. At a town named Pazna, near Lake Poopo (sometimes known as Lake Aullagas), a large Englishman boarded the train, lantern in hand, and handed a message to the conductor. He was clad in knee-breeches and gaiters. He wore a sweater over which hung a poncho, and a native shawl of red, white, and black flew in streamers from his neck. Englishmen all over the world like to ape the native costume, but they carry it to the extreme. I re- member an Englishman in California who always wore a red sash around his belly, thinking that it made him look like a Mexican, while, in reality, it made him look like acircus clown. At II P.M., wecame to Challapata. This place contains the railroad round-house, and is the place where baggage is examined en route from Antofagasta to La Paz, as well as being the end of the stage route to Sucre. At Rio Mulato, 131 miles south of Oruro, 12,370 feet above sea-level, which we reached in the early hours of the morning, Sefior Galvez and myself descended to wait until 9 A.M. to take the train for Potosi. Opposite to the depot, was a tambo or inn, where we were able to obtain a room with two beds. Leaving Rio Mulato the train runs rapidly across the Puna towards the near mountains, and then, entering a broad canyon, nearly dry, gradually ascends in rather steep gradients. The view is not grand nor is it especially From La Paz to Valparaiso 171 pleasant, for no grass seems to grow on the brown desert formation of the. soil, and the barren mountain peaks, which, from here, do not appear high, are bleak in the extreme. Only in upland pastures, near the source of some stream, does there seem to be any vegetation and life, for here are to be seen a few stray alpacas grazing Alpacas on Slopes of Huaina Potosi on the tough oca grass. The only settlement on this railroad large enough to be called a town is Yocalla, which is over the divide, and at which one arrives shortly before reaching Potosi. This railroad is considered the highest in South America, for it reaches an altitude of over 16,000 feet. Long before reaching the city of Potosi, the conical-shaped Cerro, the richest hill in the world, comes in view. I spoke of this Cerro as conical because 172 South American Travels it is always described thus in histories, while in truth the famous Cerro de Potosi is pyramidal. It is 15,067 feet high, rising 1500 feet above the city. The approach to Potosi by rail is impressive, for it stands on the side of several hills, the roofs of many houses being level with the ground floors of the others. At the feet of the lowest tier, and in the valley bottom, flows a stream fed by the rivulets that flow from the mine reservoirs on the Cerro, and lining its banks for a long distance are smelters and ore refineries. Alighting from the train at the depot, the vista that is presented to one’s eye is that of dilapidation, the relics of a former grandeur, for all over on the road to the hotel are massive stone houses, with coats-of-arms and escutch- eons emblazoned above the portals, now uninhabited, and fast falling into ruin and decay. Once the receptacle of opulence, they are now the abode of owls. The streets of the old city seemed deserted, and looked as if they had been so for ages. In 1775, the population of Potosi was 160,000 while to-day its inhabitants scarcely number 23,000. The Gran Hotel Colon, whither Galvez steered me, was formerly a palace, but had also fallen into decay. An archway led into an arcaded patio, paved with cobble- stones, and from its arcaded portals the doors to the bed- rooms opened; large bedrooms with wooden bedsteads, and heavy curtains to the high windows that opened onto the street, and gave the guest a vista of the brilliant hues the sunset cast upon the Cerro, while in the narrow streets countless lamas were being driven by the natives, here Quechuas. The rafters that supported the tiles of the roof were fully sixteen inches in diameter, quebracha wood that had been brought from the Chaco years ago, and which, now, were as firm as the day on which they were brought here, although they had sagged in the middle From La Paz to: Valparaiso 173 through their heavy support of roof. In the patio, other guests were coming in on mule-back from distant towns, and, mud-stained, were tiredly unsaddling their more tired beasts. In one corner, several Indians were preparing their evening meal over a heap of burning Ilama dung, the only fuel of the mountains. The air was chill and raw, far from one’s conception of a summer evening, and the twilight was gray like that of a November night. Beneath the arched entrance, two Frenchmen were reviling the proprietor, the town, and everything else in Bolivia, because they had come too late to get any rooms. The proprietor, an Austrian from Steiermark, was. trying to explain to them that he would see what he could do elsewhere, but the two would not listen to him, and insisted on sleeping in the hotel office if no other rooms were at once procurable in the hotel. There was an extra bed in my room, and I knew that there was one also in Galvez’s room. I mentioned this to the Colombian, who was re- luctant to change from the luxuriant quarters he now had, and occupy the extra bed in my room to accommodate the Frenchmen. ‘Let the old rascal find them some room; it is his business,” was the only reply that I could get from him, and I think he was right. Hardly had he spoken ‘than the ‘‘old rascal’’ in question, the proprietor, came shuffling up to where we were and put the same question to us. Galvez motioned for me to let him do the talking, and with a nod of assent from me, he straight- way flew off the handle, and the screaming, yelling, and expostulations he let forth nearly equalled those of Cremi- eux, the hotel proprietor at Arequipa. Under his storm of invectives, the landlord couldn’t hold forth, and with a profound apology hastily beat a retreat which was so servile that the disappointed Frenchmen even smiled at it. Leading off of the room which serves as an office, 174 South American Travels is the hotel bar, a long and dark room, with a hetero- geneous collection of bottles on the sideboard. A tall raw- boned Italian was the dispenser of liquid refreshment, most of which was of the highball variety. Thereis a brewery in Potosi, the Cerveceria Valentin Vollmer, and when I asked for some of its beer, he spoke to me in fluent English telling me that it was no good. This Italian had worked in Penn- sylvania, and said that he was saving up enough money to return to the United States. He was right about the beer, but it was better than La Paz beer, which here, as well as in Oruro, is trying to be rushed and is the favorite. As in Oruro, the most interesting part of the city is the market place, but it is not so intersting as in Oruro. It is here a small square, surrounded on all sides by two- storey buildings, the ground floors of which are arcaded, above which are rooms beneath the heavy tiled roofs. White canopies are spread in the paved open area to protect the vendors and their wares from the inclemency of the weather, the goods consisting of fruits of a more moderate clime, vegetables, and potatoes. Inside the arcades, and piled against the walls, are wares of European manufacture, cloth, ponchos, boots, hardware, seeds (I even saw some of these latter from the firm of D. M. Ferry of Detroit), brushes, and cooking utensils. The Indians were garbed similarly to those in La Paz, but here they belong to a different race. They are Quechuas, the same race that inhabits the highlands of Peru, and separated from each other by the belligerent tribe of Aymaras that has its confines from Lake Titicaca on the north, to Potosi and Sucre on the south. It is the supposition that the Aymaras came up from the desert of Atacama, and drove the Quechuas out of the Bolivian Puna where the former have since made their home, thus dividing the two distinct tribes of Quechuas. From La Paz to Valparaiso 175 But a stone’s throw from the market place, and ap- proached by a great solitary arch standing between two buildings, is a huge church, partly in ruins, but with two high towers, and a facade still in a good state of preser- vation. The lower half of the whole facade is given up to an enormous arch, from under which open the doors into the building. Above this, on the roof, and forming a brow which joins both towers, is a smaller arch, entirely open, where up to a hundred years ago hung bells wrought out of solid silver. Two blocks away is another peculiar temple of worship, likewise a Catholic church. This one had no towers, but over its center is a round dome with aflat top. Its main body, apses, and transept are covered with vaults, the former and latter each having three run- ning longitudinally, while those of the apses are at right angles to them. In olden times, the luxury of the inhabitants of Potosi was proverbial. The candlesticks, dishes, sideboards, and picture frames were of solid silver. The wealthiest people in South America lived here until their descendants moved to Sucre, and other places more favored by nature. Some of the old families still-exist here, but they have fallen into genteel poverty, and the once famous heirlooms of silver possessed by their ancestors now adorn the homes of potentates and millionaires in Europe and other con- tinents. The exterior of many of the houses bear the silent tale of bygone wealth, with their artistic sculpture and the iron work of their balconies. The home of a family of importers of European articles, which is across the street from the Hotel Colon, is the only exception that I saw in Potosi. This one is in a good state of pre- servation, and is kept up in the same way that it used to be, for its possessors have never felt want. A relic of the past, and a utility of the present, is the 176 South American Travels Moneda Nacional or Mint of Bolivia, the most famous in the world, with an austere front embellished at every rod by an ornamental stone vase on its roof, that would remind one of a receiving vault or crematorium seen from the outside, if it were not for its great length, which is that of two city blocks. A two-storey portal of rich chiselled sculpture leads into a courtyard, and it is here seen that the mint is a conglomeration of many buildings joined together under the same roof. An Inca statue of the face of the Sun God, and said to have been brought here by the Spaniards from Tiahuanaco, greets all comers on entering. This mint contains all the dies that have ever been cast in making the Bolivian currency, a library pertaining to mining at Potosi, mining records, a chemical laboratory, a coin collection and primitive wooden machin- ery for making currency, although everything now is done by the most up-to-date modern methods. Many of the buildings in this mint have vaulted roofs, and in the enclosure in dungeon-like cells, the cholo slaves used to eke out a miserable existence. I stayed four days in Potosi, reserving the last one to a walk to the top of the Cerro. I was dismayed at the great number of empty and ruined dwellings in the south- ern part of the town, but was equally dismayed in passing the great number of deserted mines that formerly lined the lower slopes of the Cerro. It happens that most of the mining has gradually gone upwards, and near the top to-day are the largest tin mines. More money has been taken out of this hill than out of the famous hill at Butte. Shortly after the conquest of Peru, silver was discovered here, and of such fabulous wealth that it attracted the adventurers and the mining men of Spain. The town grew to such a size that for over a hundred years it was the metropolis of both Americas. All roads From La Paz to Valparaiso 177 led to Potosi. After the War of Liberation, the stocks were watered and placed on the London and Paris markets. Much speculation was done, but the only people to get rich were the grafting promoters. Fora long time, people would not buy Potosi stock for fear of being swindled. All the good silver had been taken away from the surface, and to get at what is in the interior involved costly opera- tions. So far, this has not been done on any large scale, but is sure to follow in the course of a few years, when no doubt Potosi will regain some of its lost prestige. Tin has since been discovered, and it is the staple mining product here, the best tin being found near to the summit of the hill, The bulk of capital invested is French and Chilean, a certain man of the former nation owning the biggest mine, and hauling his ore to the smelter in the ‘ valley by means of an aérial railroad which has it put all over the primitive and common method of transporting ore on the backs of llamas. On a walk to the top of the Cerro, I came across some natives extracting some ore by the old-fashioned patio process or amalgamation. They had a two-handled crusher, and were pounding the ore which was spread out on the flagstones of a paved area. When they had finished this, they would flood the area, which would wash away the smaller pieces of ore, and onto this they would let mercury flow, in order to form an amalgam, which they would eventually separate from the ore by heating the amalgam in cone-shaped furnaces. The mercury would collect on the sides of the furnaces to be gathered over again, leaving the silver ore and what little gold there was on the bottom. In Bolivia, there are many national banks, as in the United States, and all issue paper currency, that of the Banco Nacional de Francisco Argondano at Sucre and the Banco Agricola of Oruro being the most preferable 12 178 South American Travels to the natives. This paper currency is issued in as low denominations as one boliviano, which is equivalent to forty cents. Bolivian silver money is dirty, and often- times so well worn that its value is scarcely distinguishable. Sucre, the capital of the republic, is a two days’ journey distant by stage or mule-back, the road descending 5000 feet, and crossing the Pilcomayo River. A short ways out of Potosi, on this road, are some warm springs, a favorite week-end resort for the foreign inhabitants of the mining city. This road to Sucre is very heavily traveled, and the nearer that one approaches the capital the more the vegetation. Sucre has about 30,000 in- habitants, and is a well built quiet place with a university, and is the seat of a bishopric. The wealthiest and most aristocratic inhabitants in Bolivia live there. It is said to have a fine climate, probably because its climate is better than that of Potosi and of Oruro. In La Paz, the inhabitants will tell you about the dreadful climate of Oruro, and in Oruro the inhabitants will tell you about the dreadful climate of Potosi, but from experience during the few days that I was in each place, I think La Paz has the worse climate of all three, although it is the warmest, and that Oruro has the best, although it is the coldest. If I should be forced to sojourn in either one of these three cities, I should prefer Oruro, for it is easiest of access and is built on level ground, thereby not necessitating a person to get out of breath whenever he takes a walk. Potosi is 13,393 feet above sea-level, and is said to be unhealthy, not only on account of its altitude, but also on account of the smoke from its twenty-seven smelters. I returned to Rio Mulato on the same train with Sefior Galvez, whose destination was the same as mine, Valpa- raiso. On the main road to Antofagasta, Uyuni is reached shortly after daybreak; a nasty-looking town, of adobe From La Paz to Valparaiso 179 buildings with corrugated iron roofs, in the middle of a desert. It is 12,005 feet above sea-level, and from here to the Chilean boundary, the distance is 109 miles. A railroad is in construction to Tupiza, which will be in connection with that which is now being extended from La Quiaca, Argentina, northward, so that it will be but a question of a couple of years before one will be able to travel from La Paz direct to Buenos Aires or Rio de Janeiro. As we went by the outskirts of Uyuni, we noticed a group of soldiers firing at a target on a blank adobe wall. An Englishman who boarded the train here said that, against this same wall prisoners are executed, and that these soldiers were getting practice in marksmanship as they were to shoot a man the next day at sunrise. From now on, until we reached the Chilean frontier, great salt marshes were traversed, one named the Salar de Uyuni, and another the Salar de Ercote, also fields rich in borax. Snow-capped summits appeared ahead of us, one of which is the volcano Ollague, which never seems to get nearer. Robbery is done in Bolivia on a large scale. In this neighborhood, the crew of a freight train will sometimes have a number of wagons with mules, or a bunch of Ilamas waiting on a lonely stretch of country. When the train reaches the spot where the wagons are, the crew will pillage the contents of cars. The merchandise will be taken to a lonely spot in the mountains, and will later on find its way back to Antofagasta, where shops have been opened especially for this kind of business. When the articles have finally been disposed of, the crew will divide the profits. After the robbery, the freight cars will be released. The Antofagasta officials on making inquiry will be told by the train crew that everything is as intact as it was when the car was handed over to them. The consignee in Bolivia, besides being out all his merchandise, 180 South American Travels is also obliged to pay custom-house duty on them, ac- cording to the bill of lading. Shortly after luncheon, the town of Ollague is reached. It is the first Chilean station, a miserable hamlet with a large frame depot where the crew eat their meals. It is surrounded by a compound, made of corrugated iron. Different from the Bolivian stopping places, no Indians are seen here. From Ollague, runs a branch line to the copper mines of Collahuasi, the highest in the world. They are fifty-nine miles away to the north, and are 15,809 feet above sea-level. I met a Spaniard at Valparaiso, who had lived there for one year, following the vocation of cook. The tales he told me about the place were ter- rible. It is a favorite place for electrical storms. Light- ning once struck the camp where he belonged, and killed five men and three mules. An American went there once, and, before dinner, went to his room for a nap. When they called him, he failed to respond, and on break- ing into the room he was breathing heavily. All efforts to waken him were of no avail because he died of heart failure without regaining consciousness. He had a weak heart, and had tried to brave the altitudes. This Span- iard said that he was never affected with the puna, but he was an exception. It is nearly impossible to cook food well, and a potato can boil all night and yet not be edible the next morning. After leaving Ollague, we entered the borax fields, and climbed gradually to Ascotan, the summit of the pass of the same name, 12,979 feet. The next stop was San Mar- tin, where we passed the train from the coast that had left Antofagasta the night before. From the flushed and. bloated faces of the passengers on that train, it was ob- vious that they were suffering from puna. At Cebollar the next stop, there is a large borax lake with a refinery. From La Paz to Valparaiso 181 It is an English company, and a few Englishmen boarded the train en route for home. From here on, the train runs in broad curves steeply downhill all the way to Antofagasta. The huge barren and awe-inspiring vol- cano of San Pedro, belching forth smoke, is seen on the left, and, at its feet, a black cone which blew its top off a few years ago during an eruption. Presently, we reach the town of San Pedro in a rocky karst. Here are the reservoirs that supply the coast towns with water. The River Loa is tapped, and the pipes carry the water coast- ward, two to Antofagasta, and one to Mejillones del Sur. It was an expensive operation, but to-day Antofagasta has one of the best water supplies on the east coast of the Pacific Ocean. It would be better still if the pipes didn’t leak. A few miles farther on, the Loa is spanned by the highest bridge in the world. The river, many feet below, is nearly invisible in the gorge, a long thread of green on account of the vegetation that borders its banks. Darkness came on, and so fast did we speed, that I thought that the engine had gotten away from the engineer. About nine o’clock, we pulled up at the depot of Calama, the only Chilean town of importance in the northern interior. It has a population of 7000 inhabitants and from the outlines of the buildings visible in the glare of the electric lights, the town appeared to have a North American appearance. The steepled wooden church, painted white, looked like a typical specimen of the re- ligious edifices common in New England villages. We had half an hour’s wait here, but a Chilean, the same one, who a few days before had had an altercation with Braccini, en route from La Paz to Oruro, advised us not to leave the car, otherwise thieves would steal our grips. The town, he said, was infested with thieves and vagabonds. The merchants were mostly Dalmatians, and honest, but 182 South American Travels the bulk of the population were the worst scoundrels unhung. The Chilean’s name was Zaccaria Barna, a jeweler of Antofagasta, according to his card, and he stated he was well acquainted in Calama. When I awoke the next morning, we were stopping at Portezuelo, eighteen miles from Antofagasta, and, after what seemed an interminable time, passing street after street of wooden houses, all alike, we backed into the large three-storey wooden depot of the city, painted dark green, and adorned with a slender white cupola. I have read many books on South America in which Antofagasta has been described. All these, including a book written by Hon. Chase S. Osborn, ex-governor of Michigan, lead the reader to infer that the city is a hell upon earth. My wife, whom I met again upon my arrival in Valparaiso, went ashore here from the steamer and has never ceased to revile this fair city in unbecoming terms. I, however, found Antofagasta much maligned, and the few days that I stayed there were spent very profitably, and when the time came for me to leave, I did so with reluctance. Antofagasta is not Paris, nor is it a city that is beautiful. It is an extremely busy port, a boom town, and a city, which while not naturally well endowed as to soil, sur- roundings, and beauty of landscape, has nevertheless made good use of all her resources, so that to-day, despite the barrenness of the neighboring country and the narrow slip of land on which it is built, it has progressed until it is a pleasant place in which to live. The population of Antofagasta is in the neighborhood of 50,000 inhabitants, three thousand of which are pros- titutes. I saw many of these latter on the streets clad in the latest creations of Paris, and several tried to engage me in conversation. I was proof to their wiles, and did not fall into temptation. Sefior Galvez and I went to From La Paz to Valparaiso 183 the Hotel Maury, whichison the water front. Going there, we passed a lumber mill, the first that I had seen since I left home. The Maury was a-filthy place with a glassed- in garden overlooking the harbor. No rooms were to be had there, so we went to the Hotel de France, in the business section of the city. This building is on the main street, and is built of corrugated iron, as are many build- ings which have been erected since the great fire of a few years ago; it has a plastered front and is painted a light green. The rooms enter into a narrow patio, and are cool and airy. The meals are good. It is run by a native family, the oldest son of which had just completed his studies in Santiago, and had returned home in order to land a job as bookkeeper in one of the importing houses. I spent most of my time loitering about the city, while Galvez was always busy at different newspaper offices. I went swimming at a bathing establishment. The beach is sandy and fine, but the water is too cold for real enjoy- ment, and .the breakers too rough. I discovered a bar on the American order, named the Bar del Cambio, or Exchange Bar. I suppose that it is so called because one could exchange one’s money for drinks. I drank a few bottles of beer there, and made Galvez acquainted with the place. Everywhere is business, and the town is enjoying a wave of prosperity. It is the great shipping port for Bolivia, to which country it belonged up to the time of the war with Chile, and for the great nitrate fields about fifty miles inland, which we passed during the night. The harbor, if it can be called one, is poor, and the water is rough. There is a large British colony, but a still larger Croatian one. The first mentioned recently erected a stone memorial in the plaza, and donated it to the city. A rather small cathedral is in course of erection on this plaza. This park is large and artistic, but the trees are 184 South American Travels too young to have attained any size. On the four streets that bound it, are some good buildings, one the Bank of Chile, a brick building, painted white, the Gran Hotel, and the postoffice. I have always heard that one of the points of interest in Antofagasta was the cemetery. I never visited it, my time being taken up with the living, and not with the dead. My wife visited it, how- ever, and that is enough for one family. A few days after I arrived at Antofagasta, the steam- ship Orcoma of the P. S. N. C. line was due to arrive on her return trip to England, stopping first at Coquimbo, and then at Valparaiso. This is a vessel of 11,500 tons, and I had heard it well spoken of, unlike the boats in the Panama and Guayaquil service. As Sefior Galvez was going on it, I decided to do so likewise for the sake of company. I regretted my decision afterwards. The day of embarcation, the Colombian drank for luncheon a quart of Santa Rita, Chilean claret. He invited me to follow suit and paid for a bottle for me. I did so, and as I am not much of a wine drinker, this Santa Rita went to my head. Standing at the bar at 2 p.m. drinking ver- mouth on top of the beer, an American approached us, and told us that if we intended making the steamer we had better start at once, as the sea would soon begin to get bad. It does so every afternoon at this particular time, in which turbulent condition it remains for at least twelve hours. Acting on his advice, we were rowed to the ship in a most awful sea. Embarking was extremely difficult. My wife told me that when she went ashore at Antofagasta, one of the row-boats upset, spilling the occupants into the water, drowning a baby, and having such a bad effect on the other capsized people as to ne- cessitate their going to a hospital. A group of women were at the ladder waiting to go on board to say good-bye From La Paz to Valparaiso 185 to their friends, but so scared were they of trying to get a foothold on the first step of the ladder, that they sat in their row-boat trying to make up their minds, and yelling hysterically, preventing other passengers from getting on board. Once on deck, a shrimp of a steward, undoubt- edly from the low-class pothouses of London, put our grips in a room, and upon my asking him where the checks to our trunks were, replied: “‘The company does not hand out checks. It has been in existence since 1839, and has never made a mistake.” It made one by annexing this specimen to its force. As there were many empty cabins on the ship, I pre- ferred to be alone, and told the purser so. ‘‘The boat is filled,”’ was his curt reply. I told Sefior Galvez so, and that gentleman returned with me to the purser, as he could scarcely believe it, and also wanted to be alone. The purser was a tow-headed runt of an Englishman, conscious of his authority, which he liked to air on the slightest occasion. When he saw me standing there again, he said: ‘I told you just five minutes ago that the boat “Oh, shut up!’’ I retorted, not giving him time to finish his sentence, and turned away. Galvez and myself were given the same stateroom. The Colombian had a bad habit of reading with the electric lights turned on in the cabin until the early hours of the morning, when he would fall asleep, the lights burning. He also had a habit of closing the portholes, and, to get a circulation of air, turn- ing on the electric fan. He would smoke some vile brand of cigarette from his native country until he had consumed a box. The current of the electric fan would waft the smoke up to the ceiling of the cabin, and, as there were no means of airing the cabin with the portholes closed, the smoke would be blown in my face, as I was unfortunate to get the upper berth when we drew lots. I had two small 186 South American Travels valises, Galvez must have had a dozen, and he would pile them all over the room, so that it was next to impossible to dress until he had risen, and put them in their proper places. He had no regards for property, and would use my brushes and comb, probably my toothbrush also, and would lie down and cover himself with my overcoat when he desired to read a novel. On two occasions, he tipped a cabin boy with my money, which was lying on a bracket above the washstand. Notwithstanding his lack of regard for property, which is a South American characteristic, he differed from most Latins in the fact that he was cleanly. He, also, was angered with the purser, and suggested that we go on shore again, for it would not be until 7 p.m. that the ship would sail, and he said that he would rather brave the elements of the ocean than be in the company of the English purser any longer than he could. With no difficulty, we got a rowboat, and were soon at the broad granite wharf. We had a few drinks in the Bar New York, and a few other sailors’ dives, ran the risk of getting knockout drops, and then made our way up town. We drank a lot of Santa Rita, and wound up in such a semi-conscious state that we passed through the awful swell on the return to the ship in oblivion to the perils of the ocean, and wondered where we got our drenching. Galvez told one of the stewards that he was on his way to Santiago to purchase arms to ship back to wildfire among the flunkeys. I remember falling off of the couch in the smoking room and rolling over on the floor, much to the amusement of the barroom stewards, and to the disgust of several American ladies whom I had seen and with whom I had become acquainted on the Guate- mala and at Lima. One of these, who had been quite From La Paz to Valparaiso 187 pleasant to me, now got on her high horse because I fell from the straight and narrow path, and every time she saw me after this, in Valparaiso, in Valdivia, and in Buenos Aires, she would pass me by with upturned nose, as if my presence tainted the atmosphere her virtuous nose inhaled. Two days later I caught this selfsame female kissing and hugging a newly met male acquaintance behind the elevator on the Orcoma, in a niche where she thought she would be unobserved. They were startled when I caught them, and hurried away. A half an hour afterwards I surprised them again doing the same tricks behind the smokestack on the hurricane deck. Shortly after leaving Antofagasta, the lights of Caleta and then of Coloso were seen, both towns appearing to be part of Antofagasta in the receding distance. Early the next day we passed Taltal, but were too far from shore to see anything of the city, only a few tall chimneys being outlined against the purplish hazy background. This pleasant place, up to a year ago, had never known an epidemic. A man landed there from a Guayaquil boat, sick with yellow fever. He recovered, but not until the contagion had spread. The toll of life was over six hundred. On the second day out, we anchored in the small, tranquil, and semicircular harbor of Coquimbo, one of the best on the coast. The city of the same name is the seaport of La Serena, seven miles distant by rail, and is a dirty, straggling place of about 10,000 inhabitants. One can draw a line from east to west across Chile in this neighborhood, and this will define the rainless belt from the rainy one. North of this line it seldom rains, while south of it it rains in abundance during the season, which is from May till September. The Province of Coquimbo, of which La Serena is the capital, is fertile, 188 South American Travels and exports grapes, raisins, and cereals. Sefior Galvez, another Colombian from Bogota, Sefior nel Ospina, and I disembarked at Coquimbo, as the Orcoma intended remaining in the harbor the rest of the day, so as not to reach Valparaiso too early the next morning. We were driven in an antiquated hack over ill-paved streets, which jarred every bone in our bodies, to the suburb station of Empalme, where we boarded a train to La Serena. The duration of the trip was about twenty minutes, and it crossed a very fertile fruitful country, where vines grew wild in profusion. La Serena is sometimes called a seaport, but, in reality, it is a good mile from the ocean, although some of the straggling villas of its suburbs extend that far. The town, which has a population of over 20,000 inhabitants, is a nice, clean, pretty place, and is built on the top of a hill, which one has to climb on one’s way from the depot. One famous writer said that ‘‘ La Serena, like other coast towns in Chile, is filthy.’’ This was the truth a few years ago, but since its inhabitants underwent a scourge of bubonic plague, in 1907, they became aware that there is such a thing as sanitation, and to-day La Serena is the cleanest town in Chile. It is a rather dull town, with stately buildings and a handsome park filled with shade trees. One of the trees in the plaza is a palm, which was in exist- ence when the city was founded in 1544. The cathedral is a fine building with a cool interior. We walked to the Hotel Santiago, the best in the city, where we had break- fast and enjoyed a drink of papaya, a temperance beverage, which is manufactured from the pepina fruit. La Serena possesses a brewery, the Cerveceria Floto, which, though small, turns out one of the most palatable beers in Chile. There is scarcely any manufacturing done, as the town is in a dormant state, and is hardly apt to get out of it. From La Paz to Valparaiso 189 The railroad has just been opened between here and Santiago and Valparaiso, joining the main line at Calera. The duration of the trip is fifteen hours, and if I had known about the completion of this line before I left Antofagasta, I should have bought my ticket only as far as Coquimbo. There is a pottery made here of black clay with painted flowers around its top, red and yellow. Nel Ospina bought some vases of this material, and gave me one, although he is an ardent hater of North Americans, and I hardly expected that a man of so great a prejudice towards my race would so favor me. CHAPTER VIII VALPARAISO AND SOUTHERN CHILE HE Province of Valparaiso is divided into four depart- ments, from north to south as follows: Quillota, pop. 53,397; Limache, pop. 24,124; Valparaiso, pop. 190,951; and Casa Blanca, pop. 12,913. The capital is Valparaiso, which had, in 1907, at the last official census, 162,447 inhabitants. Since the earthquake, this chief seaport of Chile has made immense strides, and, at the present time, the population of the city must exceed 200,000 inhabitants. Valparaiso is beautifully situated on pine-clad hills that surround the harbor, and, next to San Francisco, is the greatest port on the Pacific. Ocean of the Western Hemisphere. The harbor is a poor one, being more of a roadstead, but, although there are better ones in Chile, the city grew because it was the seaport for Santiago. The impression on landing is that of any other seaport town, and this impression stays as long as one sojourns there. The opening of baggage at the custom house is a mere formality, many of the valises not being opened at all. I inquired for the Hotel Royal, and was told that it was a short ten minutes’ walk up the main street, Calle Cochrane; so I proceeded there on foot. The building was easy to find. Itisa large white building, four storeys 190 Valparaiso and Southern Chile 191 high, with an ornamental facade, and occupies nearly a whole city block, which here is narrow. It is owned by two Americans from Chicago, Mr. Emil Kehle and his sister, and is well managed. The rooms are good and large. The beds are good, and the service excellent. The meals are table d’héte. The prices are somewhat expen- sive, but a person should gladly pay without demur, for everything that he gets is first-class. Many times since leaving the Hotel Royal, I have wished that I were back there. My wife, whom I expected to find in Santiago, was still in Valparaiso, and thought it was a fine city. I did also, and liked it so well that, instead of remaining there for a few days, as I had originally intended, I stayed there for two weeks. The earthquake of 1908 benefited the city, for where: tumbledown old buildings used to be, there are new ones now in their places. Some of the erstwhile narrow streets have been broadened and extended. The retail! section has moved northward, until it now centers around a new plaza. The architecture of the business houses varies greatly, but nearly all these buildings are too ornate and fancy. In nearly every block, an entrance from the street leads to what is called an ascensor. This is a car which shoots up the very steep hills on an incline railway, many of these hills being nearly perpendicular. The fares are five and ten centavos, according to the height of the fu- nicular. These ascensors are an absolute necessity, for, in many places, the Jower town is only two blocks wide, and the height of the residential section is too great to make the trip several times a day on foot in comfort. These ascensors are owned by private concerns, and there are many in the city. The trolley cars are double deckers, the roof, which is open, being second class. The conduc- tors are ladies. They hand you a receipt for the fare, 192 South American Travels and somewhere before you reach your destination, an inspector boards the car and asks for the receipt. The streets are of good breadth, but, unfortunately, are paved with cobble-stones, which makes driving unpleasant. The council tries to have them kept clean, but occasionally a disagreeable wind sweeps down from the hills and fills them with dirt, dust, and rubbish. These windstorms occur mostly in the summer, and quiet down at night. In the winter, it rains continually. The business is largely in the hands of the Germans and English. It used to be in the hands of the French and English, but, during the last twenty years, the Germans have invaded the coast towns commercially, and are fast assuming a monopoly of trade. The type of native of Valparaiso is different from the general run of South American types. They are apt to be blond and tall, this probably being due to the strains of northern blood, since they have a heterogeneous ancestry. From the heights around the city, beautiful views can be had. From them, the craft in the harbor all seem to be lined up in a row. In all directions, wherever a house is surrounded by a garden wall, shrubbery can be seen, while, back on the higher hills to the eastward, are groves of eucalyptus. The streets, lanes, and paths on the heights are dirty, for here it is that the poorer people live, the level land at the base of the hills being too expensive for their purses. Cleanliness among them is unknown. While passing by the corrugated iron shanties in this neighborhood, the unwary pedestrian stands a good chance of receiving a bucket of slops on his head, thrown uninten- tionally upon him from a window. Dogs are innumerable, the canine population probably exceeding the human. The city is now building up hillwards, because all the available space on the level fringe is occupied and the Valparaiso and Southern Chile 193 shanties are gradually being driven up the higher ravines. There is a park in a south suburb named Plajencia, where there is a botanical garden and amusement places; a popular resort among the Germans who go there on Sundays for trap shooting and to drink beer. The drive from the city skirts the ocean. Mr. Kehle was kind enough to let my wife and me have the use of his private carriage a few times, and we enjoyed ourselves seeing the city. A suburb of Valparaiso is Vifia del Mar, six miles distant. Its population, in 1907, was 26,262. This is greatly augmented during the sum- mer, for it is the favorite resort of rich Santiaguinos. Trains run there from Valparaiso every hour, and there is an electric-car service which takes an interminable time, skirting coal heaps, foundries, and car shops. The old timers of Valparaiso had their residences on Bella Vista hill, directly above the city, but, nowadays, Vifia del Mar is the residential place of those who can get away from the turmoil and hubbub of the city. The houses are artistic, and many are magnificent, being palaces surrounded by delightful gardens of flowers and trees. The largest and finest race-course in Chile is here, and the road leading up to it passes a veritable paradise. A river, dry in the summer, and spanned by several bridges divides Vifia del Mar, and, at its mouth, isa hill. At the foot of this hill, and two kilometers nearer to Valparaiso, is the popular bathing resort of Miramar. Many people don’t bathe in the harbor, for the breakers are too cold, but come to sit on the terrace under the red and white awning of a café, and drink afternoon tea. On Sunday, Valparaiso is a dead place. It is even worse than Detroit, Michigan, on that day. All the stores are closed and so are most of the saloons. Every- body is at the races at Vifia del Mar, or else asleep in their 13 194 South American Travels rooms. Valparaiso has its complement of saloons. They abound everywhere, except on the Calle Cochrane, where there are but a few. They open at 8 a.m. and close at midnight. Some close much earlier. Every bartender and employee has to have his name and age registered in a conspicuous place on the wall. In one of these saloons, the Bar Aleman, on the Calle O’Higgins, I got into a row the Sunday night before I left, and had a narrow escape from visiting the lock-up under compulsion. About five o’clock in the afternoon, I entered the place, which is owned by a German, named Julius Schultz, and drank some beer. Soon a friend of mine, Fritz Rohde, from Darmstadt, entered with another German, the former in a semi-intoxicated state. Herr Schultz introduced us to a friend of his, Rudolf Ruckert, of Munich.. Now this Herr Ruckert was with a chance acquaintance, an Englishman, but, at this time, I was unaware of this. Another German, named Schreiber, entered, with a Chil- ean, who was a Teutophile, and aped the Germans. We all drank too much, and about eight o’clock we were in a worse condition than Rohde had been in when he entered. Rohde was now in bad shape, and he began the racket by making uncomplimentary remarks about King Edward VII., whose portrait hung on the wall, alongside of that of Barros Rocca Luco, President of Chile. The Englishman took exception to Rohde’s remarks, and an argument began which lasted nearly half an hour, Ruck- ert being the only one who sided with the Englishman, the rest all being too deeply engrossed in the large schupers to take any part. I got very ‘‘full,’’ but not so much so, that I don’t remember what happened. The Englishman, who was getting the worst of the argument, asked me to stand up for him, which I couldn’t do, because Rohde was my friend, and I, moreover, didn’t Valparaiso and Southern Chile 195 like the attitude of the Anglo-Saxon. He then upbraided me, and we started calling each other names, unfit for print, much to the amusement of the drunken Germans. The Englishman had previously told me that he was a member of the Coldstream Guards, and had shown me his silver knobbed cane, on which was engraved the insignia of that regiment. Now, I don’t believe that he ever was a member of that crack body of men, for he constantly harped upon that subject, and every time that he men- tioned the regiment by name, he would throw out his chest. My idea is that he was once a valet to a member of the Coldstream Guards, and that he had stolen the cane from his master. In the argument which now took place between us he dropped the cane, and, as he stooped to pick it up, I gave it a kick which sent it flying under a sofa. He made a rush for it, and, as he did so, I batted him a blow which caught him on his left side; he lost his balance and tumbled over a chair. Recovering himself, he ran at me, and aimed a blow at my face. I ducked, and when he missed me, swung on him, catching him a blow on the mouth. Then we both clinched, he at first having the advantage, but I soon got the upper hand, and was slowly bearing him down to the floor. I had him by the neck, and his strength was fast failing him. Suddenly the lights went out, and there was a momen- tary hush. Then the room began to fill with policemen, who came tumbling into the front room. A voice, which I knew as Schultz’s, spoke in my ear. “Run out of the side door, and to the hotel as quickly as you can. The police are here.” I relinquished my hold on the Englishman and obeyed. As I turned the corner, I saw the white-trousered, blue-coated, helmeted police leading the Englishman away. A whistle blew, which was answered, and I knew that I had been seen. 196 South American Travels A cop sprang out of a doorway and blocked my way. As I ran by him, I put out my foot, and he went down. I had the start, now, by half a block. I turned down a tortuous street, then into another one, ran up a stair- way, and waited till the police had gone by. I then doubled on my tracks, made for an ascensor which was directly across the street, and was soon whisked up into the upper town. Once there, I made all haste to reach the southern part of the city, which took me an hour, because of the darkness. I then descended into the lower town by another ascensor, and made my way to the hotel from the opposite direction. The next morning the Teutophile Chilean happened to be at the depot, and he told me that I need have no fear of being molested, because I was unknown. The Englishman was let go upon payment of a fine. The trip to Santiago is a pleasant one, but rather monotonous, and takes, by express trains, four and a half hours. The foothills are ascended until the valley of the Aconcagua River is reached. This river is long, having its origin from the melting of snows in the Argentine Andes. Fourteen miles from Valparaiso is Quilpué, population 4114. Then twelve miles farther on is San Francisco de Limache, which, with the town of Limache, a mile and a half south of the railroad, contains 8455 inhabitants. Here is the large brewery of Limache- Cousini, whose product took a first prize in the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893. Thirty-six miles from Valparaiso, amidst the extensive vineyards on the sides of the valley, is the pleasantly situated city of Quillota, population 11,449. This town was once the capital of Chile. Calera, popula- tion 4200, is reached seven miles farther on. Here, also, there is a large brewery. This place is the junction for La Serena and Coquimbo. The whole countryside is Valparaiso and Southern Chile 197 beautiful and rich. Sixty miles from Valparaiso is Llai- Llai, the junction for the line of Buenos Aires. The train enters a large covered depot shed, and twenty minutes is allowed for lunch. I have heard travelers say that in few junctions in the world are there such crowds and such animation as in this railroad station. Llai-Liai has 3313 inhabitants, is built on the side of a mountain, and has a round house and car shops. Here the valley that we have been climbing divides itself, the Tabon Creek flowing: into the Aconcagua from the south. It is this Tabon Valley that the train now ascends to its headwaters, a valley of large stock farms, their defines marked with rows of eucalyptus, instead of adobe fences as heretofore. We pass above it, high on the mountainside, and enter several long tunnels. We cross the San Ramon pass at a station named Cumbre, and descend the valley of the san Ramon into a broad dusty plain. After an hour’s traveling over this flat land, the train pulls up into the large new depot of Mapocho, formerly called Mercado, which is nearest to the business section of Santiago. One beautiful morning at half-past seven, we left the Alameda depot at Santiago, with tickets for Concepcion, 359 miles south of the capital. There was a Pullman parlor car on the train, but, before we got on, every seat was taken, so my wife and I were obliged to sit in the smoking compartment of the car. Although the con- ductor told us that we should be able to get seats at San Fernando, we were unable to do so until the train reached Talca at 12.29 P.M. The ride, which is through the popu- lated part of Central Chile, is beautiful, but at this time of the year, dusty and monotonous. The train runs over the floor of a broad level valley in a high state of cultiva- tion, each field separated from its neighbor by rows of Lombardy poplars, planted closely together. These 198 South American Travels poplars were introduced into Chile about fifty years ago from the province of Mendoza, Argentina. There was never any goiter in Mendoza until these trees were im- ported from Italy, and never any in Chile until these trees came from Mendoza. What the relation is between these trees.and goiter I don’t know, but you may form Country Scene, Central Chile your own conclusions. The soil is light brown, and good, but has to be irrigated on account of the dry season, when there is but little precipitation. It does not rain for months at a time during the summer, and, without irriga- tion, the earth would parch; in the winter it rains nearly every day, and the now dried-up rivers are often impassable. The farms in Chile are large, but there is a scarcity of Valparaiso and Southern Chile 199 labor. Immigration has not yet reached here to any great extent. The population of the whole country numbers only three and a half million people, and, because of the wonderful productiveness. of the land, could easily sup- port itself if it were augmented to seven times that num- ber. There exists: a curious agrarian law.-.On every large farm there are houses inhabited by families that go with the land. The head of this family is called an tnquileno. Although he does not own the land he lives upon, nor the house he inhabits, he is given a few acres to cultivate, and to do with them what he pleases. He can absolutely neglect them, if he wants to. In return for this privilege, all he has to do is to furnish the landholder with a laborer called a peon, whom the landholder must pay and feed for services rendered. On the train, there sat next to my wife a Sefiora de Jordan from Santiago. According to the custom of the country, a married woman retains her maiden name along with that of her matrimonial name, the name of her husband coming after her two maiden names. This lady’s maiden name was Swinburn; her father had been a former president of Chile. She gave me her card which read: Anna Swinburn de Jordan. She was going to a farm, near Linares, owned by her husband, who boarded the train at Los Lirios where he had another farm. The lady very kindly invited us to stop off at Linares, and go out to their farm. I regretted that we could not very well do this, for we had already bought our tickets for Concepcion. At Rancagua, capital of the province of O'Higgins, and but an hour’s ride out of Santiago, we caught sight, on our near right, of a smoking volcano. It wasn’t a large one, but the volume of smoke was great, as it was carried in funnel shape out of the mouth of its crater. 200 South American Travels Though not dangerous, I must own up that I felt easier at mind when the train had put more distance between it and us. The mighty snow-capped chain of the South- ern Andes appeared to the left, and continued in view nearly the whole journey. In the dim distance, we could discern another smoking mountain among their peaks. This great central valley of Chile is as broad as the San Joaquin in California, in places; at others, it narrows down to a few miles. It is not the valley of any single river. Instead of running lengthwise in it, rivers cross it in their course tothe ocean. Take acomb as an illus- tration, only let. the tines cross the spine, and you have a good idea of the watercourses of Chile. The spine represents the great central valley, and the tines the numerous small valleys which run at right angles to it, and end at the seacoast. The open spaces between the tines represent the mountain ranges that separate the valleys from each other. The train I was on was an express train, and runs to Concepcion three times a week. Considering the numer- ous stops made, many for five and ten minutes, it did very well to reach Concepcion at 6.30 P.m., eleven hours being taken for the trip. Including stops, the running time was 3234 miles an hour, but when in motion, the speed of the train was between fifty and sixty miles an hour. It ran over a good roadbed, the gauge being broader than the standard gauge in the United States. The cars were of American style and manu- facture, while the locomotive was from Berlin. Most railroads in Chile are owned by the government. The depots in the medium-sized towns are better than ours at home, and the trains run under glass-covered sheds. At Curico, we stopped for lunch, which was good. Shortly after leaving there we came to Talca, which looked large Valparaiso and Southern Chile 201 from the car windows. At the different stations, native women sell the particular handiwork of the natives of that place. At Linares, near which city are the mineral springs of Quinamavida, and Panimavida, they sell small ornamental baskets of reed fiber, closely woven and highly colored. The reed, from which these baskets are woven, is indigenous to this locality. At Chillan, the women sell pottery cups, and dishes, black with ornamental scrolls of pink and white. It.is very dusty in the neigh- borhood of Chillan, and, from the train, the city appeared uninviting. A few miles farther on, the Rio Chillan is crossed by a bridge over a gorge. At San Rosendo, on the Bio-Bio River, the largest in Chile, we leave the valley, and turn coastward. This place is the junction for the railroad that runs to Valdivia, Osorno, and Puerto Montt. We follow the broad Bio-Bio on a ledge over- hanging its north bank. On both sides, the pine-clad hills rise close to the water’s edge, leaving but a paucity of arable land along the river bank. A ride of an hour brings us, first, past a residential section and then past a squalid quarter, to the great red brick depot of Concepcion. A large crowd left the train, which continued to Tal- cahuano. It was Sunday evening. The stores were closed; there were few people on the streets, and as the cab rattled over the uneven cobblestone pavement, the buildings appeared small and desolate. After some time, the semi-drunken cabman, whose breath was wafted back to us occasionally, drew up at the Hotel Waechter- Piola, situated on perhaps the largest plaza in Chile. This hotel is two storeys high, is built over an arcade, and has balconies in front of the windows. To my idea, it is the best hotel on the west coast of South America. We were lucky to get a room, and if I hadn’t reserved 202 South American Travels one by telegraph, we should. have--been obliged to seek other quarters. We were given room. No. 13, but, as it was the only one available, we didn’t make any fuss about the so-called unlucky number. The hotel, as is usual, is built around a patio. In this. patio are the two dining- rooms. One is covered with glass, and the other by an awning. In front of them are the entrance and the office, while, upstairs, are the reading and writing rooms, the sun-parlor, and a long hall over the arcade which faces the plaza. The whole building was clean and well swept; the beds were good. When I went into the room, I found that the beds were not made up to sleep in. The sheets were folded up, so were the blankets and the comforter. When I reported it to the proprietor, Herr Wacchter, he explained that he always had the bedclothes arranged in that fashion so that the guests could see that they were getting clean bedclothes. A laudable scheme. The same night that we arrived, I took a short walk about the city. The cathedral, facing one side of the large plaza, has two very tall towers, far apart on account of the great width of the building. On the plaza is the city hall, a severe building of Colonial architecture, and a large arcade in which is the British South American Bank, and the Hotel Waechter-Piola. A beautiful variety of berry tree, giving abundant shade, borders the tiled walk that crosses the plaza at its center, where there are a fountain and a small pond, while, on the lawn are several trees with a thorny bark, and, taking the place of leaves, thorned spines like that of a cactus; yet the tree is a variety of pine. Concepcion, seen by daylight, does not dispel the impression that it is a dull, sleepy place. There seems to be no life in the streets, yet there is more manufacturing done here than at Valparaiso. The population is esti- Valparaiso and Southern Chile 203 mated at 62,000. According to the Census of 1907, its population was 55,330. It is the headquarters of the Third Army Corps, contains a public library, a museum, twelve Reman Catholic and three Protestant churches, six convents, an institute of technology, a univer- sity, two normal schools, an agricultural college, eleven public schools for males, eleven for females, nine where both sexes attend, an American college, a German one, besides many parochial institutes of instruction. By this one can see that the city is a center of learn- ing. Like most Chilean cities, Concepcion is very clean in the neighborhood of the main business section, but the outskirts are filthy. I saw a dead dog stretched stiff on its back beneath the portals of the Bank of Chile. I saw swarms of fleas, and Talcahuano, the sea- port, reeks with filth. I picked up a morning newspaper and read that the bubonic plague had broken. out afresh in Antofagasta, a city that is far cleaner than Concepcion. I wondered if it existed here, but was given a negative reply to my inquiry; however, I was sceptical. Concep- cion is said to be the cleanest city in Chile. That is not saying much. No city could be any cleaner than the show part, but I happened to pass through a few back streets in the course of a walk. La Serena is the only town, on the whole west coast of South America, that I could truthfully call clean. Concepcion is well laid out. It is built like most American cities, where the flatness of the ground permits, in square blocks, the streets inter- secting each other at right angles. The main street runs from the depot past the west side of the Plaza Indepen- dencia. It is pamed Calle Barros Arana. The other principal streets are Calles O’Higgins, Maipu, and Caupo- lican. The business is in the hands of the Germans, of whom there is a resident population of 4000. They live 204 South American Travels in the suburbs on the right bank of the Bio-Bio. There is a brewery owned by a German named Keller, who also owns another one at Talca. All the buildings are of red brick. Most are plastered over, but many are not. This would give the city the appearance of a North German town if the Spanish style of architecture did not prevail. Concepcion somewhat resembles Santiago in the fact that here there are but few saloons. In other respects it does not at all resemble the latter. Besides the Hotel Waechter-Piola there is another good hotel in the city, the Hotel de France. Unfortunately, it is poorly located, for it is directly across the street from the depot, a good half-mile from the plaza, around which all life centers. It has a glass-roofed patio bordered on all sides by bal- conies, from which the rooms open. This hotel has a bar-room, a necessity that the Hotel Waechter has not. The third hotel is the Visconti, a low edifice on a side street uptown. It was once the leading hotel, but after the other two were built, it had to take a back seat. Directly west of the city lies the Parque Ecuador, abounding in statuary. From here, a winding path runs in zigzags upwards to the summit of the pine-clad hills. My wife and I took a walk on this road. Itisa popular walk, and we met many people, mostly Germans, out for a pleasant afternoon. Nearly everybody had one or more dogs, and, from the number that I saw in Concepcion and Talcahuano, I estimate that the canine population exceeds the human in the province. The view from the summit is glorious. The Bio-Bio widening to a great breadth as it approaches the ocean, and spanned by an iron railroad bridge, appears to the left. To the west rises the hilly promontory, at whose feet nestles filthy Talcahuano. To the north, on the right, is the Valparaiso and Southern Chile 205 ocean, and far away is Penco, a favorite bathing resort. Behind, in the interior, rises, tier upon tier, the unin- habited wooded hills. Arrived at the summit, my wife wanted to return to the city by another path, and after a descent for a quarter of a mile, the very steep footpath led intoa deep ravine. We had followed this for some dis- tance, when we discovered that the path suddenly left the ravine and ascended the side of the opposite mountain, and had only descended as far as it did so as to afford an easy crossing to the ravine. The underbrush was very thick, and with difficulty we returned, climbing up the path that was so easy to run down. Suddenly, a rifle-shot rang out from the opposite mountainside, and a singing bullet clipped the leaves less than a yard in front of me. We had been shot at. What motive the maniac had to fire at us is beyond my apprehension; it was nearer than we had ever come to being plucked off, and it was with haste and under cover that we retraced the rest of our way to the summit and the wagon road. One day, I took a trolley ride to the port of Talcahuano, which is about nine miles away. It has a better harbor than Valparaiso, yet it is far from being perfect. The dirty place has 26,000 inhabitants, and consists, princi- pally, of one long street that circles the base of a hill. It is one of the vilest ports that I have ever seen. Those buildings which are occupied by foreign agencies are good, but the streets in front of them are littered with filth of all descriptions. The stench of the malarial marshes, combined with that of oil, offal, and imperfect sewage, renders the air obnoxious. Dogs lay on the sidewalk, and the dust was suffocation. Payta, Salaverry, and Mollendo, are but small places, and are scarcely habit- able. Talcahuano is a city with some fine buildings, and does a brisk trade, yet its sanitary condition is no 206 South American Travels better than that of those God-forsaken Peruvian ports. There were a few men-of-war in the harbor, but they were out too far to see well. The only pretty spot in the town is the plaza. In the city there was more life on the streets than at Concepcion, yet I was glad to be again on the electric car returning to the latter city. Both Concepcion and Talcahuano have double-decked trolley cars, orange brown in color. The interurban cars are similar to those in the United States. Different from in Santiago and Valparaiso, the conductors here are men. Concepcion recently invested in a new fire engine. It is the great delight of the firemen to bring it out nights on the main street, blow a lot of horns, which makes sleep impossible, and to the interest of hundreds of people, squirt water high into the air, letting it fall back onto the pavement, and douche the pedestrians who are unfor- tunate enough to walk by while these maneuvers are going on. The fireman’s uniform, which is very “nifty,” consists of white trousers, a helmet also of white, and black-braided, dark maroon coats. I don’t think it would look so trim after a severe ducking. The trip to Valdivia is an all-day one, beginning at 5 A.M.; this makes the Hotel de France, because of its prox- imity to the depot, better adapted for passing the night, since the traveler is obliged to rise so early. It is scarcely light when the accommodation train pulls out of the station shed, and the sun is not far up on the eastern horizon when San Rosendo is reached. One car, a day coach, is labeled Temuco, and, in this we take our seats, so as not to be taken by mistake through San Rosendo in the direction of Santiago. The other cars in the train are labelled Chillén and Alameda, this last word denoting the station in Santiago at which they arrive. The parlor car was one of these. There was Valparaiso and Southern Chile 207 not much switching at San Rosendo, and we got away before the train for the north did. Here were coupled to our train a sleeping car from Santiago and two day coaches for Valdivia. We leave the Bio-Bio on our right and enter a flat grassy plain without a tree in sight, and travel over this for miles. Fat cattle roam over the level plain, browsing in knee-high grass, while, lying against a saddle on the ground, a peon idly watches them, his horse being tethered to the pommel. The mountains approach nearer on both sides; the coast range is higher than in the north, and is called the Cordillera de Nahuelbuta. Santa Fé, the first station of importance from San Rosendo, is the junction for Angeles, the capital of Bio-Bio, a dirty town where there was an epidemic of typhoid fever. A locomotive and one coach were waiting to take to the metropolis of the province the animated throng on the station platform. Angeles is noted for the fine strawberries that are grown in the neighborhood. All this flat land through which we are passing was once the private property of Don Pedro de Valdivia, 40,000 acres granted him by the King of Spain. This man founded in 1550 the city that is named after him; he had a quarrel with his Araucanian horse boy, Lautaro, who ran away and incited the Indians to revolt against Valdivia. In the battle, Valdivia was killed, quartered, and legend has it that he was eaten, but this is doubtful, for the Araucanians were not of a canni- balistic nature. This warlike tribe has always lived south of the Bio-Bio, but their invasions led as far north as the Aconcagua River. South of the Bio-Bio they exist to-day, but in much smaller numbers than before, as liquor has depopulated their ranks. In stature they are nearly the same size as the Caucasian; their lips are thick, and their nostrils wide; their moustaches and chin beards 208 South American Travels are scanty, but straight and black, and their hair, which grows thick, is also black. They area finely put together set of men, peaceful when left alone, but bad customers when aggressed. The Chileans owe their warlike ten- dencies not alone to their salubrious climate, but also to the people with whom they have come in contact. Con- stant wars with the Araucanians long ago imbued in them a spirit akin to that of the aborigines. Then came quar- rels with Spain and revolutions, a war with Peru and Bolivia, and, at the present day, though inferior in popu- lation to other South American countries, Chile’s army is the strongest, not only on account of numbers, but on account of the class of men. Near the village of Collipulli, the pasture land suddenly comes to an end at a deep ravine, over which the railroad crosses on a five-span iron bridge, the Puente de Malleco, high above the little river of the same name. Here begins a curious change in the landscape, for, at this very bridge, the forest region begins. The north slopes of this Malleco canyon are covered with short grass and are absolutely treeless; the south side is covered with vegeta- tion and a few trees. Level ground again regained, the trees appear at fast-increasing intervals, until the whole country presently becomes a jungle, the Montana de Victoria as it is called. The land becomes hilly, and charred stumps appear, the relics of forest fires, a great wilderness of bleached tree trunks and dead timber. When anybody wants to clear land, he sets fire to the virgin forest, and, though he attains his own ends, he wastes countless thousands of dollars’ worth of standing timber. I do not believe that there is any law against this nearly criminal procedure. These charred stumps stretch across the whole province of Cautin, of which Temuco is the capital. This is the largest and fastest Valparaiso and Southern Chile 209 growing town in Southern Chile. Its population is about 25,000 with a large German element and many Indians. It is rather a clean place, but uninteresting, as I could see by the hour that I put in there, while the train stopped for refreshments. There is a dining-room at the depot, but most of the passengers rushed across the road to a hotel which, they claimed, put up a better table. The best stores are owned by Germans, and the words over them are printed both in German and in Spanish. The Cautin River is crossed, and a railroad follows its left bank to the ocean, passing the town of Nueva Imperial, a city that has grown up since the sack of the original town of Imperial by the Araucanians, and which was one of the wealthiest and oldest in the country. Soon the charred stumps give way to pine trees, and the mountains approach on the east, coming down to the railroad track. The underbrush is a thicket of ferns with the omnipresent fuchsia plant, and a flower that resembles edelweiss. There are no towns, but, at the stations and in the clearings, piles of cord wood can be seen. The country is well watered by small streams crossed by wooden bridges; and corduroy roads,take the place of the dirt ones. The Calle-Calle River is crossed just before we arrive at Antilhue, where one must change cars for Osorno, a growing town in the province of Llanquihue. By taking a construction train from Osorno, Puerto Montt can be reached, but, as yet, there are no through trains. The railroad to Puerto Montt skirts the west shore of Lake Llanquihue, where there is an ancient German settlement, and where Chilean-born people of German extraction, with no other ancestors but Teutons, can talk only Spanish. They have German names, and their faces and figures denote their northern origin. It is as if they had been picked out of the fields of Schwerin 14 210 South American Travels and Pomerania and dropped down here; but yet not a word of their native tongue can they talk. This state of affairs applies only to those residents of the rural districts, whose scope of worldly travels is narrowed down to a short horizon. Now, the advent of the railroad will change this, and the inhabitants of the Lake Llanquihue region brought in connection with the outside world, will consider it an accomplishment to be able to converse in the language of the Vaterland, and will not forget it. From Puerto Montt, where often there are a hurricane and a sea that blows vessels on the shore, a steamer plies to Ancud, on the Island of Chiloe, capital of a province of the same name. From Antilhue to Valdivia the railroad runs due west, following the south bank of the Calle-Calle. The moun- tains have disappeared, for we cannot see them through the evergreen of the forest. When the train pulled up at the depot of Valdivia, I thought that I was back again in the Empire of Kaiser Wilhelm II., for, on the platform, a brass band was playing, and long-coated, black-clothed Germans were hurrying along the platform, wearing over their shoulders red bands denoting a Schuetzen Verein. Not a word of Spanish was spoken on the street, and, at the Hotel Central, where Herr Waechter of Concepcion had told us to go, the proprietor tried to talk to us in execrable Spanish, but gave it up as a bad job. Even the bill of fare is printed in German, and Carl is the name of the fellow who waited on our table. The hotel, built of cement, is small, but good; the quilt on the bed in our room was a multi-colored affair of patches of silk. My wife had a headache, caused by the long trip, so I decided to explore the city on my own hook; but, as a heavy rain had set in, it was impossible for me to step out, since I had just left my umbrella by mistake on the train, for the IID ‘ooaTTBIN ep a}ueNg 211 Valparaiso and Southern Chile 213 second time since coming to South America. As I stood in the entrance, the proprietor approached me and said: “T understand that your wife lost some diamond earrings in Concepcion.” I was floored at this, for she had lost a diamond pend- ant there, but had found it again, but I couldn’t under- stand how this man came to hear of it. I asked him how he knew. He smiled, and said that news travels quickly in Chile. I wasn’t satisfied, and literally forced him to give me ananswer. It transpired that he received a letter that morning from Herr Waechter, telling him we were coming, and to give us a good room. The letter also went on to relate about the fright that we had given him, when my wife thought that her diamonds were stolen. When we arrived, this proprietor hadn’t recognized us as the party referred to in the letter, but, after we had written our names in the register, he had connected the link. While in Concepcion, I had gone to our room and had found my wife on the verge of hysteria, crying that her diamond pendant had been stolen. After I had quieted her, I had asked her to think of the places in the hotel she had been in, and among them she had mentioned the toilet room. I had then told her to go there and look. In the meantime I had notified the proprietor, Herr Waech- ter, an elderly German, who, upon hearing the news, had been taken with an attack of heart trouble, he being subject to that complaint, which fortunately was not bad this time. On returning to the room, shortly after- wards, I had found, to my great relief, and also to Herr Waechter’s, that my wife had found her pendant in the toilet room; and there was great rejoicing. That worthy German had written this to his friend who ran the Hotel Central, and so the news was ahead of me in Valdivia. The town of Valdivia, the most important one south of 214 South American Travels Concepcion, though not so large as Temuco, is strictly Teutonic, the Germans forming the bulk of the popula- tion. Chile formerly encouraged German immigration, but the bulk that came settled in the southern part, and became so numerous and clannish, that, a short while ago, the government began to grow anxious lest they should become too prominent, and that the Vater- land should, at some future time, have designs upon the country. Brazil has the same fears. Nearly every word that one hears in the streets is German, and it is not un- common to hear the native Chileans in Valdivia speaking German with great fluency to the Teutonic merchants. The largest brewery in Chile, and which puts up the next worst brew in the country to that of Calera, is owned by Anwandter Sons & Company. It is the favorite beer of Chile, and is sold on the ships as far as Panama. Valdivia is a very lively commercial place, but is not pretty, and is uninteresting. It was, formerly, built entirely of wood, but, in 1909, a conflagration destroyed the whole city, which is fast being rebuilt of a kind of cement named ferro-concrete, in order to prevent a repetition. The villas of the rich, on both sides of the river, are mainly built of timber, with red tile roofs, and are, in architecture, like the Swiss chalets. There are a nice plaza and a handsome Lutheran church. The streets were badly torn up as a new sewage system was in course of construction, but the streets that were not being re- paired were crudely paved with planks, like those of a lumber town in the United States. The second and the third day we were in Valdivia, it rained all day in torrents, thereby preventing our taking a trip in a launch to the port, Corral. No wonder that it is a common report in Santiago that it rains every day in the year in Valdivia. I was told that this was the first Valparaiso and Southern Chile 215 rain they had had in three weeks, but that at Puerto Montt it rains much more frequently. We decided to wait another day and, if it still rained, to return north. Fortunately, the sun came out, and we boarded the large launch which took us down the narrows of the Calle-Calle, past its junction with the Rio Cruces, into what is called the Boca de Valdivia, a wood-skirted, entirely landlocked bay, with forested mountains coming down to the very water’s edge. There is, in the Boca, a mountainous island named the Isla del Rey, which looked very invit- ing in the sunlight. An hour’s travel brought us to Cor- ral, nestling at the foot of the Monte Gonzale. The hills here have been denuded of trees, but the green under- brush still exists; this is dark and cool as seen from the deck of the launch. The town is small, the only industry besides seafaring being an iron works owned by a French company. There areacouple of gray and bleak fortresses, now in ruins, the last stand, in Chile, of the Spaniards who were forced to surrender under the heavy fire of Cochrane’s guns. Lumber is piled up on the wharves, ready for shipment for Antofagasta and Iquique, but it is an expensive operation to bring lumber to this port from the interior, owing to the lack of a railroad, and the tiver between here and Valdivia is so shallow that heavily laden craft are apt to go aground. In fact, on our return trip, we went aground twice, once for fifteen minutes, on the meandering course of the Calle-Calle. It would not be difficult to built a railroad from Valdivia to the port; the engineering feat would be equivalent of that of the West Shore Railroad on the Hudson River, and Corral needs one badly. It would greatly increase Valdivia’s trade. Leaving the chief German city on the. west coast of South America one night in the sleeping car, I was awak- 216 South American Travels ened the next morning by the shunting of the cars at San Rosendo, at the same time in the morning at which I ar- rived there on my southward trip from Concepcion. Some Calle Barros Arana, Concepcion years ago I read a book named Around the World on the Yacht “Sunbeam.” The author had _ visited the cities of Chill4n and Talca, and had described them so well that I had determined to visit them, so as to form a comparison between the way they looked Valparaiso and Southern Chile 217 to-day and the way they had looked at the time the book was written fifty years ago; therefore my ticket had been bought to Chillan, capital of the province of Nuble. Street Scene, Chillan Chillan is a city of 34,000 inhabitants, the center of an onion- and carrot-growing country. It is also a great stock’ and hay market, and, although it lies in one of the best agricultural districts of the republic, its recent growth has been very slight. The first impression as one leaves 218 South American Travels the railroad station is bad; the pavement, on the long, dusty street, is poor; the buildings are squalid, the double- decked horse-car is antiquated, and even the facade of the Street Scene, Chillan Hotel de France, the best hostelry, is unprepossessing. This hotel is a large, low, building with a frame front, painted a dark yellow. It is really a first-class house, under the.management of Monsieur Pierre Heguy, who is so economical that he never will buy his guests a drink, Valparaiso and Southern Chile 219 although he will readily imbibe all that his guests are willing to buy for him. At the hotel entrance, the first unfavorable impression is dispelled. There are two Street Scene, Chillan patios in the front part, onto which the guests’ rooms open. Behind the left-hand patio is the bar, and, still behind that, a third patio. The room we had was to the right of the entrance, with windows opening onto the street. It was, undoubtedly, the best in the hotel. It 220 South American Travels was well furnished, and carpeted; paintings hung on the wall. A very attentive mozo of advanced years waited upon us, and was the acme of politeness, for, when he left Calle de Robles, Chillan the room, he walked out backwards, with much scraping of feet and bowing. I had a few hours remaining before lunch, and, con- cluding that the best way to spend them would be to see the town, left the hotel and went to the Plaza de Armas, Valparaiso and Southern Chile 221 commonly known by its real name, the Plaza O’Higgins. This beautiful park is old, and is shaded by stately elms. Paths radiate from the center like spokes of a wheel, Calle de Arauco, Chillan paved with octagonal tiles. It is the most beautiful plaza, or small park, that I have ever seen, no place in the world excepted. The postoffice, a new red brick build- ing, with white sandstone trimmings, faces one side of this plaza; likewise the city hall. The other sides are given 222 South American Travels up to places of business and to a half-completed brick church. This church must have been begun ages ago, for tufts of grass and hay grew from its unfinished exterior piers. Its interior contains a huge bronze-colored, plaster- of-Paris statue of Christ, in the middle of the aisle, and its wooden ceiling, painted dull blue, is adorned with painted pictures of the apostles. There is a café on this Street Scene, Chillan plaza, whose patio is entirely shaded by a giant grape vine. The trunk rises to a height of about twelve feet, and then shoots out its branches at right angles into a vine which decks an area fifty by twenty-five feet in size. From the Plaza O’Higgins, a business street, Calle de Arauco, leads southward, and is intersected at right angles by other business streets, the principal one being Calle de Robles. One of these streets leads to an immense open market, where are for sale some of the finest vege- tables imaginable, onions taking the first rank. Hay, Valparaiso and Southern Chile 223 grain, pottery, charcoal fans, and even homemade beds, are here on sale. A large, square-towered brick church faces this market. It is, also, not finished, and, like the other one, seems to have been under construction for a long time. Its stone steps are worn down at the center by the tramp of many feet, yet the floor is of wood, and the ceiling, also of the same material, is but temporary. Street Scene, Chillan In its neighborhood are stores, which deal only in the trappings of horses. Chill4n is famous for its manufac- ture of black pottery, preéminent in which is a curious drinking-cup with two handles. A military band played that night in the hotel patzo in front of our room, and, later on, in the plaza. Afterwards I engaged in conversation with the proprietor in the bar- room. From him, I learned that, in Chile, eggs are dear, costing in winter as much as four pesos (80c.) a dozen in Santiago. The cheapest they ever get is one peso seventy- 224 South American Travels five centavos (35c.) a dozen in the country, and that, in October, which corresponds to our April, the hens lay the best. A certain variety of hen lays an egg of a bluish white, greatly resembling our duck eggs. In some respects the Chilean hens are like those of California, in that they are not as good layers as the hens of the Eastern States. South America compares to North America in that respect, Market Place, Chillan © for in the countries east of the Andes, Argentina, and Uruguay, the hens lay about the same number of eggs a month as those do east of the,Rockies. During the night, the milk soured in the pantry, and the waiters had to go out and buy some more. This caused a delay, and angered some of the guests, who left the table without their coffee and threatened to go.to another hotel. In a small town I don’t believe that, during my entire trip in South America, with the exception of Petropolis, Brazil, I saw as much style displayed on :the streets as in Chillan. Valparaiso and Southern Chile 225 The inhabitants have a reputation of being wealthy, and all indications would show that this is true. The im- pression of the city, as seen from the windows of a fleeting railroad train, and that of the long street that leads to the Plaza O’Higgins, does an injustice to the city, which is a particularly pleasant, though none too clean a town. It is my favorite of all the smaller Chilean cities. Old Church, Chillan ‘A long day’s ride by carriage across the dusty plain, and then through the cool and narrow canyons of the Andes, past the Gruta del Leon, or Grotto of the Lion, where there is a double waterfall, past the small town of Pinto and the village of Posada, the former lying on the plain, and the latter in the foothills, will bring one to the famous Termas de Chillan, hot sulphur springs said to be beneficial for rheumatism. Here, at the foot of the Volcano Chillan, 9438 feet high, the owner has built a crude summer hotel, with bathing houses and a swimming pool which are renowned all over the republic. 15 226 South American Travels The three hours’ ride from Chilla4n to Talca is devoid of interest. It lies through a dry, uncultivated country, Street Scene, Talca strewn with many boulders, and intersected by many creeks and streams, the largest of which is the Maule, considered in Chile a great river. This land can be brought under cultivation as the soil is good, but Chile has not Valparaiso and Southern Chile 20% yet enough population to settle all her productive land. A half-hour’s stop is made at Parral, for lunch, which was Street Scene, Talca abominable. I choked on a fish-bone, and wished I hadn’t eaten. Parral is the junction for Cauquenes, the capital of the province of Maule. An Englishman on the train asked me what was manufactured at Talca. As I didn’t 228 South American Travels know, I told him that talcum powder came from there, and he was chump enough to believe it. _Talca, the capital of the province of Talca, is the sixth Street Corner, Talca city in Chile, and has a population of 38,000 inhabitants; only Santiago, Valparaiso, Concepcion, Iquique, and Antofagasta having a larger population, the last men- tioned city having recently passed Talca in numbers. It is famous as the final resting-place of the bones of Don Valparaiso and Southern Chile 229 Quixote de La Mancha which were removed to this place; and the inhabitants like to style themselves as quixo- tic, although they are, by nature, proud and jealous. I, Main Street of Talca, Chile however, met a bunch here that were very friendly, and, though I didn’t like the town, I liked the people I met. It turned out, however, that my chance acquaintances were Spaniards who had recently drifted in here from Europe. The city was founded, in 1692, by Tomas 230,—C South American Travels Martin de Poveda, then Governor of Chile. It possesses Plaza, Talca a few factories, none of them of enough importance or large enough to affect materially the growth of the city. Valparaiso and Southern Chile 231 It has three match factories, three cloth factories, two Street Scene, Santiago brickyards, a brewery, a university, which is one of the best in the republic, a normal school, an institute of 232 South American Travels technology, an agricultural college, a professional ‘school for girls, five soap factories, a cart works, a carriage works, and a corset factory. The streets, strange to say, for a Latin town, are known by numbers. There is a First Street North, a First Street South, a First Street East, Termas de Chillén, Southern Chile and a First Street, West, and so forth. One hour is amply sufficient to see all there is to see, so unworthy of interest is the town; yet I stayed there for twenty-four hours. It is over a mile from the depot to the retail section. The way leads down a long, narrow street, around a small park, and into a continuation of the same street on the other side of the park. The Hotel Talca is a pleasant, clean building, two Valparaiso and Southern Chile 225 storeys high, enclosing the inevitable patio. In a rear patio the meals are served. The rooms are comfortable. but, unfortunately, the bell in mine was out of commission, and I had to hunt up the servants every time I wanted anything done. Most of the streets were torn up, as a new sewer was being laid. The same thing was being done at Chillan, and, it seems, nothing can be done in any one of these two towns without the other doing the same thing. They are fierce rivals. The day was dreadfully hot and dusty, while the sun, beating down on the white buildings, caused a glare that was nearly blinding. There is a large plaza on which is a graceful cathedral. It contains a species of yew tree, trimmed to a dome shape, and which is the pride of the residents. On one of the walks through this plaza was a board sign which read translated in English: ‘It is forbidden to pick flowers.” On its reverse, however, were painted, by order of the Park Commission, the words: “‘Do not urinate on the paths.” From Talca to Santiago the distance is 159 miles, and it took the accommodation train seven hours to make the trip, the high speed of nearly twenty-three miles per hour being attained. We had lunch at San Fernando, capital of the province of Colchagua; it was of a very poor quality. The only good railroad eating-house on this line is at Curico, where we had lunch on our south-bound trip. San Fernando was in a furore of excitement, be- cause, the day before, some army officers had been experi- menting with a new kind of explosive of native and local manufacture, which they named chilena. This had un- expectedly gone off and had killed a captain, three lieu- tenants, and a soldier, besides wounding numerous other people. Between Rengo and Rancagua, we noticed the volcano that had been smoking about twelve days pre- 234 South American Travels viously. It had evidently got tired of its job, for it was now not in the emitting stage. Thirty-seven miles south of Santiago is the hamlet of Angostura, but not of the “‘bitters’’ fame. Many beautiful country houses are passed between here and the capital, especially in the neighborhood of San Bernardo, which is also connected with Santiago by a trolley line. 2 CHAPTER IX SANTIAGO HERE are three railroad stations in Santiago, those of Alameda, Yungai, and Mapocho. The first named is an immense old building with a glass-covered railroad shed on the Avenida de las Delicias, over two miles west of the business section of the city. This always has been, and is to-day, the most important rail- road station of the city. The Yungai station is a small affair in the western suburb of the city, and is at a junc- tion where the railroads fork to Alameda and Mapocho. Mapocho, a new station, and, next to the Luz station at Sao Paulo, the finest in South America, is near the busi- ness section, and, although it is the most convenient, it is secondary to Alameda, for all trains, many of which are limiteds don’t enter it. The old depot that formerly stood here was called Mercado, owing to its proximity to the market, but the name has been recently changed to Mapocho, for it lies on the river of that name, along whose banks the tracks lie. Take the letter Y, with the left arm longer than the right one; call the junction Yungai, the termination of the left arm, Mapocho, and the ter- mination of the right arm, Alameda, and you will have a good idea of the location of the depots of Santiago. Pas- sengers about to depart for other towns should not fail 235 236 South American Travels to inquire from which depot their train starts; by doing so, they will save themselves the inconvenience of getting left. It is advisable to buy a railroad guide. These can only be purchased at the depots. Santiago is laid out on a great and grand scale. The blocks are square, and there are numerous parks, plazas, National Library, Santiago and esplanades. The Mapocho, spanned by ten traffic- and one railroad-bridge, divides the city into unequal parts, the north side being the smaller of the two. Three more traffic-bridges are in process of construction. The city is incorporated tightly, so that it is impossible for the observer in his strolls to know whether he has passed the city limits or not. In the incorporation every avail- able space is built upon, so the only thing for the city to Santiago 237 do in order to increase its population is to annex its suburbs. The population of the city proper is 375,000; with its suburbs it. probably numbers 450,- ooo. It is in size, the fourth city in South Amer- ica, and, owing to its fine buildings, the business section, residences, and the grand scale upon which Quinta Normal, Santiago it is built it could easily pass for.a larger city than it is. Rg eee oy a On leaving the station at Mapocho, the aspect that is placed before one is not pleasing. There isa broad, poorly paved square, from which leads a dusty street, nearly as broad as the square, bordered on one side by the river, and on the other by wretched hovels. Presently, one of the main streets, Calle del’ Puente, is entered, so narrow 238 South American Travels that carriages can drive on it only in one direction. The buildings become imposing, the Plaza de Armas is reached, and we continue down the same street, which, beyond the ~ plaza, goes by the name of Ahumada. We were advised ‘to go to the Hotel Oddo, as we had been told that it was Government House, Santiago the best in the city. It was a wretched hole of a hostelry, the worst that I stopped at in South America, except- ing the ones at Asuncion and Sado Paulo, and a few in some of the small towns. It is run bya middle-aged French- woman and her bung-eyed daughter. It is a large establish- ment on the top floors of some business blocks, the office being reached by an elevator which never runs when you want it. The rooms are fair, but have an outlook on the Santiago 239 corrugated iron roofs of some shops, and on the un- washed glass ‘of the top of an arcade. Mosquitoes abound, and make life unendurable, while one’s sleep is disturbed by the squealing of rats as they run over the corrugated iron. The prices are awful, higher than Cathedral and Archbishopric, Santiago those of Buenos Aires, which is famous as a city of ex- pensive hotels. A real live manager is badly needed, one who can speak some other language besides Spanish. The only thing at the Oddo that I found worth paying for were the bedbugs, and I would pay without grumbling if some of these would bite up the daughter of the proprietress, on account of the bum way in which she runs the place. The elevator 240 South American Travels is sadly antiquated, and is allowed only to carry six hundred pounds. Sometime when it is filled up, a sud- den drop will be the result, as the ropes are nearly worn out. Guests arriving at the hotel are obliged to carry up their hand-baggage, as there is no elevator bell at the entrance, and the porters have no means of knowing when anybody comes. The proprietress must be a very studi- ous woman, or else her dead son was, whose large portrait hangs on the wall over her desk, an intelligent-looking young man, snatched by the Reaper on the verge of manhood, for countless maps decorate the walls of the corridors, reading and writing rooms. These maps are sectional ones of Chile, published by the government, maps of foreign countries, plans of cities, and blueprints of railroad lines under survey. There are some fine rooms at the Oddo, but I understand that these only are given to Frenchmen who get them at the same rate that other transients pay for inferior ones. The food is abominable, and the service wretched. Because my wife and I drank at dinner time three small bottles of Vichy Celestins, each bottle equivalent in size to an ordinary glass, the uncouth waiter set up such a loud guffaw that it was heard all over the dining-room. ; There is, in the neighborhood, another hotel, named Hotel de France. I am unable to pass judgment on its merits, having never been there, and not knowing any- body who has ever stopped there. It is, however, given a ranking along with the Oddo in the circulars some of the steamship lines get out. It is on the Plaza de Armas, above an arcade named the Portal Fernans. At the Oddo, we ran across Dr. Aughinbaugh, of White Rock fame, and his wife. He greeted me by the news: “You had an awfully narrow escape in Valparaiso. For three days the police looked all over for you, and Receiving Vault, General Cemetery, Santiago 241 16 Santiago 243 then telegraphed to Santiago. Where were you all the time?” “T was in the interior on a trip.’”’ I answered him. “Tt’s a good thing you were. Mr. Kehle, the proprietor of the Royal, at Valparaiso, even looked up the American Minister in your behalf, thinking that any time you would be arrested.” Shortly afterwards, I met the young German doctor who was bound to send me to the hospital in La Paz. As I was talking to him, a young Mexican, Sefior Chavez with whom I had become acquainted in Lima, approached me and said: “T congratulate you on being in Santiago. You made quite a stir when you assaulted the policemen in Valpa- raiso, and got away with it. As far as I know, they are still looking for you there.” “T never assaulted any policemen, ’’ I retorted. ‘“‘Just tripped up one as he was about to arrest me.” “You're lucky just the same; and I admire your nerve for remaining in Santiago when the wires have been hot between the two cities on the watch out for you. The German with whom you were got drunk again in Valparaiso and told who you were, and where you were stopping, so they are on to you. You had better change your name. They have all kinds of charges trumped up against you: resisting an officer; assault with intent to do great bodily harm; sedition; causing a disturbance; disrespect for the majesty of the law, and I don’t know what else. Anyway it’s money they are looking out for, and if you cough up _ about $20 apiece to three or four head officials, if you are unfortunate enough to be arrested here, you'll get out of it all right.” Dr. Aughinbaugh was up to his old tricks again. He had hired the table waiters to bring the guests White 244 South American Travels Rock when anybody ordered any mineral water, having instructed them to say that the particular kind they ordered was out of stock. One of the guests knew differ- ently, for he had just seen in the servants’ pantry some full bottles of Panimavida, which he had ordered, and he gave his waiter an awful calling down about it. The menial laid the blame on the doctor, and the guest re- Street in Santiago, Showing Modern Character of Buildings Municipal Theater on Left ported the latter to the bung-eyed girl. I never heard the outcome. The Plaza de Armas is a beautiful place. It reminds me of well-kept parks in the United States. It is a grassy plot of ground, and not overdone by being planted with every conceivable variety of tree or shrub, or filled with statuary. All plazas vary. That of Chilla4n, the most beautiful of all, is a mass of giant trees, whose foliage is so thick that it forms a canopy which is never pierced by the sun’s rays. That of Talca is given up to allegorical Santiago 245 statuary; those of Mollendo and Oruro are paved entirely with colored tiles, with an occasional place for a small tree; the plazas of Lima and Arequipa consist of ornamental flower-beds laid out in odd designs. Here in Santiago, the plaza is natural like a beautiful lawn, and to walk across it in the early morning when the dew is still on the grass and leaves, smell the odor of the blossoms, ‘and listen to Beautiful Senate Building of the Chilean Metropolis the singing of the birds on the tree limbs, brings one’s thoughts to asummer morning in another continent. Two sides, the south and east, are bounded by large arcaded buildings named, respectively, the Portales Fernans and MacClure. On the north side are the city, state- house, and post-office. They are all built up against - each other, with no intervening space, and take up the length of a whole block. The state-house is a large square brick building plastered over and painted yellow; the 246 South American Travels city hall is of the same color, and is surmounted by a tall artistic tower. In this building are the government telegraph offices. The post-office is inferior to that of Calle Augustinas, Santiago Lima, and, although it resembles the latter in architecture, and is new, yet, for the amount of business done, it is sorely inadequate. The whole western side of the plaza is given up to the cathedral and the palace of the archbishop. Santiago 247 The cathedral, the richest in interior finish, and the wealthiest church in South America, is not nearly as imposing as those of Lima and of Arequipa. I have been Calle Augustinas, Santiago told that Cuzco. has a great church, but have never been there. Although this cathedral of Santiago looks im- posingly large, when seen from the street, it can easily be put inside of that of Lima, and there would then be room to spare. That of Lima is grand and lofty. This 248 South American Travels one at Santiago is highly decorative and contains most beautiful mural decorations, such as can be afforded only in churches of wealth. It is surmounted by two small towers, and crowned with a dome. The whole building has recently been replastered on its exterior. The arch- bishop’s palace is a beautiful edifice, three stories high, and is far better than the palaces of certain European monarchs. Though most Chileans are Roman Catholics, freedom of belief is tolerated. The church receives an annual stipend of $500,000 from the government, but I understand that this is going to cease. While I was there, the government was talking of confiscating the church lands and closing the monasteries. There are seventy-nine Catholic churches in Santiago, and some of them are beautiful and very wealthy. The most important are San Domingo and San Augustin, patronized by wealthy parishioners. The convents and monasteries are like- wise many, and are of various orders. Some of these religious institutions obtain their funds by running a lottery—a most practical financial system—which is a better way to obtain their ends than by begging, as the . churches in the United States are accustomed to do. On the 8th of December, 1862, there happened in this city one of the greatest fires ever recorded in church annals. Nearly five hundred people perished in the flames when the church of La Compafiia burned during mass. Santiago is divided into ten wards; besides this there are eight suburban wards over which the police have jurisdiction and which are included in the metropoli- tan political district. The names of the urban wards are: I. Santa Lucia, II. Santa Ana, III. Portales, IV. Estacion, V. Cafiadilla, VI. Recoleta, VII. Maestranza, VIII. Universidad, IX. San Lazaro, X. Parque Cousifio. The suburban wards are: XI. Barrancas, XII. Renca, Santiago 249 XIII. Recoleta, XIV. Las Condes, XV. Providencia, XVI. Nufioa, XVII. San Miguel, XVIII. Maipi. The main streets of the city have, as a rule, original and euphonious sounding names. They are Estado, Ahumada, Bandera, and their intersectors, Compafiia, Huerfanos, and Augustinas. Here in the shops can be purchased all the articles that are obtainable in any large city, excepting smelling salts and patent medicines. Some of the stores are of the department type. The banks are large and are in the hands of the Germans; this is about the only enterprise in which Ger- mans are engaged in the national capital, as the Teutonic population is small. Of the Europeans, the Spaniards and the Frenchmen predominate, and although Santiago is twice as large as Valparaiso, her foreign element is only about one quarter as great. A native business man told me that the Germans were unable to compete with the Chileans in Santiago as in Valparaiso and Con- cepcion, because all the leading firms are old established houses, and have always treated their customers so well that they are loath to trade in other places, no matter how much more modern the business methods of the latter. This experiment has been tried several times, and the newcomers have been forced to go to the wall. Although many of the firms rival the Yankee in the ingenuity of their advertisements, their business methods are never- theless antiquated. One firm some time ago advertised a ‘five-minute toothache cure.”” A would-be purchaser entered the store, bought some which he took, and then pulled out his watch. When the five minutes were up, his tooth still ached, so he went and had the vendor arrested. The latter was fined one hundred pesos. Most druggists took notice, so, at the present time, it is difficult to buy anywhere in Chile any of the standard patent medicines. 250 South American Travels The main promenade, as well as the principal thorough- fare of the city is a broad and long avenue running the whole length of the city, and then some. It is three miles long in the city proper, where it goes under the name of Avenida de las Delicias, but is generally known only as the Alameda. In the western suburbs, its nomen- clature is Avenida Latorre; in the eastern ones, it follows the south bank of the Mapocho and there is called Avenida de la Providencia. There is a parkway in the center, the grass of which is worn down to bare ground by the pedestrians, and which is as broad as an ordinary avenue. On either side of it is a carriage road, and each of these has two parallel lines of trolley tracks. This avenue varies slightly in width, but not enough to be noticeable. This parkway, which is shaded by giant elms, plane trees, and sycamores, has, at short intervals, statues of Chilean national heroes and one representing the city of Buenos Aires in an allegorical figure which was presented to Santiago in 1880. Many writers have described this avenue as beautiful. It is in reality too dusty and dirty to be so characterized, and the cobblestone pavement, over which dilapidated hacks rattle, is too uneven and too sadly out of repair for a street of its character. Here all classes of people and business are to be found. A fine residence rubs shoulders with a second-class butcher shop, while, alongside of an elegant institution of learning, is to be found a lowly dram shop. It is the main promenade of the city, and on a Sunday afternoon, the belles of Santiago, in limousine motor-cars, smart cavalry officers, young dudes on horseback, the laborer and his corpulent wife are present in gala attire, and form one endless procession from the Cerro de Santa Lucia to the Alameda station and back. Here are located some of the great buildings, both public and private. On the Alameda, Santiago 251 are both of the great schools of learning, the University of Chile, public, and the Catholic University, private, convents, a normal school, and the abodes of many diplo- Calle Estado, Santiago mats, including the United States Legation. Our Minis- ter to Chile is a Mr. Fletcher, and I was told by several notable Chileans that he is not as much liked and re- spected as his predecessor, for the reason that he does not understand the country and the nature of the people 252 South American Travels as well, nor does he show any inclination to do so. Owing to his predecessor, cordial relations were brought about between Chile and the United States, which previously were somewhat strained. South of the Alameda is the most thickly populated section of the city, for here are the slums. West of the slums, and also south of the Alameda, is the residential district, chief among whose streets is the beautiful, asphalt paved Ejercito Liberador, whose length of over one kilo- meter is bordered by stately mansions. The. popular drive for the inhabitants is down this street to its end and then into the great Cousifio Park. At the southern end of this street are the large red brick castellated artillery barracks and arsenal. Still beyond these, is the long and high military school with an ornamental facade. To the right of the park entrance, is the school of army engineers. Every Chilean town of importance has large barracks and schools of military instruction. To-day Chile is the strongest military power in South America. Her army is drilled by German officers, and is copied after the German army in every respect, even to uniforms. Her navy, which ranks eighth of all the countries in the world, is copied after that of Great Britain. The Cousifio Park covers an area nearly as large as that of Central Park in New York, but is poorly kept up. In the summer, its avenues are dusty and the grass is dried up. Its main feature is a race track, where free races are run, and the trotters are tried out. The middle of the oval is a large hayfield. At one end of the park, is a piece of woods bordering on two artificial lakes, on one of which is a café, a favorite spot for the Santiago élite to partake of five o’clock coffee. The length of the park is so great that people would become tired if they could reach the café only by walking, therefore there is a Santiago . 253 trolley line which begins at the entrance, and terminates at the café. A drunken bunch of merrymakers were driving in the park at the same time that we were. They Plaza Montt, Santiago delighted in continually turning their horse around in circles as they made slow progress around the oval. © There are two finer parks than the Cousifio. They are named the Quinta Normal and the Cerro de Santa Lucia. The latter is a wonderful freak of nature in the 254 South American Travels form of a granite hill, rising abruptly from the flat plain to a height of a few hundred feet in the center of the city on the Avenida de las Delicias. This hill covers an area of about five city blocks, and has very steep sides. A carriage road winds around it, reaching a point not far from its summit. The main entrance is graced by a peristyle of marble acting as a guardian to the park, and through this steps lead upward to a stone bridge that crosses the carriage road to the main park of the hill. Everything that artifice of man has invented to conceal the natural rock had been done, and the only evidence we have of the natural formation is an ivy-covered bowlder now and then, projecting its mossy top through the pro- fusion of vines that covers it. There are ancient ruins here, the relics of Spanish occupation, now green with age and partly obscured by creepers and canopies of myrtle. Everywhere is vegetation, planted with infinite care, and allowed to grow rank so as to resemble the natural. There are statues, fountains, and tiled terraces. There is also a chapel, towers innumerable, a restaurant, and a seismo- graphic station. Different paths of many steps diverge at all angles from the road and many platforms, to meet again at the summit, where there is but one path, hard of ascent, passing beneath overhanging bowlders and span- ning a ravine over an iron bridge. It leads toa “‘lookout” perched on the apex of the topmost rock. The view from here will linger long in the beholder’s memory. On all sides, the large city stretches itself across the plain, the houses appearing, in the vicinity, to be of good size, but dwindling in the distance so that they seem to merge into the plain. Many towers of churches rise into the dusty sky, while, below, to the east, until it seems to lose itself in the distant mountains, the historic and dirty Mapocho, so narrow that only the great trees that line its banks Santiago 255 can be seen, descends from its source, the vegetation on its banks winding its course like a dark green serpent. It is in this direction, and-at no great distance from the river, that the suburbs of the city extend apparently indefinitely, their cupolas and domes rising from the midst of the tall poplar trees. Seen from Santa Lucia hill, Santiago is like a waffle grill, the parallel streets with their right-angled intersectors forming the irons, and the blocks the open spaces. The roofs are of red tile, and the houses are all built around patios in which are beautiful gardens. The third park of the city is that of the Normal Agri- cultural College, named the Quinta Normal. It is at the extreme western end of the city, midway between the Alameda and the Yungai railroad stations. The old expo- sition buildings stood here, and with the exception of about twenty acres it is poorly cared for. The portion that is kept up, however, cannot be outdone by any park anywhere. There is a small fee for admission, this money assisting in the maintenance of the animals, for there is a small zodlogical garden here as well. The main entrance opens onto a road that makes a course beneath ancient trees rising from an emerald lawn. ‘There is a hotel here which would be an ideal place to stop at in the summer, that is, as to location, but regarding its merits I am not in a position to judge. In the Quinta Normal, is the Army Museum, closed during the summer, opening only March tst of every year. I noticed an engraving of this building on the Chilean one-peso bill, and thought it a shame to put its facsimile on the currency, when there are so many finer buildings in Santiago to choose from. On the two-peso bill there is a view of Santa Lucia hill, and all the higher denominations have on their faces views of Santiago as well. The ten-feso bill has on it a likeness of the massive battlemented bridge of huge stone arches 256 South American Travels that once spanned the Mapocho at Santiago, but which has been torn down for over ten years. Near this Ma- pocho, and not far from Santiago, is the battlefield of Chacabuco, where San Martin, having crossed the Andes with an army, broke the Spanish power in America. This great Argentine general, who accomplished a feat rivaling that of Hannibal, set out from the hacienda of Uspallata in the present Argentine province of Mendoza, and, at an elevation of nearly 13,000 feet, crossed the snowy pass of Las Cuevas, his army suffering great hardships, many dying on the way, and administered a decisive defeat to the Spaniards who had been reveling in Santiago all winter. Santiago contains some large and tasteful public build- ings, among the most worthy of mention being the Con- gress, a large square edifice occupying an entire block, its roof supported by pillars. Across the street from this, is the Supreme Court, a tall building of colonial style of architecture. A statue of the late President, Don Pedro Montt, in bronze, stands in front of it, and, in honor to him, the name of the plaza on which his statue stands has been changed from its original name of Plaza Varas to Plaza Montt. The Moneda or mint is a large building, low and plain, not nearly as interesting as that of Potosi. One of the newer buildings is the Palace of Fine Arts, which is on the river bank near the Santa Lucia hill, and is French in architecture. It contains paintings by old masters, but sculpture only in replica. . There is also a good collection of gold and silver ornaments found in Indian graves, and some prehistoric pottery. In the center of the city, on the Calle Augustinas, is the Muni- cipal Theater, in architecture not unlike the ordinary European opera-houses, while diagonally across the street is the handsomest and largest private residence that I Santiago 257 saw on my whole trip, excepting two in Buenos Aires. This house stands four storeys high, including its steeply sloping mansard roof, and has a frontage of nearly half ablock. It is built of brick, plastered, and painted white, has a carriage entrance and enclosed park in front, the main house entrance opening onto this, and guarded by a huge iron spiked gate. The north side of the Mapocho is the smallest and dirti- est part of the city, its principal arteries being Avenidas Recolata, La Paz, and Independencia, all beginning at the river and running in a northerly direction. The streets are broad and dusty, and the buildings are mostly of unpainted adobe, which gives this section of the city the appearance of a country town. With the exception of the cemetery, this part of the town is devoid of interest. The Avenida La Paz ends at an arcaded semicircle in whose center is a pillared and domed building, named the Panteon, which serves as a receiving vault for the dead and also contains the offices of the directors of the ceme- tery. This Cementario Jeneral is, next to the Campo Santo, in Genoa, the finest in existence. Catholics, Protestants, and Masons alike are buried here. No reli- gious distinction is made after death, for all go to the same place whether buried in Santiago or in Chicago. Eleven walks, broad enough to be streets, and crossed by seven other walks at right angles, form the plan of this cemetery. These walks have, at their points of intersection, trees encircled by benches, or fountains. The tombs are masterpieces of the sculptor’s art; in their ornamental recesses repose the bones of Chile’s most famous citizens. What drew us to the cemetery was to see the last resting place of the remains of, Don Pedro Montt, one of Chile’s great presidents, who died in Germany, August, 1910. He was an acquaintance of my wife, and had extended to us 17 258 South American Travels through her an invitation to visit him if we ever came to Chile. A week after this he died, and she was one of the last women to see him alive. A monument is now under construction for his bones. In the meantime, his body lies in a coffin in a small chapel to the right of the main entrance of the cemetery. When he died, Chile was put in a hard position. His successor was a man named Fernandez, erstwhile vice-president. He was not popular, but fortunately nothing of importance transpired while he was in office. He died before his term was out, and the now vice-president, who had been second vice- president under Montt, became chief executive, and holds that position to-day. His name is Barros Rocca Luco; he is an old man. On the north side of the river, and rising to a height of 2756 feet, is the Cerro de San Cristobal. It is in the same relative position to Santiago that the hill of the same name north of the Rimac is to Lima, but this one is 1456 feet higher. This cerro is used as a stone quarry, the cuttings being visible from the city. A zigzag path of fourteen elevations leads to the summit, on which stands a statue to the Immaculate Conception. Farther on, and a little below the summit, is an astronomical observatory. As seen from the city, the whole cerro is disgraced by a gigan- tic advertisement in iron letters painted white, which reads: ‘‘Deliciosa Te Ratanpur’”’—in English, ‘‘ Delicious Ratanpur Tea.” While in Santiago, we had the best turnout in the city. It happened this way. A wealthy family was spending the summer in the country, leaving the coachman in charge of the barn during their absence. In order to earn some extra money, this jehu would drive every day to the Plaza de Armas to solicit patronage. In order to do this, he bought a cab-driver’s license. Another ser- Santiago 259 vant who was with the family in the country would apprise him by telegram when any member was to come to Santiago, thus putting him on his guard. He charged more than the ordinary cabby, but the hacks and victorias in Santiago are such frightful equipages that anybody would be willing to pay the difference to ride behind such style. So elegant was the victoria, and so well groomed was the team, that we were the cynosure of all eyes as we drove either down Ahumada or the Avenida de las Delicias. A Lima newspaper came out with an article upbraiding the poor hacks and horses offered on her streets for public use. A rival newspaper responded that they were good enough for its citizens, for Santiago, with treble its popu- lation, had poorer ones. This is true, but in either place the public conveyances in the nature of carriages leave much to be desired. The automobile has not made much headway in Santiago yet, and asit, like all other modern improvements, is slow in getting established, the public will have to suffer for some time yet to come. The busi- ness streets and those contiguous to them are admirably paved with asphalt, but on those at a short distance away no pretense of paving has ever been made. It is the same way with sanitation. Fleas abound, and it is no uncommon sight while passing through the poorer quarter of the city to see women picking these insects from the hair of their offspring. One thing noticeable about the Chilean cities, and especially Santiago, is the number of police in evidence. They are either clad all in white, with a white cap, or else have white pants, blue jacket, and a white helmet. They are everywhere, singly and in groups, standing at nearly every intersection of the streets, either on foot or on horseback. They do the act of the Broadway squad, 260 South American Travels none too well, but better than their brethren in Buenos Aires. There are, besides, many secret police, and it is difficult to tell whether the street loafer or the man who sits next to you in a hotel dining-room is one of these or not. There is one good newspaper, El Mercurio, and it has a circulation in Valparaiso even greater than their own dailies. But little manufacturing is done in the capital. There is one brewery, that of Ebner, which brews a palat- able beer. The inhabitants of Valparaiso do all they can to prevent people from visiting Santiago. In the summer, they will advise the prospective traveler not to go there, telling him that it is too hot; in the winter they will say that it is too cold. The extremes of heat and cold are great, and, combined with the poor sanitation, are prime factors of the great rate of mortality. The temperature in summer has been known to exceed that of Panama, while in winter it sometimes snows. The city had the disadvantage of being built in a deep inland valley; thus the refreshing breezes never reach there, for they beat against the outer barriers of the mountains that hem in the valley; hence the clouds are slow-moving. It gets so hot in the summer time that it is uncomfortable to be out between 10 A.M. and 4 P.M. The inhabitants realize this, and have built an elaborate system of arcades, so that a person can shop to his or her heart’s content, with- out going into the streets except to cross them. These arcades are not like what in South America are called portales, covered passages over the sidewalks, but are more on the style of the Italian gallerie. They are build- ings into which a paved passageway enters, the stores in turn opening out onto the passageway. Most North American and German cities have this form of arcade, but compared to those in Santiago, they are on a small Santiago 261 scale. Compared to those of Milan, Naples, and Genoa, the Santiago arcades are small, but they greatly out- number all the arcades in those three cities combined. They are called pasajes, and at the present time there are fifty-six of them in the city, one of the more important being named the Pasaje Matte. Regarding the Chilean character, I had been frequently told that they were the greatest thieves unhung, and that if I left anything lying around, it would undoubtedly be stolen. I have never heard a statement more false. I never had anything stolen while in Chile, though uncon- sciously I left many opportunities open. On Lake Titi- caca, my watch was undoubtedly stolen by a Bolivian; Bolivian Indians are famous as thieves. The latter will even tell a stranger that Chileans have kleptomaniacal tendencies, while a Peruvian, whom I met at Antofagasta, said that the whole Chilean nation was a robber band. On a ship once, my wife left her steamer rug on deck, while she went below to eat. On coming again on deck, we saw that an old Chilean, employed as a lookout by the company, had picked up this rug and was holding it carefully wrapped over his left arm for fear of it being stolen, while in fact he had an excellent opportunity of purloining it for his own use. In Valparaiso, my wife dropped an English sovereign under the bed in the hotel, and the chances are that she would never have missed it. Sometime afterwards when the mozo had made up the room, he came to me with the gold piece, telling me where - he had found it. He could have kept it, and we should have been none the wiser. Again, at the Linares depot, while pulling some change out of my pocket to pay for some reed baskets that I had bought, I dropped a paper peso on the station platform without noticing it. An old peasant woman called my attention to the fact, while 262 South American Travels she could have easily transferred it to her own pocket. There are of course thieves and grafters, as in all countries, but these are mostly in the ports, which are made up largely of a foreign element. On a ship arriving at Talcahuano, there was a consign- ment of champagne to W. R. Grace & Co. Between the ship and the dock fifty cases were stolen by the boatmen. They were arrested, but were never brought to trial. It transpired that they purchased their freedom by making the judge a present of eighteen cases. Justice is cheap in Chile, and, although the inhabitants are far from being thieves, a bribe judiciously tendered is apt to have the requested results. Chilean money is poor, and constantly fluctuates in value. A man may go tobed wealthy in the currency of the realm, to find on awakening that he is bankrupt. A peso, which is supposed to be worth thirty- eight cents, is to-day valued at only twenty-three cents. The government is trying to put the country on a gold monetary standard. Thisit aims to accomplish by 1915; but the accomplishment is doubtful. Though rich in minerals, there is little new prospecting done, the whole coast from Puerto Montt to the Straits of Magellan being practically unexplored. Upto within a few years ago, the inhabitants of Valparaiso sent to Europe for their marble. This had been going on ever since the advent of the white man. A short while ago, it was discovered that there existed within the city limits of Valparaiso, marble of the very finest quality. Much money had been wasted in the importation of this article, while if a little prospecting had been done the inhabitants would have found this deposit years ago. The Chileans are a fine-looking race. The men are rather tall, and dark, but are unkempt and careless in dress. They are poor people, and hard labor has made Santiago 263 them rugged, although somewhat taciturn. They are strictly an agricultural nation, and, that being their vocation, they are hardier than most nations. Their agriculture, apart from the main haciendas and estancias, is not done by machinery, but by old-fashioned primi- tive implements, such as the wooden plow. Food, except meat, is expensive, and, as all the clothes are imported, the general cost of living is also high. As wages are low, the people have to economize, and are therefore frugal. They are great horsemen. Nearly everybody owns a horse or a mule, and to see so many people riding, one can readily see that they were brought up to it from their earliest infancy. Horses were first brought into the country by Valdivia; the Araucanians were the first native race to see the advantages of equestrianism, and since then have always excelled in horsemanship. In the country, there are fine-looking horses worth much money. The roads are poor, and, as the railroads are few, the only means of travel in many districts is by horseback. The ship companies of South America endeavor to get a Chilean crew, as they are known to be hard workers. A Chilean does more manual labor than two North Ameri- cans. With him enjoyment is but a vision. He also likes to fight as well as work. There is nothing he is afraid of. As there exists in Chile absolute freedom of speech and of the press, the native is very independent. If severely reprimanded or spoken to harshly, he is apt to do personal violence to the offender. He also likes to drink, and when he is doing so is a bad customer; but as he is too poor to enjoy that luxury much, he, as a type, can be classed as sober. The women are beautiful, especially when young, and it is said that they retain their beauty longer than the women in other Latin countries. The manto is the 264 South American Travels costume of the middle classes. It differs from the manta worn by the Peruvian lower classes in that it is not so plain. As in Peru, the mantilla is worn by the upper classes, but even more so here, for national customs are deeper rooted in Chile than in her northern neighbor. CHAPTER X SANTIAGO TO BUENOS AIRES HE trains from Valparaiso and Santiago to Buenos Aires leave these respective cities at 6.00 P.M. and at 6.20 P.M., respectively, meeting at Llai-Llai, from which junction to Los Andes they are but one train. Passengers spend the night at Los Andes, continuing the next day. The reason that the trains don’t leave the two large Chilean cities in the morning and cross the Andes the same day is because the passengers are obliged to change cars at Mendoza. It is a four hours’ ride from either Valparaiso or Santiago to Los Andes, and, as the trains that leave the last-mentioned town at 7 A.M. do not arrive in Mendoza until 8 P.M., that city would not be reached until after midnight if the train left the capital or the seaport at the same time that it does Los Andes, thereby making it very inconvenient for all travelers. There are no through trains, as the tracks are of different gauge. Santiago to Los Andes is broad gauge, from there to Mendoza, narrow gauge, and the last stretch, from Men- doza to Buenos Aires, is again broad gauge. Trains leaving Santiago have to go halfway back to Valparaiso to Llai-Llai. It would be more convenient if the railroad was built to Los Andes from Santiago via Chacabuco, the grade here being no worse than that already built, and 265 266 South American Travels this route would shorten by two hours the distance be- tween the capitals of Chile and Argentina. This project iscontemplated. At Llai-Llai time is given the passengers to dine. It was dark before we got there, and the ride to Los Andes is slow. San Felipe, capital of the province of Aconcagua, is the only town of size on the line. Los Andesis asmall country town of about four thousand inhabitants. Its altitude is only 2646 feet above sea-level, but it gets its imposing name from the fact that the high mountains encroach on the valley, and this is the station from which they are entered. The village consists of one long, poplar-bordered street on which are the stores, and of a few unpretentious side streets where are located the adobe residences. The hotel at Los Andes is a large wooden chalet, and is the only hotel that I have stopped at in Chile that has running water in the rooms. It is clean, but poorly furnished. It is surrounded by a large com- pound with iron gates, which are locked all night. The form of this hotel is that of the letter E with the middle prong left out, the long side facing the street, and the Wings extending into the garden. It is 10.20 P.M. when the train arrives there, and there is always a crowd looking for rooms. I was lucky to have one reserved, because many people had to sit up all night, having neglected to send telegrams. There is one thing that the hotel manager does not forget to do, and that is to “‘soak”’ his guests. The Italian head waiter was endeavoring to get twenty- four pesos for a British sovereign, when the current rate of exchange was twenty-three pesos forty centavos. One of his underlings had a corner on cigars, which he was trying to sell for two pesos apiece. They were too dry to smoke, and the same variety in good condition sold in Santiago for sixty centavos apiece. The train from Los Andes to Mendoza backs into the Santiago to Buenos Aires 267 hotel yard. A whole car had been reserved for Sefior Elespuru, the Peruvian Minister to Argentina, and as there were only two other coaches to accommodate the passengers, who were numerous enough to fill four coaches, they began crowding into the car reserved for the diplomat, much against the will of the conductor, who was powerless to prevent them. Among them, numbered three middle- aged American old maids, and the United States army officer, Major Shipton, whom I had met on the train - between Arequipa and Juliaca, Peru. These old maids were making themselves obnoxious, like most American old maids traveling abroad, expressing in a loud voice their narrow-minded ideas, much to the disgust of the other occupants of the car, and having no shame about their criticisms. They occupied five seats in a crowded car, and ‘‘chewed the rag’’ because they couldn’t see enough. One of them was sitting next to a Chilean who had left his seat in disgust at her actions, or because he wished to see the country through another window. When he vacated the seat that he had rightly paid for she placed a steamer rug in the empty place so that he wouldn’t come back. Her intentions were a failure, for when he returned, he took her rug, placed it in a rack, and resumed his seat. This was the initiative for a babel of execra- tions and reproaches. The youngest of the trio, though the most venomous of speech, was the best looking, and had a nice figure. She was well within the marriageable age and appeared very trim, and even sensual. An insect somewhat resembling what we call ‘‘ walking stick”’ began to annoy her, although it was at least a distance of seven feet from her head. She asked me to kill it, as she said she was afraid of it. I assented, and pretending to kill it with my hat, I managed to slap it, so that its wrig- gling body was sent on her gown. For a moment she 268 South American Travels didn’t notice where it went, but when she eventually espied it, her attention being called to it by one of her companions, the squawks and shrieks that she emitted furnished a vaudeville entertainment to the rest of the passengers. A fat, good-natured looking Shriner, called by the old maids ‘‘doctor,” and his wife accompanied the trio, but like a great many Americans he was so much under their thumb that whatever liberty he had once enjoyed had by now been thoroughly harassed out of him. To make matters worse, another American, met by chance on the train, began to relate his travels to these women, who were glued to their seats in open-mouthed astonish- ment at what seemed to be a penny lecture, delivered with no great elocutionary nor vocabularic brilliancy. As there was no dining-car on the train, I was forced to submit to these ordeals without the chance of obtaining a drink to enable me to forget them. The train follows the Aconcagua River between very high ranges of mountains. This valley bottom is culti- vated, but the mountainsides are bleak and rocky, scanty grass showing here and there in tufts. Mountain torrents dash over rocks, become lost to view in spray, to appear later below in the ravine, white like a stream of ice, and then fall headlong beneath bridges in the turbulent river. At Juncal, time is allowed for slight refreshments. Gen- erally speaking, this is not a meal station, but it has for such a long time been the custom for passengers to par- take of more than a slight Iunch here that many places are set for those desiring to eat. There was a special meal] set for the Peruvian Minister, but I, supposing that the ‘‘first come, first served’? motto was in vogue, con- sumed it before that worthy personage arrived, thereby forcing him to go hungry. Leaving Juncal, the train ascends a canyon to the right, Santiago to Buenos Aires 269: and, after some distance, crosses it; then, by numerous tunnels, it rounds the nose of a promontory that again brings us into the valley of the Aconcagua, high above the river. The whole beautiful, awesome, rocky, giant, snow-capped range of the Cordillera comes in view. Soon we reach a station named El Portillo, to the left of which, lying like an emerald in a dark setting, is the small deep green Lago del Inca, which has often been the subject of many paintings. Caracoles, the last Chilean settlement, is soon reached. The main street of this hamlet is a trestle from which the houses are entered by doors lead- ing into their upper storeys. We now enter a tunnel directly underneath the famous Las Cuevas pass, two and a half miles long, in which is reached the highest point on the line, the boundary between Chile and Argentina. It takes eight minutes to go through it, and the altitude attained is 10,391 feet, near its middle. At its eastern entrance is the Argentine station of Las Cuevas. Before the tunnel was finished, travelers were obliged to cross the saddle of the mountain, called the Cumbre, which is 802 meters higher than the railroad, or at an altitude of 12,998 feet above sea level. This was done either on horseback or by carriage over a road that ascends in sharp zigzags, and descends on the Argentina side in broad curves. At the summit, is the famous bronze Christ of the Andes or Cristo Redentor. This was erected several years ago on the boundary of the two republics. At that time, Chile and Argentina were on the verge of war. Peace was ultimately brought about, and the Christ was erected as a memento of friendship between the two nations. The old carriage road was a lucrative one for the transportation companies, two of which sprang up in Santiago, the Sud Americana, and the Villalonga. The completion of the tunnel was a blow to them, but the 270 South American Travels Villalonga was able to hold its head up, and to-day all the shipment of goods across the Andes on the trains is in its hands. It sends along with every train that crosses the mountains a representative who goes as far as Mendoza, and whose duty it is to look after the trans- ferring of baggage from one train to the other. There are two other passes across the Andes, both farther south, and a railroad is contemplated being built across the more northerly of these two. It is completed on the Argentine side as far as Neuquen, and it will con- nect with the Chilean railroads near Antuco. This pass is about seven thousand feet high, and will bring much freight to Talcahuano. The third pass is far the most feasible. It is still farther to the south, and the elevation to be reached will be, at its summit, but slightly over four thousand feet. The Patagonian Railroad is already built from San Antonio, on the Gulf of San Martin, Argentina, about three hundred miles westward, and the remaining one hundred and fifty to San Carlos de Bariloche, on Lake Nahuelhuapi, is now under construction. However, nothing has been done on the Chile side to form the con- necting link. When completed, it will greatly help the export trade of both Valdivia and Puerto Montt. The Chilean government does not look favorably upon any- more Transandine railroads, and it would be difficult to get aconcession. It realizes the superiority of the harbors of Talcahuano and Corral over that of Valparaiso, and if the trade of the former increased to the detriment of the latter, it would also be detrimental to Santiago, which is a thing that politicians with much at stake would not stand for. The country is better in Southern Chile, and there seems to be a gradual exodus from the valleys in the neighborhood of the capital for that direction. Many Santiaguinos are afraid that, if business picks up Santiago to Buenos Aires 271 in the southern provinces, they, also, will be obliged to emigrate there in order to enjoy prosperity. When we arrived at Las Cuevas a snowstorm was raging. At the forlorn little hamlet, there is nothing to see but the bones and carcasses of animals scattered over the immediate landscape. A diner is attached to the train, and everybody makes a rush for it. The mountains on this eastern slope are more rocky than those on the Chilean side, and have absolutely no vegetable life. It was here that I first saw an Argentine soldier, a cavalry- man. The uniform is different from the Chilean to a marked degree, and not nearly as practical. This man wore a dark blue suit, with red stripes on his breeches, and ablack helmet. His rifle hung on his back, being strapped into place by two diagonal straps crossing from each shoulder. One hour’s ride down the mountain on the rack and pinion railroad brought us to the thermal resort of Puente del Inca, with its mineral springs. It derives its name from a natural bridge over the Las Cuevas River, and over which the wagon road runs. There is a large hotel, very popular with Mendoza society; this has cluster- ing around it several stone huts. On the depot platform was the most beautiful girl that I had seen since coming to South America, and who had come to bid some friend good-bye. The train filled up at this station, and I was obliged to hurry back into our car to find on arriving that our seats were occupied. I had considerable difficulty in forcing a fat lady, who had usurped my wife’s seat, to move. It is here that is to be had the first view of the volcano Aconcagua, seen to the north, and said by the Chileans and Argentinos to be the highest mountain in the Western Hemisphere. Its height is claimed by some to be 23,217 feet, by others to be 24,000 feet; it has been scaled several times, Sir Martin Conway making the first ascent. 272 South American Travels Soon after leaving Puente del Inca, are visible to the south the great dolomitic peaks, Los Penitentes, in view but a fleeting moment when the train crosses a canyon. They greatly resemble the Karawanken, in Carinthia, but are much higher. Tupungato, a volcano 21,833 feet high, now comes into view. Rio Tupungato, flowing from the south, joins the Las Cuevas, and soon the Las Vacas, flow- ing from the north, empties into it, forming the Rio Men- doza. About one hundred kilometers west of Mendoza, the river opens up into a valley, and it is here that we see the first trees after crossing the Andes. It is the Rancho of Uspallata, the valley bottom green with fields of alfalfa. Here, San Martin wintered before crossing with his army to Chile. Before the advent of the railroad, travelers took the old wagon road, which at this spot diverged to the north, passing by the mineral springs of Villa Vicencio. Leaving this valley, we enter the defile of the Mendoza River, whose banks we follow till within twenty kilo- meters of the city of Mendoza. In some places, this canyon is so narrow that there is no place for a trail. Large barren mountains tower above it on both sides. We came to a place where a bridge had been washed away, and the railroad makes a long detour around a pocket of a creek over a temporary track until the bridge shall be rebuilt. At Cacheuta, altitude 4044 feet, forty kilo- meters from Mendoza, are some mineral springs. The thermal establishment and town along the river bottom are far below the track. A residence like a castle is the summer home of a wealthy man. Near Mendoza, we suddenly leave the Andes in the background, and enter what is called the Zona del Riego, the greatest grape country in Argentina, and probably in South America. Night approaches, and, through the dusk of the summer’s punoisyoeg 94} UT ‘voTIOWY YINOS UI UIeyUNO YY ysoqsry ‘ouvsjo, enseouocsy vunuedIy pue o[TYyD Uaemjeq our] Arepunog Suryzeyy ‘sopuy 8Y} JO SITY) Jo ‘JoJUapeyY ojsTIO _ 273 _ 18 Santiago to Buenos Aires 275 day, we pass miles of vineyards, prosperous and well kept up. The soil is slightly sandy, and, as the rainfall is irregular, irrigation has to be resorted to. This is done by damming the Mendoza and the Tunuyan rivers, and drawing off their water into reservoirs. Formerly each haciendado had his own reservoir, and tapped the streams, wherever he chose, by a pipe, which intake was called a toma. ‘This is done to-day in the more remote districts of the republic. ‘As the climate of Mendoza is continental, new varieties of grape cannot be planted there until they are acclima- tized. Todo this, they are brought from Europe to Chile, where the climate is more like that of their native land, and after thriving there for some time, they are again transplanted and brought across the Andes. The vines are dark green in color, and never of the light shades as in California, Chile, and Hungary. The wines are also of an inferior quality, even though the vines are of the best. Few people of the higher classes in Mendoza will drink the native wines, although they will imbibe the Chilean vintage. I drove out several times among the vineyards, and must confess that I never saw anything, either in California or in Europe, like the production, prosperity, and prospects of viticulture in this district. Nearly every one has his own wine cellar, well stocked, and diseases such as philloxeria and anaheim are unknown. Three kinds of champagne are made, Von Toll, Presidente, and Tirasso. It is inferior to that of New York State, and costs $1.28 a bottle (liter) retail, or $14.40 for a case containing a dozen bottles. In the outskirts of the city, we noticed the vines on the adobe garden walls, then clinging to the omnipresent poplars. Finally, when we reached the open country we could look for miles wpon a vista of rows of vines clustered around poles. The pride of every wine- 276 South American Travels grower is his grape arbor. It may either be a trellis- work tunnel, a pergola, or else it may be ancient vines so-trained that their branches meet above one’s head, forming a tunnel into which the rays of the sun can never penetrate. In recent years, attention has been given to the grape as well as the wine, and the fine bunches that adorn the hotel tables in Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro all come from here or from the neighboring viticulture province of San Juan. Other fruits are also grown here, and attain great size, notably the peach and the pear. They are fine to look at, but, like the California fruit, they are thick skinned, and go more to juice than to flavor. It is much this same way with all irrigated fruit. Inthe Entre Rios Province, where irrigation is unnecessary for the production of fruits, the peaches, pears, and grapes are better flavored. An Italian, named Bacigalupi, has recently established a fruit-canning factory in Mendoza, and, though it was first regarded by the inhabitants as a white elephant, it is making large profits, turning out 5000 tins of preserves daily. Poplar wood forms one of the industries of Men- doza. No wood was indigenous to this country, and some of the early Italian settlers imported poplars from the valley of the Po. With no care they have thrived re- markably well, and they are planted along the sides of every road to a long distance out of the town. It was quite dark when we reached Mendoza, and lightning flashes occasionally lit up the sky. I had never read any description of Mendoza and had no conception of what kind of a place it was. I was much pleased to find it the fine city that it is, my favorite of all cities of the republic. Next to Rosario, Cordoba, and Tucuman it is the most important inland city of the republic, though in recent years it has not grown as rapidly as have the Santiago to Buenos Aires 279 others. Its population is over 50,000 inhabitants and is gradually increasing. The character of the city is differ- ent from any of the other cities that I visited. The streets are very broad, and are paved.with a species of flagstone, with flat tops, which makes driving very smooth., The buildings are mostly .of one storey, and all have a certain sameness of appearance, with broad arched en- trances and large windows. The sidewalks in front of them are broad and between them and the street are ditches of running water which is carried under the street crossings by stone coverings. Bordering these canals, and between them and the carriage road, are sycamore trees planted closely together. All of these trees were planted at the same time, for, on every street in the city, they are of uniform height. The lighting system has arches stretched across the road from which hang down numerous bulbs. The railroad station is quite a distance from the hotel, which is named the Gran Hotel San Martin, on the Plaza San Martin. It is the only good one in the city. It resembles a Greek or a Pompeian house rather than a Spanish one. The exterior, separated from the sidewalk by a paved compound, and enclosed by an iron fence, is an imitation of green and brown marble with ornamental paintings on the plaster between the columns that hold up the roof. The rooms open into halls that parallel the sides of the patio, and are rather plain. The dining-room is in a wing to the right of the entrance. It was here that I ate the best meal since leaving home. There is plenty of food, and it is well cooked. The inhabitants of Mendoza have the automobile fever. Nearly everybody seems to have one, and they keep the night hideous with the tooting of their horns. People mortgage their belongings to purchase one, and 278 South American Travels an employee of the Pusterla Company of Buenos Aires, agents for automobiles, told me that a certain Mendoza family had already two machines, but bought another from them on the installment plan. They refused to pay the installments and he was sent to Mendoza to find the reason why. It turned out that the family had no money, for they had spent every cent they had on the other motor cars, and as they couldn’t afford to buy new tires for these (for they were punctured) the cheapest way would be for them to get a new machine, for then the tires on this would be in good condition. It was discovered that their chauffeur had quit their employ because there were three months’ unpaid wages due him. The trouble with the Argentinos is that they live too high, especially in Mendoza. Every cent they make, they spend, but spend it where it will show to the best advantage. There is not so much wealth among its inhabitants as one would be led to believe by the outside surface, but in the art of “show-off’’ they have reached perfection. All the life of the city that doesn’t center on Calle San Martin, finds its way to the neighborhood of the Plaza San Martin. This plaza is no longer the business portion of the city, although the large banks, that of the Banco Espafiol del Rio dela Plata, Banco de la Nacion Argentina, and the Banco Italiano, are here, as well as the beautiful theater and the Catholic cathedral which in architecture resembles a synagogue. This plaza has a large equestrian statue of San Martin, appropriately looking towards the Andes. The rest is devoted to lawn and ornamental flower beds, but there is no shade. A police band plays here occasionally on summer evenings, but is not like the fine military band that I heard at Chillan. It is noticeable that the great number of soldiers seen on the streets of the Chilean towns are here lacking. The main street of Santiago to Buenos Aires 279 the city much resembles that of streets of the same size in the United States. The buildings of brick are of the same uninteresting architectural design, with flat roofs. The one thing that is totally un-American is the presence of cafés, with little marble-topped iron tables placed under the awnings on the sidewalks. This effect, together with the shade trees, is somewhat Parisian. Chile seems an interminable distance away, so far as everything is con- cerned. Here in Mendoza, there is style, the height of the season’s Paris creations; no mantos nor mantillas nor somber colors as encountered on the Santiago streets; yet in Mendoza, as in most Argentine towns, the life is ex- tremely artificial, The men are not of the rugged fighting type as are those of Chile. They have no individuality. They are either fat, oily, sleek, and sensual looking with moustaches aping the Italians, or else they are thin, undersized, and villainous looking, resembling the maca- reaux of Paris. There are exceptions, but the staid and stolid Argentinos of a generation ago are rapidly being superseded by the scum of South European cities, pro- ducing a race that is not virile. Judging from the signs on the buildings, a certain street in Mendoza seems to be entirely given over to lawyers. Itisa very busy street, and is at some distance from the retail portion of the city, forming a nucleus all of itsown. The pavement here is lined with automobiles and vehicles, while the occupants of the offices stand on their thresholds as if to entice the trade from the streets. There is a large and beautiful park to the west of the city which is a great rendezvous for society folks in the cool of the day. The trees are too young to have reached a height to make it shady, and driving is therefore apt to be hot if participated in before four o’clock in the afternoon. The heat of Mendoza in summer is like that in the United 280 South American Travels States, that is, oppressive with not a breath of air stirring. Heat even seems to emanate from the ground, and, in the country, a blue haze permeates the air. In the city, the streets are so wide, and the pavement and buildings so light colored that they act as a reflector to the sun. In the winter months, this province is covered with snow. The altitude of the city is in the neighborhood of 3000 feet above sea level, and, although the nights are cooler than those of Buenos Aires, the city is not high enough to make any noticeable difference to any marked degree. The street cleaning department is very primitive. Along the outside of every curb, flow streams of running water, spanned by stone footbridges. The street cleaners, who are mostly prisoners arrested for drunkenness or misde- meanors, scoop this water up with buckets and dash it on the roadway. Water-wagons would do the job better and cheaper, for they would do away with a big crew of men, and the prisoners could be put to work building good roads, of which there is a scarcity in the republic. On some of the streets, there are water-wagons, but they are not in general use here or in Buenos Aires. Besides the fruit-canning industry, brickyards, and tile factories, the last-mentioned institutions being indispensable to a South American city, and which are never lacking even in the smallest of places, there is a small brewery owned by the firm of Arizi and Baldi. Its brew does not seem to be any more popular here than the beer of the Colon brewery in Oruro, for I could not find it on sale in any of the places I patronized. Most of Argentina is a flat or slightly undulating plain. A good idea of the nature of the country can be obtained by a trip from Mendoza to Buenos Aires. The train leaves Mendoza at 9 P.m., and for some distance, passes through the wine country. This was once a desert, but Santiago to Buenos Aires 281 irrigation has made it a paradise; there is but little land in the whole republic which cannot be successfully culti- vated if water can be brought toit. The trains to Buenos Aires run over the tracks of the Argentine Pacific Rail- road. The day coaches are made in the United States, but the sleeping cars are made in Europe. There are two berths to each compartment and they run crosswise. The locomotives are also of American manufacture, and are numbered as at home, and not named, as in Chile. In that country the appellations of the locomotives are ‘those of geographical divisions, battles, heroes, and of characters in ecclesiastical history. JI remember seeing a locomotive at the little town of San Martin near Ollague that was named ‘‘Immaculate Conception.” Shortly after leaving behind us the last vineyards, we enter a semi- desert, and the heat and dust become irisufferable. The sand, blowing in the windows, fills one’s throat and lungs to a point near suffocation. San Luis, capital of a prov- ince of the same name, is reached about 2 A.M., but nothing is to be seen at that early hour except a large and white new depot. The glare of the electric lights of the town can be seen for a great distance on the pampas, before reaching and after leaving the city. In this neighborhood are high hills. I awoke at a sober hour in the morning to find the train stopping at a small fown named Vicufia Mackenna in the province of Cordoba. There are many places in Argentina with English, Scotch, Irish, and German names. The capital of the Chubut territory is Rawson. Buenos Aires province has a large town named Lincoln, besides many small places with names such as Open Door, Gold- ney, Henderson, Roberts, and Halsey. There are towns with German names such as Rauch, Grtinbein, and so forth, and also numerous places with Italian names. 282 South American Travels This naming I find all right but the Argentinos have a foolish way of naming their towns after people, giving the title of the person along with his surname. For instance the seaport of Bahia Blanca is named Ingeneiro White (Engineer White). There is also an Ingeneiro Thompson, a General Suarez, a General Lamadrid, a General Alvear, an I. Junta, an A. Corio, a J. F. Ibarra, a Colonel Se- govia, a Colonel de Lorca, besides nomenclatures such as 9 de Julio (gth of July) and 25 de Mayo (25th of May). Not only is Argentina ‘‘bughouse”’ in this respect, but Uruguay as well. There is a province and city in that country named Treinta y Tres (in English, thirty-three). Uruguay undoubtedly copied Argentina, but went it one better. The country towns much resemble those of Nebraska and the Dakotas. They are built of red brick, and present a frontier aspect by the way in which they straggle over the plains. Between Mendoza and Buenos Aires, only a few towns of importance are passed. They are Rufino in Santa Fé province, Junin, Chacobuco and Mercedes in Buenos Aires province. The whole country traversed is a grain-producing section, and utterly devoid of trees except where they have been planted by human agency. The haciendas are large, and a peculiarity that I noticed is that the barns were all devoid of lightning rods; and yet the whole republic is a country of electrical storms. From Chacobuco, one hundred and twenty-eight miles west of Buenos Aires, the country becomes more thickly settled, and better developed. The farms are smaller, and are more devoted to garden truck. At a place named Open Door, sixty-five miles from the capital, and just before the railroad crosses the sluggish Rio Lujan, are some large residences on a hill to the south that would grace any country scene. It takes a Santiago to Buenos Aires 283 long time to enter Buenos Aires. Its suburbs straggle out a great distance. There are many stations, and the train runs slowly. After what seems to be a decade, the train crosses Palermo Park on a viaduct and pulls up at the antiquated Argentine Pacific station of Retiro, which is on the water front of the largest city in South America. CHAPTER XI BUENOS AIRES O attempt to describe Buenos Aires in a chapter or two would be the height of folly. It could not be done. I have never in all my life read a proper de- scription of the city, though the articles that I have read relative to it have been many. I shall only attempt to describe the impression it made on me, with a few of its principal points of interest. Buenos Aires is as fine a city as exists, though lacking in the natural beauty of Rio de Janeiro. It takes up a large area of ground, and its population, in December, 1912, was 1,415,118 inhabitants. A municipal census, taken in March, 1913, gave it 100,000 more. It has the finest collection of buildings, both public and private, of any city of its size on the globe. Everywhere are parks, plazas, and outward indications of great wealth. The inhabitants take great pride in the appearance of their city, and new streets are continually being opened up, each one better than its predecessor. The streets are kept clean to the extreme, and the law also compels the owners of the out-of-door cafés to have their little iron tables arranged symmetrically. Nothing is an eye-sore. The hotels are fine, the street-car service is good, the cabs are reasonable in their charges, and the stores are ultra 284 Buenos Aires 285 up-to-date. The amusement part of the life is the only thing in which the city falls short. North Americans have a habit of abbreviating the names of South American cities. In the same fashion that they speak of Valparaiso as Valpo, and Santiago as Santy, they call Buenos Aires by the unpoetical appella- of “B.A.” ‘‘Where are you bound for?’’ one Yankee is apt to ask another fellow-countryman at a railroad station. “T’m just going to B. A.,” would be the reply. This may be practical, yet to abbreviate the name of a city, and a most beautiful one at that, in such a manner is nothing less than sacrilege. The immigration in recent years has been great, Span- iards being the preponderating nationality, with Italians as a close second. Frenchmen, Austrians, and Russians then follow in order. Since Argentina contains a great Italian population, naturally the architecture and art of their country has come to play an important part in the construction of buildings, and in the embellishment of the streets. The architecture is of a domed type; in other respects it is decidedly Italian, a decadent form of Re- naissance. In many ways, the architects are trying to give this form to buildings, rivalling in height our sky- scrapers. An apartment house, office building, private residence, public building, or railroad station in Buenos Aires and Rosario would be incomplete unless it were surmounted by at least one ornamental dome. This is also true to some extent in Montevideo, which city is half Italian. The dome is usually on one corner of the building’s front, and not in the middle. It is invariably of black slate, and the city, when looked upon from an emi- nence, has the aspect of amushroom garden. The modern structures are from six to nine storeys high, which, owing to the lofty floors, would bring their average from eight 286 South American Travels to eleven storeys high, judged from the North American standard. An apartment house on the Paseo de Julio is thirteen storeys high and the Plaza Hotel is ten. The principal promenade is the Avenida de Mayo, a thoroughfare about a mile long, with rows of small syca- more trees between the road and the sidewalk. These sycamores do not look healthy, and I am of the opinion that they won’t live long. The Avenida begins at the Plaza de Mayo, on which is situated the Government Building, and ends at the new Congressional Building, whose attenuated dome forms a landmark for miles around. On this Avenida, are some of the most fashionable hotels, boarding houses, and cafés, but not the best stores. Here also, are the offices of the world-renowned newspaper, La Prensa, besides those of another periodical, La Razon, and the city hall. The buildings are all uniform in height, and this avenue much resembles the boulevards of Paris, except that it is much narrower, and the buildings which flank it are higher. The Congressional Building at its end, named El Congresso, will cost when completed $20,000,000.00. It is of brick, its exterior veneered with slabs of Carrara marble. The interior is already occupied, but such a slow task is the work of importing the marble, that it will be some time yet before it will be entirely completed. It covers an area of two city blocks, but looks low, and does not show up as well as it wouid if it were about three storeys higher. Yet it isa tall building, its great area giving it a squat appearance. Its tall dome is very slender, and gives it a touch of delicacy. The park which it faces, also the one in front of the Government Building, as well as quite a few streets are, at the present time, badly torn up, owing to the tunneling of the new subway. This should have been finished some time ago, but there were several mishaps, including a Buenos Aires 287 cave-in, and its construction is being reinforced. This year, 1914, will evidently see its completion. No city needs a subway as badly as Buenos Aires, for the street traffic is dreadfully congested. It is difficult at any place to cross the streets, because of vehicles and auto- mobiles. Of these latter, the city alone has over 12,000; cities not so large have more, but, here, owing to the narrowness of the streets, they are found principally on the none too long corsos, and show off to advantage better. Nearly all aremedium-sized cars (practically norunabouts), and as the Avenida de Mayo is the only broad street in the business section of the city, all congregate there, and form one continuous procession. To reach Palermo and Belgrano, the fashionable section, the motor cars take the Calle Callao, another broad thoroughfare leading away from the business section. At Palermo and Bel- grano the streets are broad, but there is a favorite for vehicles, the Paseo Alvear. Here the pavement is good, the vistas fine, and there is no speed limit. Therefore it can be safely said that the ocular deception as to the number of automobiles (one would say offhand that there were at least 30,000) in Buenos Aires is due to the fact that these three streets, Avenida de Mayo, Calle Callao, and Paseo Alvear, form the corso. Motor cars are to be found on all the streets except on Florida between three and seven o’clock in the evening but not in great numbers. There are taxi-motors and taxicabs. This is a good thing, for the drivers now can’t hold up their patrons on fares as they were wont to do before this system came in. There are many other public cabs, but it is always advis- able to get a taxi, for by so doing there is no danger of an argument when it comes time to settle. As the distances are great, and traveling by electric car is apt to necessitate much changing, it is often advantageous to use a cab. 288 South American Travels The fare with auto is twenty-one cents a kilometer, and by cab twenty-five cents; each additional five hundred meters by cab is charged at four and a half cents. Among some of the finer buildings of the city, are the Tribunales, or Law Courts. This great pile, exceeding the Congressional Building in size, is on the Plaza Lavalle, and is built in neo-Egyptian style, somewhat in form like the Palais de Justice at Brussels. It covers a very long block, and its gray severe Egyptian architecture rises to a height of five lofty stories. Its forbidding appearance does not harmonize with the beautiful trees and flower beds of the plaza. Facing it, and in the course of erec- tion, are two large office buildings, eight storeys high, above whose corners will rise the omnipresent dome. The Government Building, styled El Gobierno, which acts as both Capitol and residence of the President, Dr. Saenz Pefia, is old. It faces on one side the longitudinal park which slopes down to the Darsena or Basin, and on the other, its main facade, the end of the Plaza de Mayo. It is long, three storeys high, has two wings, and is painted terra-cotta color. The Plaza de Mayo, semicircular, is now torn up on account of the building of the subway. On one side of this park, is the cathedral, a Doric build- ing of gray stone, resembling the Madeleine in Paris, with the exception that it is crowned by a small dome. A bishop’s miter and an escutcheon painted golden adorn the otherwise severe front of this temple of worship. There is a building in another and newer part of the city, so artistic and imposing that it could pass for a city hall or capitol. It is neither. It is called the Aguas Corrientes, and is merely a large reservoir for drinking water walled up ornately so as to deceive the average beholder.as to its use. This building, three storeys high, and covering a whole block, resembles the Hétel de Ville Buenos Aires 289 of Paris. The windows are but shams, but the observer has to be close to them to distinguish the trickery. It has towers, small balconies, and broad approaches of steps. Here are also located the offices of the ,waters board. The custom-house, or Aduana, is a new building, very imposing, elegant, and flamboyant in architecture and surmounted by two ornamental towers. Its appearance is more like a European casino or gambling institution such as one meets in most of the French watering places than one: used for the purposes that it is. This, liké’most of the public buildings in the republic, is large, and lies adjacent to a park. The. only buildings in the city too small for the needs of the present day are the post-office and the city hall. The latter, called the Intendencia, is the last building on the Avenida de Mayo, on the left- hand side, approaching the Plaza de Mayo, and is next door to the offices of La Prensa. It is of stone, five storeys high, has a semi-mansard roof, and is crowned with a cupola. This building is not old, but fifteen years ago nobody knew that Buenos Aires would reach the million mark in population to say nothing of half again as-much within so short a time, and this edifice was thought to be amply adequate for the future needs of the city. The post-office or Correo is a disgrace to the city. It is not one building, but a collection of old, dilapidated struc- tures on the Calle. Reconquista, that should have been. torn down years ago. It is in a good location, for this neighborhood is the center of the banking houses and the steamship agencies. In one of these buildings stamps are sold; in another is the registration department; in a third one are the letter boxes,—but with a covered hall: so that one can go from one to another department with- out going out into the street. If, however, you wish to 19 290 South American Travels obtain a letter from the General Delivery, you must go into the street, and walk half of a block before you come to the place. There is always a jam in the post-office, and nearly everybody has a letter to register; this is the way the inhabitants send money, for they have no faith in money-orders. The hotels in Buenos Aires are very expensive. The Plaza is supposed to be the leading one, both in service and in price. It is owned by the Ritz-Carlton Company, and is located on the Plaza San Martin at the end of the principal shopping street, Calle Florida. It is ten stories in height, and is of the same architecture as the newer New York hotels. When it was built, the populace thought that it was going to be a white elephant. For the first year, it just made expenses, but ever since, it has been a gold mine. -The other good hotels are, the Majes- tic, Grand, Paris, Phoenix, Cecil, Palace, and Avenida Palace. All of these are on the Avenida de Mayo, except- ing the Grand and the Palace,.which are but a stone’s throw away, and the Phoenix, which is in a different. part of the city. A new hotel named the Savoy, on the Callao near El Congresso, will be opened this year under the management of Mr. Eduardo Avello, an Italian from Montevideo who runs the Hotel Parque there. It is claimed that this will be the classiest. hotel in the city, and it is in the best location. There has never been a hotel built before in this neighborhood, so its opening will be an experiment. Anyhow it is an improvement on having the fine hotels on the narrow congested down-town streets. The Phoenix is in a poor location, and although it faces San Martin, that end of the street is devoted to poor dwellings and cheap saloons. It is an English house and caters entirely to Anglo-Saxon trade. It is not recom- mendable, for who is there that cares to listen to the shrill Buenos Aires 291 high-pitched voices and scoldings of English old maids? Who also cares to hear the laborious efforts of some Amer- ican trying to explain something in Spanish to the patient waiter who can talk just as good English as the American. In one respect the Englishman has it on the American. If he finds out that the foreign servant can talk English that is the language he converses with him in. The American, no matter how limited his own knowledge of the foreign language, always likes to air it to the servant: who though a foreigner talks fluent English. I am told that the table of the Phoenix needs improving, as not enough variety of food is offered. I visited some of the rooms, and found them to be stuffy. The Palace is a large caravanserai, domed and overlooking the Paseo de Julio and a park. Iam told that it is good although the immediate streets in the neighborhood are given up to booking. offices-of third=class steamship:accommodations. The Avenida Palace, the newest in Buenos Aires, is nine storeys high and only about thirty feet wide. It is.on the Plaza de Mayo near the end of the Avenida, and faces the cathedral. It is up-to-date, and the prices are moderate. The Grand Hotel is one of the best in the city. It is on the Florida, a block and a half from the Avenida de Mayo. It has a disadvantage because it stands.in the middle of the block in a somewhat -noisy location. At present the.adjacent building is. being torn down to make room for another street, which will make it noisier than before. I stopped at the Majestic, which, with the exception of the Plaza, is reputed to be the swellest in the city in all respects. The price, which is steeper than that of the majority of hotels, is only three fifths that of the Plaza. Everything in Buenos Aires is expensive, but the hotels take the cake in knowing how to charge. I was shown a 292 South American Travels room with two beds, a bath, and an anteroom, on the eighth floor of the Plaza, for which the management asked the price of fifty pesos daily for two persons including board. This would be twenty-one dollars a day, without extras, or at the rate of $630.00 a month, or $7665.00 a year of 365 days. I obtained better lodgings, and as good food as I ever digested, for $13.60 at the Majestic, including my wife and self. This in the United States would be abnormally high. The Majestic is nine storeys high, and is crowned with a dome above which rises a gilded iron sun. An arrangement has been perfected so that from this sun flashlights can be thrown all over the city at night. It is located near the western end of the Avenida at the corner of Calle Santiago del Estero. Half of the ground floor and that of the rez-de-chaussée is occupied by the Caja de Ahorros, or National Pension Office. The parlors are on the third floor, and are lighted both from windows and from the patio, which, from here, rises above it seven storeys more with parlors around it on each floor in gallery form. These are separated from the patio by composite pillars, representing Assyrian and Egyptian marble. -The-dining-room is on the eighth floor, and on the-ninth, is a sun parlor, bar, and place where the musicians play during the dinner hour. There is also on this floor.a roof garden from which the city can be seen to perfection. The view takes in the roofs of the houses, with vegetable gardens on them, and, from here, although the streets seem straight when one is on terra firma, it can be observed that there is scarcely a straight street in the whole city. Our rooms were on the seventh storey, the only storey that has a balcony. This balcony has both its advantages and disadvantages. Here one can sit to get fresh air ona sultry night, but other guests can walk along it and prowl around it if they have Buenos Aires 293 rooms opening onto it. One night as I was writing a letter in the anteroom, my wife let out a squeal, and I looked to where she indicated-in time to eatch some skunk watching her disrobe. In an instant I was on the balcony in pur- suit of the peeker, but he had vanished as if swallowed up. I saw light emerging from the shutters of a nearby room, and thinking he had made his escape there, looked through them. He was not in evidence, but instead there stood before a mirror and admiring her corpulent figure, a middle-aged woman, stark naked. I have been told that the waiters sometimes take advantage of this balcony to obtain glimpses of female guests whose figures are liable to be attractive. Many tourists, especially those who intend to make a prolonged stay, go to pensions or to family hotels. These are to be found in all sections of the city, but the best are on the Avenida, or near it. Some of the best of these are Gaviezel’s New Hotels. He has three, all on the Avenida, and caters to high-class trade. The rooms and food are good and reasonable. Then there are the Chacabuco Mansions, run by a German, but somewhat inferior to Gaviezel’s. Sr. Ignacio Galvez, my Colombian friend, told me to look him up there when I arrived at Buenos Aires. I did so, but found that he was passing the summer in Montevideo. There are on the Avenida the Gran Hotel Espafia, and the Gran Hotel Esclava, both family hotels and adjoining each other, taking up the whole block which is crossed by the Calles Lima and Bernardo de Irigoyen. There is the Hotel Cecil, patronized by Englishmen, the Hotel Roma, the Pension Chic Parisien, and many others. Buenos Aires has only two kinds of amusement with which to attract the stranger, the theater and the horse races. As it is impossible for a foreigner without recom- 294 South American Travels mendations to have entrance to the houses of the inhabi- tants, to join the coterie of social life, or to be a member of its clubs, the only way for him to pass the evenings is to walk on the streets, loaf in front of the cafés, or attend the theaters, of which there are eighteen in the city, mostly vaudeville or burlesque, and where it would not be considered at home a proper place to go on account of the crowd of ruffians and roués who take in these smoking concerts. Thus, the foreign clerks, employed in the banks and the importing houses, have a very dull time of it. The leading theater of the city is the Teatro Colon, said to be the largest opera house in the world, although the one at Sdo Paulo, Brazil, looks to be equally as large. Its exterior is somewhat plain, but its interior is the acme of luxurious taste. When it is in season, the house is always filled to overflowing, and the women are all attired in the most costly of gowns. They are all young, for the dowagers keep themselves in the background, letting their daughters of marriageable age present themselves conspicuously to the male sex. There used to be a loge reserved for the members of the diplomatic bureaus of foreign countries, but this has been done away with. The wives of the ambassadors were sometimes so homely that the Argentinos nicknamed this loge “‘the zodlogical garden.” The Colon Theater has a seating capacity for 3570 persons. The social life of the male population is centered around the clubs, the most distinguished of which is the Jockey Club. It has a membership list of nearly two thousand, who have paid an initiation fee of $1500, and whose dues amount to $72.00 annually. A president is elected every two years, and to obtain this office is a great honor. Electioneering is done for the rival candidates much the same way as in a political campaign. Many of its mem- Buenos Aires 295 bers do not reside at Buenos Aires, but are scattered all over. the country, so when the last election for the presi- dency took place, owing to the importance of the two candidates, the electioneering was so great that members were brought to Buenos Aires from as far as Salta, their expenses all paid. Sr. Benito Villanueva was elected president. He is a clever politician, a former chief of the Senate. He had for rival Sr. Ramos Mexia, Sec- retary of Public Works. It is essential for a high pol- itician to join this club, owing to the honor corinected with it. It spends $1,500,000 a year on public benefits, and recently offered to build for the city a broad avenue in the business part of the town at a cost of $15,000,000. As there is need for broad streets in that neighborhood, this would be an invaluable acquisition. The building itself has a somber exterior. It stands slightly back from the Calle Florida, but sends two arms, side walls, only a few feet thick, out to the sidewalk as guards against other build- ings being built up alongside with windows from which one could look into the club house. From the entrance, a winding marble staircase with onyx railing ascends to a landing where there is a marble statue of a goddess sur- rounded by potted palms. The dining-room is in Empire style, and adorned with old tapestries, while the ladies’ room is Louis XVI. style. The ground floor has reading rooms where all the popular periodicals both foreign and domestic are to be had, besides bathrooms, shower, tub, and Swedish. There is not much gambling done as the members exert their vices of this nature on the race track, owned by the club, whence it derives its name. This track, the greatest and costliest in the world, is just beyond Palermo Park, a half an hour by carriage from the Avenida, and in the northern part of the city. The jam that goes out to this place of recreation on Sun- 296 South American Travels days eclipses in numbers the crowds that attend our baseball games. There are undoubtedly a couple of thousand automobiles, and more ‘than that number of cabs, lined-up outside of the gates during the races which take place twice a week on Thursdays and Saturdays. There are three brick~grandstands, plastered over so as to resemble stone, of the most tasteful architecture, the work of a young Frenchman, Monsieur Faure-Dujarric. The facade, café, betting stand, and smaller buildings in this enclosure are all harmonious. The stand at the finish is for members and their families only. It has a mushroom-shaped roof over the seats to protect the people from the sun. Just beyond that, is a general stand for anybody that wants to pay the extra price for sitting there. Then there is another building always crowded, the seats costing the admission fee only. Ladies are admitted to the best public stand by paying only entrance -admission, but they should never go there alone for Argen- tinos have a bad habit of crowding up close to good-looking young women, and showering them with lascivious at- tentions. Women also do not goin the paddock. Betting tickets cost five pesos ($2.50) apiece, and are sold singly or in one paper equivalent to five, ten, or twenty-five tickets: Eaehnumber of_each race has a different colored ticket as well as those of different denominations. Under the grandstands are barrooms, which, between the heats, are packed to their utmost capacity. On the green, there are three distinct tracks, each inside of the other, and a straightaway. The outer track is used solely for racing, the middle one is the road for the work wagons, while the third one isa try-out track. The interior of the oval is laid out like a park, and besides having ponds, canals, and waterways, is planted with bushes and small trees. This last is a pity, because, when the trees have grown a Buenos Aires 207 little more, the view of the races will be impaired. The government is trying to suppress all forms of gambling, -and there are many who think that horse racing will soon become a sport of the past. It will be a terrible blow to -the Jockey Club, for the money-expended on its grounds -and buildings has already run into eight figures. All the races in South America are running races, for trotting does not appeal to the public. There are many other clubs in the Argentine metrop- olis. The Jockey Club is more of a social affair where members reunite to pass the time, dine, read, smoke, and gossip. The Progreso Club is where the members repair to gamble, the favorite games being poker, baccarat, and dice. It has a large membership, and is under the pres- idency of Sr. Paz, who is also president of the newspaper, La Prensa. This club, like the newspaper, is housed in a five-storey building on the Avenida de Mayo. The -most exclusive club in the city is the Cerclo de Armas, whose membership is limited to three hundred. It is comprised of the most distinguished men of the city, the -famous politicians, and men of wealth; between drinks _all the latest news is discussed, for it is here that political .and foreign news is first delivered owing to the character .of the occupations of its members. The women have no clubs; they-spend*their-idle-time visiting one another, giving tea parties, attending the theater, and assembling in one of the parlors of the Hotel Plaza. The main retail portion of the city, where the best and largest stores are located, can be said to cover an area of a mile square. It is situated in that portion of the town north of the Avenida with its eastern boundary. at the Plaza de Mayo and its western at the Congressional Building, from which points it extends one mile north. There is a tendency for the business part to move west- 298 South American Travels ward. The Calle Florida, main street of Buenos Aires, is within four blocks of the eastern limits of the retail district, but the new and modern edifices are being built on the Calle Callao, a much broader street, and up to this time regarded as too far away ever to be of any conse- quence, as it is several blocks beyond the western pale of business. It is likely that the old firms’won’t move to this neighborhood, but, like the Avenida de Mayo, the large buildings may be used as hotels, while their ground floors will be devoted.to shops. There are many streets. running parallel to Florida that are of importance, most worthy of mention being Maipu, Esmeralda, Suipacha, and Carlos Pellegrini. Crossing it, and likewise important, are the Calles Rivadavia, Bartholome Mitré (commonly knowrni as B. Mitré), Cangallo, Sarmiento (formerly named Cuyo), Corrientes, Lavalle, Tucuman, and Cordoba. These streets are all well built up but are too narrow for a city the size of Buenos Aires. The sidewalks are narrow, and the pedestrians have to walk in the streets. The quarter of the city south of the Avenida is older and the first settled part. It is now given up to whole- salers, stores of second class, boarding-houses, and small shops. It has a main street, the Calle Lima; which runs to the Plaza Constitucion, the oldest plaza in the city, and grown up to large trees. On it is the depot of the Southern Railroad, the largest and finest in the city, but still behind the times. Buenos Aires has only two good depots, that of the Plaza Constitucion and the one called Once. Once is the depot belonging to the Western Rail- road, and derives its peculiar name, which means “eleven,” because it is on the Plaza Once de Septiembre. It is in the western part of the city, a mile beyond El Congresso, and at its entrance will be the termination of the new subway. The Argentine Central Railroad and the Buenos Aires 299 Pacific Railroad run into some old sheds near the river front, and designated by the names of Retiro Este and Retiro Oeste, which mean Retiro East and Retiro West. These depots have reached the point where they will be no longer used for passenger traffic, for the Argentine Central Railroad is building a fine modern depot, which will be one of the best in South America. The Entre Rios Railroad runs its trains into the city over the tracks of the Buenos Aires Central. _ Its depot is called Chacarita, owing to its proximity to the cemetery of the same name, which, although well within the city limits, is at least five miles from the Avenida. The Argentine Midland and the Province of Buenos Aires railroads enter the city in separate stations in the southern part of the town about two miles beyond the Plaza Constitucion. At the eastern end of the Plaza de Mayo, and facing the Avenida de Mayo, with its rear to the Paseo Colonis, is situated the capitol, the Casa Rosada. It was built in 1894 on the site of the old custom-house, before whose erection there stood here the first fort, and afterwards the great walls of the city. The Casa Rosada is 125 meters long by 81 meters deep, four storeys high, balconied, and of Renaissance style of architecture. It contains besides rooms for official duties, banquet halls and a library of the Department of Foreign Affairs. At the present time it holds the offices for the different cabinet members and their subordinates, for the other official buildings of the city are at present cramped forroom. The Penitentiary is on the Avenida General Las Heras and occupies a square kilometer. It has a printing shop, a carpenter shop,.an iron foundry, a shoe factory, a laundry, a recreation place, and a library. The Argentino, and especially the inhabitant of Buenos Aires, won’t work. It isn’t his nature. He is too lazy ‘300 South American Travels for manual labor. He lets the foreigners do it, and reaps the profits. During the year 1912 but few building per- mits were issued as compared to other years. This was due to the scarcity of labor, for the Italians, who are depended upon to do the menial jobs, emigrated in great numbets to participate in the war with Turkey and their exodus left Argentina laborless. The policemen are In- dians or semi-Indians, called mestizos, from the remote provinces, for even that job is too strenuous for the Argentino. Strange to say, the cab drivers are natives. That vocation requires no brains, and has the incentive of many tips. There are quite a few Russian Jews in the city. These are also undesirable, for they are also a lazy lot; they are the street vendors. I was one day walking along the “Avenida de Mayo with a friend of mine, named Nat ‘Guiberson, of Los Angeles, who was in Buenos Aires re- presenting the American Tool Company. We both had -a few beers tucked under our belts, and were in a mood for ‘jollification. Passing by a stand where one of these Jews had set up a cigarette stall, Mr. Guiberson dared me to pull his beard. I took him up. The Hebrew was a stalwart man about forty years old with a venerable beard. I grabbed hold of his voluminous spinach, at the same ‘time calling him ‘‘Judio,” which is Spanish for Jew. A few yanks at his tonsorial adornment put him into a tower- ing rage;but most of his race have.a yellow streak in them. Instead of trying to defend himself he backed up and spat at me several times but failed to hit me. I dodged, and Mr. Guiberson received the full benefit of his expec- toration. A few policemen were watching the perform- ance, but so great is the inborn prejudice against a Jew in the native mind, that, instead of interfering, they complimented me on the act. This police force is the Buenos Aires 301 limit. Its members are afraid to arrest a man, especially if he is of any size; they delight in arresting small children, especially little girls about the ages of ten to twelve. I never saw a man arrested during the time I was in the city, but I saw many school children being lugged off forcibly to the coop. When they are not arresting chil- dren, they are chasing them. They do not like foreigners, and are even more arrogant and officious than the full- blooded whites. If a person has a quarrel with a cabby over some short changing by the latter, the cop will in- variably take sides with the jehu. - The police are nearly all diminutive and‘do the traffic stopping on the streets lazily and sullenly. Their uniforms are of dark blue, and are out of place with their physique and general appearance, for you might as well hitch up a plow horse to a regal carriage as to put one of these mestizos in a uniform. The harbor is much too small for the vast amount of shipping. There are two basins, the Darsena Sud and the Darsena Norte, where foreign vessels enter a narrow channel and dock at the wharves. They have scarcely room ‘to turn around in, and the basins-are so congested that it sometimes takes hours for the vessel nearest the dock to gét out, so tightly jammed in is she by the others. As the river Plate never gets rough, many ships lie to in the channel and discharge and take on cargo by means of lighters. Something has to be done, and soon, or else Buenos Aires will lose much of its shipping trade to towns like La Plata and Bahia Blanca. Buenos Aires was founded in 1535, by Pedro de Men- doza, and is situated on the river Plate or Rio de La Plata, which is here twenty-eight miles wide. It is one hundred and eight miles from its mouth and ninety-eight miles from Montevideo. The city is eleven miles long 302 South American Travels and fifteen and a half miles broad. In area, it is one of the largest cities in the world, covering more land than Paris, Berlin, Bordeaux, Hamburg, Genoa, and Vienna, but less ‘than London, Marseilles, or New York. In 1869, the population was 177,000 inhabitants; in 1887, 433,000; in 1895, 660,000; in 1904, 950,000, while now, in 1914, it exceeds 1,500,000. It is a thoroughly European city in appearance, with its fine architectural monuments, squares, thoroughfares, and such splendid parks as Pal- ermo, de los Patricios, la.Tablada, Chacabuco, and Oeste. The first-named-contains one hundred and forty- seven acres, and is a place for recreation and elegant display. The streets are paved with asphalt, wood, and cobblestones. There are four electric car companies, two native, one French, and one British. It is a healthy city with a death rate of only 15.2 per 1000 inhabitants. At the same time;: the inhabitants are not famous for longevity. Most of them die before they reach old age, mostly from kidney troubles and affections. of the di- gestive organs. This is due to the artificial life they live, overfeeding, overdrinking,. overindulgence in sexual matters, and keeping poor hours. Compared with the great number of young men and men reaching middle age that are met on the streets, old men are few. Ifa man. reaches. forty-five years-old, he is doing well. The inhabitants speak Spanish with a different pronunciation than the Castilians. “Ll” of the Spaniards is ‘‘g” in Argentino, and “‘y”’ is “‘gi.”” The Avenida de Mayo is called the Avenida = “Magio” as to pronunciation. The inhabitants have a tendency to occupy a building before it is completed, and then commence another one before the first is finished, leaving the uncompleted part of the first to remain indefinitely in that state. It will be a couple of years before El Congresso will be finished, Buenos Aires 303 yet it is already occupied. The vista of this building will be somewhat hampered by a large marble statue that is being erected in front of it, too large to be in proportion. Scattered over all parts of the city are lecherias. These are shops where fresh milk is sold to those who enter them to drink it. A milk company named La Martona, at Cafiuelas, operates many of these and the supply is brought in daily over the Southern Railroad, the head- quarters being situated on it about an hour’s ride from the city by.‘train. ‘There are also some Brazilian coffee houses, owned by Sao Paulo firms, which-are-quite fashion-: able about four o’clock in the afternoons; as well as English tea rooms, favorite rendezvous for ladies of all stations of life at about the same time. It is interesting to see many men, sitting by themselves and placidly enjoying a dish of icecream. Such a custom would be regarded as effem- inate elsewhere. Imagine a military-looking individual at home seated at a table in a beer saloon nonchalantly eating some tutti-frutti or caramel glacé—you would feel like throwing a schuper.at him. Helooks just asmuch out of place doing the same trick-in Buenos Aires, yet everybody is doing it. In the cafés and bars are to be seen as many people drinking soft drinks as alcoholic ones, yet the words ‘‘prohibition’’ and “teetotaler’’ are unheard of. Everybody drinks beer, wine and vermouth, as well as soft drinks, and among the upper classes drunk- _enness is uicommon. I have been told that there is not a gold-cure or an institution for inebriates in the whole republic. There are very few drunken people to be seen on the streets, except during the Carnival Week and on holidays; those whom’ one‘ does see are mostly. Germans or Englishmen. Compared with our American cities there is but very little vice. What exists, is rarely visible. This is due to the chastity of the average. Argentine, 304 South American Travels woman, what prostitution there is in Buenos Aires being - the product of France and other European countries. The only place that I saw any indications of immorality at Buenos Aires was at the Casino de Buenos Aires where in the loges were a few “‘pick ups.’’ There is however a gang of blackmailers. A married man is apt to receive a letter from a woman telling him that she has been in- formed he intended taking rooms in the city, and that she would be pleased to have him call at a certain residence. at a certain time for the purpose of looking at the rooms. When.the unsuspecting stranger keeps his appointment, she accuses him of attempting to rape her, and blackmails him. I received one. of these epistles, and upon showing it to the hotel clerk, he produced another one written to’ another guest of the hotel by the same person, but re- questing him to call at a different address. If the police find out that a woman practicing’ prostitution lives in the same block where there is a school or where many children are they make her move her quarters. On carnival days, which are February 2d, 3d, and 4th, everybody jubilates. The banks and stores are all closed, and the whole city is on the Avenida, masked, in dominos, . and throwing confetti at every passer-by. In the parade, there are magnificent floats of roses, jessamine, lilies, and other flowers, filled with beautiful women, gorgeously: dressed ‘and gowned like -mythological, historical, and comic characters. There are floats advertising: certain firms, and some of grotesque appearance. Everybody en- joys himself, and there is much life on the streets in the: night as in the daytime. This is one of the very few times when people get drunk, and when they douse each other with water. This latter detestable habit is so much the fashion that the people who can afford it leave the city: before the carnival, and come back when it is over. The Buenos Aires 305 trains for Mar del Plata and Sierra de Cordoba are filled the night before the carnival commences, and extra coaches have to be put on, to accommodate the fugitives. This baptismal feature makes it difficult for a woman to appear in the streets if she has any regard for her gown. Boys and grown men have squirt guns which they use promiscuously on every woman, and on mostly every neatly dressed man. On the side streets it is dangerous to walk, because from the balconies people drop upon the pedestrians paper bags filled with water. I know a man who went on the street with white woolen trousers on. Somebody squirted black ink all over them. For the three days of the carnival in 1913, nobody slept at all. Two suburbs of the town, Flores and Belgrano, were set apart by the mayor in which the people could raise as much of a rumpus nights as they desired, thereby relieving the congestion down town. In order for the city to benefit by this, the main street of Belgrano, Calle Cabildo, was roped off and guarded: by mounted policemen. Ten pesos was charged for a vehicle entering the restricted district on Calle Cabildo. The procession went up on one side and came back on the other side of the street, and so many and thickly crowded together were the auto- mobiles,-cabs, and floats, that it took over an hour to go three quarters of‘a mile. I went, accompanied by my wife, in a taxicab, and by the time we reached the end of the procession, the automatic contrivance on the taxicab that tings up the fare had risen to a sum of two figures in front of the decimal. When we reached the end of the roped-off area we found that we could not turn around on account of the blockade, nor could we proceed for the street at this end was torn up. To make matters worse, it began to rainin torrents. Great gusts of wind, cannon- ading of thunder, and streaks of lightning rent the air. 20 306 South American Travels » There. was no street car within a mile; we were nearly ten miles from the hotel, and the only means of returning was by the automobile whose taximeter was steadily increasing the fare. Luckily the rain was of but short duration, but it was a long time before we succeeded in breaking through the cordon to reach a side street. This brought us to Palermo, and thence we reached the city proper. This brilliant pageant at Belgrano was worth much to see, and we considered the money well spent though it was very expensive. The carnival of Nice and the Mardi gras compared to this are but simulacra, little drops in a bucket. Arches of lights were stretched across the streets, and stands had been built along the sidewalks. To the city, the carnival of 1913 was such a lucrative investment that permission was given after an interval of five days for it to start up again, Saturday and Sunday, February 9th and 1oth. Though on these days there were mobs of people present, they didn’t turn out so. much in the idea of holding a pageant as they did with the idea of perpetrating deviltry. Sunday, February 1oth, was a very hot day, so » instead of going to the horse races at Palermo, my wife and I automobiled to Tigre, a popular summer resort, twenty- five miles north of the city, where the river Lujan empties into the La Plata. We passed miserable villages where ruffians stood with large insect sprays, filled with liquid, which they would turn on every woman that passed by. One man ran out with a jar of slops to heave at us, but thought better of.it, and.at.the last..minute changed his mind. A girl, evidently the daughter of the owner of a palatial residence, turned the garden hose on my wife, drenching her to the skin, and ruining her silk waist. Urchins threw fire-dragons into the tonneau, and would then run away. This Tigre, which in English is “tiger,” Buenos Aires 307 was given its name because a wild cat was once shot here on a floating island of reeds at the mouth of the Lujan. It is a favorite place of summer residence for the inhabitants “of Buenos Aires. It is no show-off place like Mar del Plata-or-Palm-Beach, but.is.more on.the Newport. style. The president has a summer home near here, and on the Lujan there are rowing clubs. Trains run frequently, and an electric line is about to be built. Halfway to the resort the suburban village of Olivos is reached, built above the La Plata on the side of a wooded hill. It isa conservative place for men of means who reside here the whole year with their families, going to the city every morning by train and returning at night. In winter, Buenos Aires gets cold, but not cold as com- pared with the temperature of the northern part of the United States. Its winter temperature is like that of Atlanta, Georgia, and it seldom snows. When it does, it is only in flurries and soon goes away. Overcoats are a necessity on account of the dampness of the air. In the summer it is warm but not unbearably so, while the really hot spells are only of a few days’ duration. One day it seemed chilly and I was thinking of donning my heavy underwear. I looked at the thermometer to find that it was 78° Fahrenheit. I had just returned from the north- ern part of the republic where it was excessively hot, the thermometer having been above the 100° mark for several weeks, and therefore I felt the change in tempera- ture greatly. It rained frequently at Buenos Aires, and when it does rain in South America, the display of lightning is vivid and is always accompanied by the booming of thunder. On the memorable night of May 25, 1810, when Argentina declared herself free from the Spanish yoke, it poured, and there is to be found in nearly every large hotel the famous picture of the people assembled. 308 South American Travels in front of the old Cabildo holding up umbrellas to pro- tect them from the downpour of rain. Rains are general in eastern Argentina, but of most frequency along the La Plata and the Parana rivers. The district where it rains the least in this section of the country is in the province of Corrientes, where it sometimes goes for a few months at a time without a drop of water falling. The stranger is apt to conjecture that it never rains in the Pampas or in the San Luis province on account of the desert. They make a mistake by so imagining, for the country owes its sterility to a hard moss named fosca which lies a few inches under the outer coating of the soil, preventing the penetration of water. Probably nowhere else on the globe do the people of both sexes go in for dress as much as they do in Buenos Aires and Rosario. The men dress like dudes, wear spats over their shoes, carry canes, and clothe themselves in the most expensive of raiment. An ordinary suit of street clothes costs one hundred dollars American. Their taste is good, so-no inharmonious colors are seen. They seldom wear evening clothes or tuxedos, and do not wear gloves as much as the Chileans. Traveling, the Argentino wears a duster to protect his clothes, not to keep himself from being dirty, for cleanliness is with members of both sexes an unknown quality, and what appears to us as cleanliness in them is only superficial. The inhabitants of Buenos Aires have a great horror for the bathtub; when they wash themselves, they merely throw a few drops of cold water on their faces and let it go at that. The only time the men get a good face washing is when they go to the barber shop, and a good hand washing when they get their nails manicured. As women have no need for the barber shop, they cover their dirt by smearing themselves with powder and paint. I once noticed a specially pretty Buenos Aires 309 girl on the street in Buenos Aires. I remarked something about her beauty to a foreign resident who was her neigh- bor. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but you can smell her coming.” Their personal habits are so filthy that they are continu- ously obliged to anoint themselves with perfume to deaden the odors of their bodies. One may become acquainted with an abnormally beautiful girl in Buenos Aires, apparently clean, but the chances are that it has been at least three months since she last saw the bathtub, or changed her stockings: Both sexes do not possess -much underclothing. They wear what they-have on till it becomes so full of holes‘ that it falls to pieces, or rots off, before investing in any new garment. On the train when three Argentinos slept in the same stateroom with me, the stench was so nauseating that I was obliged to have my head at the open window all night. Many houses in Buenos Aires have no bathrooms, and in most of the hotels they are so rarely used that they have be- come receptacles of bottles, boxes, and other kinds of débris. I met a Scotchman who told me that he once arrived at night in the best hotel in Tucuman. He asked that a bath be prepared for him, and the landlord took him for a lunatic to make such a request at ten o’clock at night. The common laborer is. the. cleanest, for he goes swimming every time he gets a chance, either in a muddy artificial pool or in a stream. The men of.the middle classes are apt' to be airouaie and overbearing, but those of the aristocracy who have superior breeding are more friendly. They prefer North Americans to Englishmen, although the latter are con- stantly maliciously reporting that the United States has designs upon Argentina, claiming that the Panama Canal is only a stepping stone towards their future occupation of entire South America. The men of Buenos Aires have 310 South American Travels a bad habit of rudely staring at women. It is not so much because of lewd purposes, but on account of their admiration for beauty. I know of a case where a man accosted a girl on the Calle Florida and the girl, who was English, retaliated by slapping his face. The man then sailed into the girl, broke her nose, and-to put a fitting climax to the affray wound up by having her arrested. Such a thing as physical punishment is unknown to the Argentinos, and when affronted this way, their temper gets the best of them, and they will then reach for some firearm. Argentinos, especially those of Buenos Aires and Rosario, accost women of other nationalities because they know that in those countries to which the women in question belong, the parents put less restraint upon the female sex. It is an evil following the Argentine seclu- sion of women. The girls of Buenos Aires are, on the whole, decidedly. virtuous, and are given no chance to converse with men, unless the latter have intentions of marriage with them. Therefore the men feel their loneli- ness and seek solace by accosting foreign women. As the men are quick of perception, they rarely bestow any degrading actions or speech upon a woman unless her actions warrant it. Although the Argentino stares rudely at the women, one never sees a group of loafers as in our cities standing on the street corners looking for “‘ chicken.” The men are also chivalrous. In Peru, I saw a man beating a woman on the street, and the passers-by gave the matter no notice. In Buenos Aires I saw the fat postage-stamp dealer of the Calle Sarmiento cuff his wife in front of his shop, and within a minute the whole populace of that section including barbers, waiters, and lottery ticket vendors were upon the corpulent fellow and were raining blows upon him, at the same time calling him ‘‘animal”’ and other names that are pet to the Argentine ears. Buenos Aires 311 ‘There are more millionaires in Buenos Aires than in any other city of the world, London, Paris, and New York included. They made their money at grain, cattle, wine, and shipping; they are in reality rich farmers and ranch- ers. Their houses are of the grandest type. The Plaza San Martin is literally surrounded by these palaces, some of which have such great dimensions as to be bounded by three streets. The Paseo ‘Alvear is an avenue that begins at the Plaza and runs toward Palermo. It is lined with the most magnificent mansions in’ the world: One rich man of the city is named Mihanovich. He came -from Trieste over a generation ago as a‘boatman on the river. He saved his money and invested it ina launch. Soon he had. enough ‘to buy another launch. He sold: these and bought a steamboat which he used as a ferry connecting Buenos Aires and Montevideo. ‘His line now-runs two steamets every night each way,-andthe greatest propor- tion of the passenger traffic of the La Plata, Parana, Paraguay, and Uruguay rivers is in his hands. His ships number a large fleet, all sidewheelers. Buenos Aires being essentially a European city has no counter- parton the Western Hemisphere as to aspect. The side- walks are narrow, and as the streets are constantly crowded there is no use hurrying. Nobody does, and it is very irritating to find people holding social conversations on the sidewalk, causing a blockade of pedestrians. It isthe same way in the post-office, and at the ticket windows of the depots. A peasant woman is apt to enter into a general conversation with the stamp clerk, or a dowager is apt to discuss the charm of Mar del Plata with the ticket-seller, much to the inconvenience of people with pressing business. The doctors are not efficient, and are terribly expensive. An operation for appendicitis is apt to cost several thou- sand dollars. As hospitals’ and medical: attendance..are-.. 212 South American Travels high priced, the inhabitants nearly all. have hospital tickets, similar to those sold in the North American lumber camps. Identification cards are sold by the Department of Police for three pesos each, and, besides giving the age and description of the bearer, they also have his thumb print and his photograph. Buenos Aires boasts of one of the greatest criminals that ever lived. About twenty years ago, there resided here a scientific man and doctor, who bragged that he could kill off the. whole city without being detected, and started the experiment. He gave lavish dinners; a few days afterwards one of the guests would be taken sick and die. His boast was remembered, and in every case the symp- toms of the disease were traced to cholera. The scientist had deliberately frozen cholera germs in the ice cream which. was served at his banquets. When thawed out in the system of the victim, they took effect. He was arrested, but died on the way to jail from hydrocyanic acid, a drop of which he held in a cavity of his tooth. To avoid more summary punishment at the hands of the law, he bit open this cavity by clicking his teeth together. Both the botanical and zodlogical gardens of Buenos Aires are very complete. They are on the Avenida Santa Fé, and the latter extends to the confines of Palermo Park. Admission to the zodlogical gardens is only ten centavos, and there is to be seen a fine collection of eagles, deer, ‘bears, and many species of the feline tribe. Llamas, some of which are of ugly disposition, and waterfowl are allowed to roam at random. We tried to approach one of these llamas, but failed to do so for it chased us into a building, trying to spit at us. The cemeteries are gruesome memorials to the dead. ‘There is no shade, and each vault is built up next to the neighbor. The houses of the dead form a veritable city, Buenos Aires 313 without even the slightest sprig of vegetation to add beauty to the spots, excepting that one named Chacarita or Cementerio del Oeste. The most famous one is the Cementerio del Norte in Recoleta. The sun beats down upon the white and marble stones, casting a brilliant glare at noon, while at dusk, the shadows of the vaults are spectral and eerie. To make matters more ghostlike, black cats wander among the tombs. This is the burial ground of makers of modern Argentine history and finance, but it.is: far. from- being such-a beauty spot as is the shaded and restful cemetery of Santiago. The natives are not good : artisans, so much of the sculpture for the tombs and mausoleums is done in Genoa; in later years Rosario artisans have competed with the Genoese, but they are likewise Italians, for the city up the river has a prepon- derating majority of inhabitants from Italy. There are but few factories of any consequence in Buenos Aires. There is an automobile factory, but the machines are virtually not made there. They are put together there. There are two breweries, the Bieckert, commonly called the Cerveceria Pilsen, and the Palermo Brewery, which makes a brand known as Victoria beer. The beverage is nothing extra, although superior in taste to that of the Argentina Brewery at Quilmes. As in Chile the-poorest beer is rushed the-most, and is the most popular. Andwandter’s Valdivia beer is vile, and.I found Quilmes none too good, yet these are the two most popular beers in their respective countries. They give their dark beers high-sounding names with labels to bear out their appellations: Africana, nigger brew, Othello, and Moresco are the names of some of the imitations of Muenchener. Although saloons are frequent in the metropolis, it is often difficult to get good German beer. The Bismarck, on Cangallo, and Aue’s Keller, on B. Mitré, are the best 314 South American Travels known. If Muenchener is all out, the waiter is apt to substitute some dark local brand and charge a Muenchener price for it. They tried this on me but struck the wrong party, because I am a beer expert. Like most cities, Buenos Aires has its slums, and very bad ones too. Monsieur Clemenceau, the great French statesman, recently paid a visit to the city. While there, he was almost regally entertained. He was whisked ina fine motor car through the Paseo Alvear, the Avenida de Mayo, Palermo Park, and the haunts of the wealthy. After he had seen these, he said: ‘‘ Now I want to see your city.” “How so?” inquired one of the notables delegated to show him: around, in astonishment. ‘‘What I want to see is how the poorer classes live. I can see all this luxury in: Paris.” -He was shown the slums and the tenement district by the unwilling attachés. When he had seen as much as he cared to, he said with a sigh, “‘I thought so.” About thirty miles southeast of Buenos Airés, is the city of La Plata, founded in 1882, capital of the pro- vince of Buenos Aires, and an important port of over 40,000 inhabitants. Trains of the Southern Railroad run there every hour from Plaza Constitucion, taking from forty-nine minutes to an hour and a quarter to make the trip. The line runs past summer villas of the wealthy people, then through the town of Quilmes, which possesses the second largest brewery in South America (Sado Paulo, Brazil, boasting of the largest), and by Villa Elisa with a . park and chateau of a rich Buenos Airean. At a place where the train crosses a small river, there stands in midstream a marble statue of a nymph. Buenos Aires is not in the province of the same name. It is the federal capital, and occupies much the same position to Argentina as does Washington to the United States, although the residents can vote and instead of having a commission Buenos Aires 315 elected by congress to run their affairs, it has its own body of aldermen. Not to be confounded with the city of Buenos Aires is the province of the same name. This has nothing to do with the city, as the latter was taken away from it in 1882, at the same time that La Plata was established. Since 1862, when ‘the capital of the tepublic was moved from Parana, Buenos Aires has been capital of the republic, and, until 1882, of the province as well. Mar del Plata and Bahia Blanca, both in the same province, are jealous of La Plata, and have been trying unsuccessfully for some time to wrest from the present incumbent the provincial seat of government. La Plata has its port, Ensenada, about three miles distant from the city proper, where there are mammoth grain elevators. It is connected to La Plata by tramway, on which electric cars run évery fifteen. minutes: It well repays the stranger to make the ride. The zodlogical garden, which is the principal point of interest in the city, and the provincial museum, are well worth visiting. The former opens at 2 P.M. every day, while the latter opens only on Thursday and Sunday _afternoons. Every two animals of the same species that are sent to the zodlogical garden in Buenos Aires are there entered on the books, and one is sent to La Plata. A broad avenue of stately eucalypti separates this ‘garden from a park across the street, in which is an artificial lake and many grottoes hewn out of imitation stone. It isa charming park, but could be better kept’ up. La Plata is laid out something like Washington, with diagonal avenues intersecting the right-angled streets. At the intersection of the diagonals are large square plazas. North to south all parallel streets are numbered from one to fifty, and east to west from fifty-one to one hundred; therefore by the key one can see that 17th Street crosses 316 South American Travels 81st Street and 62d Street crosses 3d Street. It is a relief to find a city in the republic where the monotonous street nomenclatures are broken, for nearly every Argentine city has its Calles Sarmiento, B. Mitré, Tucuman, Salta, Buenos Aires, Cordoba, Rioja, Santa Fé, Corrientes, and Entre Rios. Bahia Blanca is somewhat of an exception in this respect, for although many of its streets are named after the common routine, it likewise has originals such as Brown, O’Higgins, Chiclana, and Patagones. La Plata boasts of a number of -fine buildings, among - which isthe new railroad -depot-with a green lacquered tile dome, and in architecture mtich like the grandstand of the Jockey Club at Buenos Aires. It has a fine restau- rant, the best in the city. Then there is the Capitol, the Governor’s residence, larger than the White House at Washington, the Argentine Theatre, city hall, police department, and three large schools of higher learning, besides numerous other government buildings. All these buildings are colossal, for, at the time they were com- menced, people thought that La Plata would be a rival of Buenos Aires. They were to be disappointed for, although the city had a boom, its artificial harbor cannot even rival that of Bahia Blanca, and the broad avenues and spacious squares of the capital of the province of Buenos Aires are well-nigh deserted, except at the shop- ping hour, when there is.a great hustle to the railroad station of everybody who wants to get things cheaply at Buenos Aires and return at a later hour. On one large shadeless plaza there is, in course of erection, and has been so for some time, a mammoth church or cathedral, which, from its looks, as it now stands, will take quite a time to finish. Its unplastered brick outline stands against the horizon, visible from afar, a memento of a job undertaken without funds to accomplish the attainment. Buenos Aires 417 It is undoubtedly waiting for La Plata to reach the half million mark in population before subscribing hands will add a flourish to the check guaranteeing its completion. La Plata is not well endowed with statuary, but has one fine piece, that representing La Plata in the form of a white marble goddess. The Hotel Argentino is a poor apology, and the food is likewise poor. The senators and representatives must have cast-iron stomachs to digést courses on a par with the centenarian chicken that was laid out in front of me to the tune of ninety centavos. The so-called cafés are nothing but cab-drivers’ drinking parlors, and are not patronized by people with any pre- ‘tensions to social rank. There is a popular seashore summer resort, next to Atlantic City the most famous west of the Atlantic Ocean, but seven hours’ ride south of Buenos Aires by express train. It is named Mar del Plata, and is the seat of the Argentine aristocracy during the summer season, which class of patronage has been instrumental, though un- consciously, of having augmented the price of everything in this spa to half again as much as the current prices in Buenos Aires, which to my knowledge has no equal in the world in regard to steepness. This place is but twenty years old, and wasformerly exclusively patronized by only the élite of the metropolitan aristocracy. It is built on the Atlantic Ocean on a sandy waste, with a dismal back- ground of dunes against which the setting sun casts scin- tillating rays due to the silica in the composition of the barren soil: From the summit of these dunes no vegeta- tion is visible except a few eucalyptus trees adjacent to a lonely homestead. Why the rich inhabitants of Buenos Aires founded this city is, to me, a riddle that needs solving, yet the name Mar del Plata is appropriate, for the sea, abounding in fish, is silvery. A big hotel, the 318 South American Travels Bristol, is the center of social life and before a male person thas been there for any length of time, some enterprising dowager will have his financial record looked up in Dun’s or Bradstreet’s, investigating whether he.may be a fitting ‘suitor for her daughter’s hand. Besides the Bristol, there is a ganibling hall;:the only one run openly in Argentina, which I understand according to law will soon be a thing of the past; a most laudable law, for the habitués of this placé comprise, for the most part, the blasé youth of Buenos Aires who have more money than brains, and professional gamblers from the spas of Europe. Nouveaux riches with money to spend congregate here from every point in the republic, and endeavor to outvie one another with the costliness of their jewels and gowns. Formerly, no drinking water could be procured in Mar del Plata, and wells had to be sunk. From that time on, there was a great speculation in sand lots, which rose to a great value, and continue so at the present day. On account of the winds, no trees can grow, so there are no shady promenades. There is a board walk, called the Rambla, where old and young sally forth in procession, all dressed fit to kill, mainly to show off their raiment. On one side of this walk, is the beach, but nobody ever bathes, either from the natural abhorrence of anything cleanly or else because the water is too cold. People with marriageable daughters from the provinces bring them here to display them, but are apt to be given the cold shoulder by the. Buenos-Aireans, who have an unwashed aristocracy .as difficult. of entry: as the bean-eating: Back Bay coterie of Boston. Then the worthy matrons of Cordoba and Tucuman enviously sit aside like wall flowers to await the chance of presenting their female offspring to wealthy strangers who are more democratic than the inhabitants of the great city on the river Plate. Buenos Aires 319 The town is filled with automobiles, whose owners are continuously tooting their horns to let strangers know that they are able to afford the luxury of a motor car. From 11 A.M. till noon, the street in front of the high- priced an@*nione too excellent Hotel Bristol is lined with them.:- Mar del.Plata is a very~stiff-and formal: place. When the girls dance, they are held at arm’s length, and if an audacious young Romeo tries to draw his affinity too close to him, the mother of the Juliet casts at him a wither- ing glance, and prohibits the suitor from engaging in the future with her daughter in the light fantastic. (This pro- hibition only holds good as long as the daughter is at Mar del Plata, where prudery is carried to the extreme.) At Mar del Plata is to be met the same superbly gowned, superficially clean cream-of-society bunch that during ‘the-winter months drink pink tea at the Hotel Plaza in Buenos Aires or give sumptuous balls at their home resi- dences. A noted French author, Jules Huret, says that «the-only way to make Mar del Plata gay and interesting is to import there about three hundred demi-mondaines for the season. This idea would be all right if the impor- ‘tation were not of the private type. However, the place would certainly be improved upon if some enterprising person would open a few beer halls of the Rosario style, with burlesque shows on the stage. CHAPTER XII FROM BUENOS AIRES TO ASUNCION ARAGUAY is a country I have long wanted to visit. Once, when on a steamer crossing the Atlantic, I met a diplomat from that country, and, from the descriptions he gave, I made up my mind to go there sometime. The opportunity for the fulfillment of this wish came sixteen years afterwards. I was then at Buenos Aires, and did not let the occasion slip by. From the Argentine capital, there are several different ways of reaching Asuncion. The best-known route is by the steamers of the Compania Argentina de Navigacion, Nicholas Mihanovich Limitada. These boats leave Bue- ‘nos Aires thrice weekly, taking four days to reach their destination, the trip being up the Parana and the Paraguay rivers. A second way, is to take the steamers belonging to the same company up the Uruguay River as far as Concordia, and thence by the Northeastern Railroad of Argentina to Posadas, then cross the Alto Parana River by ferry and take the Paraguayan Railroad from Villa Encarnacion direct to Asuncion. One can, also, go by rail from Buenos Aires to Corrientes via Concordia, and at Corrientes take either a steamer of the Mihanovich line, one of the Brazilian Lloyd, or one of the Domingo Barthe line up the Paraguay River to Asuncion. The 320 From Buenos Aires to Asuncion 321 same thing can be done from Rosario, Parana, or Resis- tencia, each of which places, situated on the Parana River, is in connection with Buenos Aires by rail. By water direct to. Asuncion the distance from Buenos Aires is 931 miles, and by land, direct, is 1147 miles. I decided to go by land, with the intention of returning by water, so one Saturday morning I boarded the train of the Entre Rios Railroad Company at the Chacarita Station, Buenos Aires. The coaches were new and of the European sleeping-car style. The train runs for sixty- two miles over the tracks of the Buenos Aires Central Railroad to Zarate, and is then ferried across the delta of the Paranda River to Ibicuy, where the Entre Rios Rail- road begins, the duration of the crossing being five hours. Leaving Buenos Aires, the railroad runs across a flat, thickly settled, cultivated, treeless country, passing an occasional wretched village with its gruesome Campo Santo in the neighborhood of the track. The train ar- rived at Zarate on time, but, as we made a long stop, and as the train showed no inclinations of proceeding, I descended and asked what the trouble was. I was in- formed that the car ferry had become stuck in the mud, and that, in all probability, it would-be eight or nine hours before we could cross on another one which was at present at Ibicuy, and which was obliged to wait there until the arrival of the train going in the direction of Buenos Aires. This settled it. I picked up my belongings, and left the train. At the depot, I was informed that an express train of the Argentine Central, on its way to Buenos Aires, was due to arrive at Zarate in half an hour, and that the depot of that respective road was nineteen blocks away. It would have been impossible to walk that distance in the allotted time, and no hacks were visible. The only vehicle of any description was a high two-wheeled cart, 2r 322 South American Travels evidently of home manufacture, with no steps to it. In this stood an aged Italian farmer. He volunteered to drive me to the other depot, so I stepped on the hub, and ‘then onto the top of the wheel, jumped into the cart, and made myself as comfortable as possible under the circum- stances by sitting on the valises. I was afterwards told that Zarate is of importance commercially owing to its large beef-canning establishment, but, as the ratty horses galloped down its dusty unpaved streets between its single- storeyéed red brick hovels, straggling along for a great distance, its woe-begone appearance suggested nothing of its prosperity. The off horse occasionally kicked as it galloped, and to a few families seated in respectable look- ing carriages that we passed, we must have presented a ludicrous appearance. The.return trip.to Buenos Aires was done in one and three quarter hours as against two and three quarter hours on the outward trip. On arrival at Buenos Aires, I went to the-office of the Entre Rios Railroad and received.a-refund for my.money on the unused ticket. My next attempt at a trip to Asuncion, which was successful, took place three days later. For $14.00 I purchased a boat ticket to Concordia, and, at five o’clock in the afternoon, sailed in the sidewheeler Triton, of the Mihanovich~-line, from the congested basin of Darsena Sud. This boat was built at: Newcastle-on-Tyne, and has a displacement of 1600 tons. It is very commodious, has three decks, and an exceptionally large dining-room in the bow. Allrooms enter into two long halls, which begin at the bow and terminate in a parlor at the stern. The toilet was dirty, and the food could have been improved upon. Otherwise ‘everything: was «satisfactory. Ships enter the La Plata River through a channel, whose sides are defined by long wooden piers, and, later, by buoys. From Buenos Aires to Asuncion 323 The river is dirty brown, and, at this point, twenty to twenty-five miles wide. After a ride of an hour and a half, the low-lying shore of Uruguay comes in view, and then we head against the current. Land is seen on both sides, but in the distance, while on the near starboard is the island of Martin Garcia, belonging to Argentina, and strengthened by a small garrison. Night comes on, and at about 9 P.M. we enter the Uruguay River. Lights of villages. on the Uruguayan side are seen, and several lighthouses on that shore flash. their warnings simultane- ously. At 10.30 P.M. we anchor off Palmira, Uruguay, our first stop. Shortly after leaving Palmira I turned in; I was lucky enough to be the first of my roommates on board the ship, for I was thereby enabled to take possession of the lower berth, compelling them to seek repose in the upper berth and on the couch. Sometime after midnight, I was awakened by the noises of the steam winch, and looked out of the window. We were anchored off the city of Fray Bentos, Uruguay, and, although it was an hour when all people should be asleep, the scene on the river was a busy one. Numerous vessels were anchored near the docks, and small craft swarmed around the Triton, soliciting passengers to enter their boats to be rowed to the shore. There were motor boats -galore, and in one sat the captain of the port. Fray Bentos is the seat of the largest beef extract plant in the world, that of Liebig. Although it is in Uruguay, and is connected with Monte- video by rail, the road runs in such a roundabout fashion that nearly all the transient trade is via Buenos Aires. It is at the head of the widest part of the Uruguay River, which, as one ascends, soon narrows down from five miles in breadth to one mile. About seven o’clock the next morning, we stopped at 324 South American Travels Concepcion del Uruguay, commonly known as the city of Uruguay, in the province of Entre Rios, Argentina, It is the sixth city in size in the province, with a popula- tion of 13,561 inhabitants. The province of Entre Rios receives its name, meaning ‘“‘Between the Rivers,” from its geographical situation. It is, in shape, a long penin- sula, bounded on the east by the Uruguay, and on the west by the Parana rivers, which come together at its southeastern extremity, forming the La Plata. It has an area of 47,346 square miles, and a population of 401,119 inhabitants, making it fourth in rank of the provinces of Argentina. The land is largely given up to the raising of stock. Shortly after raising anchor, we met a sailing vessel, named the Penobscot, hailing from Eastport, Maine. The banks of the river are sandy beaches, behind which are thickets of stunted trees. On the Uruguay side, these trees stretch back over the gently rolling land as far as the eye can see, while on the Argentina bank they soon - give place to wheat fields waving golden in the dazzling sunlight. Numerous islands are met, the channel being anywhere from one half mile to one mile in width. About 8 A.M., we reach Paysandu, the third city of Uruguay, which appears to be of prominence as seen from the steamer’s deck. A few large warehouses painted salmon color are the only buildings of importance in the immediate vicinity, but beyond these stretch a few long streets to a point over a mile distant, where the city is built on a rise of ground. A very large church, evidently a cathedral, shows up well, rising to a great height, while farther away on the hilltop, is a large rectangular building, presumably a barrack. Upstream a short ways from Paysandu, at which city my roommates disembarked, is the little city of Colon, Argentina, with a population of 3,422 inhabitants. -The From Buenos Aires to Asuncion 325 boat ties up at a small dock. The little town of low red brick buildings looks pleasant amidst a grove of poplar trees. The river bank is here rocky, and is of flat lime- stone formation; many women are knee deep in the muddy water washing clothes. While at the dock at Colon, we were informed that, on account of the lowness of the water in the river, we should be unable to continue on the Triton, and should have to be transferred to another steamer, the Surubi, much smaller, and which lay along- side of us. A few miles upstream we passed the large Colon beef-canning factory, or saladeria, built of red-brick and painted white. ° From a distance, I thought it was a tobacco field covered with sheets to protect the plants from the sun. The banks.become high, especially on the Uruguayan side, and on an eminence that projects into the river, forming a cape, is the bust of Artigas on a high column. A few small villages are passed on the right bank, each one having its saladeria. The river becomes studded with treacherous sand bars. To avoid these, the pilot has to steer circuitous routes guided by buoys, each one of which has painted on it the distance in kilometers to the mouth of the river. About half-past four in the afternoon, Salto, Uruguay, is seen stretching its yellow-brown length along the river bank, while closer at hand, yet nearly indiscernible through the trees, as it lies about a mile back from the river, is the city of Concordia, Argentina. It is the second city in size in the Entre Rios province, with a population of 25,047 inhabitants, although, if anybody had told me that it was half that amount, I should have thought he was exaggerating. The city is the northern terminus of the Entre Rios Railroad, and the southern terminus of the Northeastern Argentina Railroad, and is 343 miles from Buenos Aires northward by rail. This city and Salto are 326 South American Travels the ends of direct navigation on the broad and muddy Uruguay River, although the great stream rises a thousand miles above here. It is filled with cataracts, sand bars, and waterfalls. The name Salto means waterfall, and the lowest fall is above that place. A stone dock projects into the river at Concordia, and onto this I landed, and had to go through the custom- house to have my valises examined. I inquired the name of the best hotel, and was told that it was the Imperial, to which I was driven to the tune of.two.pesos. The air was hot and oppressive, and myriads of mosquitoes were in evidence. The Hotel Imperial is on the plaza, and is mostly barroom. There is, however, a dark courtyard, upon which open rooms with no windows and having no ventilation. As I was to stay only until nine o’clock at night, I didn’t mind this much. I took a drive to the railroad station to secure a berth for Posadas. The depot is pea green and has two towers. There is nothing in the city worthy of interest. The plaza has an equestrian statue of San Martin looking in the direction of the Andes, and on the street that bounds the western side is the cathedral, erected in 1891, and very plain.as to both interior and exterior. During a stroll, I found out that there is, in the city, a better hotel than the Imperial. Its name is the Colon. It is built around a two-story patio much the same as the Hotel de France at Concep- cion, Chile, with a gallery around the second floor. The restaurant of the Imperial is the best in Concordia, for its proprietor, Sr. Luchetti, is also a caterer. One thing in favor of the town is that I obtained there: the best cigars that I had hitherto been able to procure on my trip. The inhabitants are automobile ‘“‘dippy,” but not to such extent as those of Mendoza. Many Indian types are to be met with on the streets, the first I had'seen in From: Buenos Aires to Asuncion 307 Argentina with theextennan of the policemen. of Buenos Aires: . At-dinner, I sat across the table from a young clerk weer gave me interesting information about the neighboring country, and presented me with a bunch of grapes from a friend’s garden. He said that, until recently, people had not gone into the fruit-raising industry in Entre Rios, but now, since they saw what could be done, they were all taking a hand at it, and that land which last year’ (1913) was selling for ninety pesos a hectare had now (1914) risen to 120 pesos. Taking a hectare as one acre, although it is slightly larger, it can be seen that the price in 1913 was $37.80 an acre against $50.40 in 1914, with the prospect of it doubling in value during the next five years. Prices of land are high in Argentina, yet it must be taken into consideration that the purchaser has to expend no money in clearing, for there are no trees or bushes on it, except those planted by human agencies. The only place where wheat is grown in Entre Rios is near Concepcion del Uruguay, where I obtained a glimpse of fields from the Triton that morning. The great in- dustry of Entre Rios is-the saladerias, of which there is a great number.. The. clerk told me that Salto, though ‘a larger city-than Concordia, was a dull place, and that many people who lived there crossed the river daily to Concordia to do their business. Salto is an old and wealthy town, the residence of quite a few retired Brazilian estan- cieros, as the boundary of Uruguay and Brazil is not far distant. It is connected with Montevideo by rail, but the trip takes two days. From Salto, one can also ‘go by rail to Rio de Janeiro, necessitating a change of trains five times, with the nights spent at some primitive hotels at the towns reached in the evening, as the trains don’t run by night. The Farquhar Syndicate, an Ameri- 328 South American Travels can and English concern, is about to build a bridge across the Uruguay connecting Salto with Concordia, and a French company is talking about using the falls of the river for electrical power. I inquired why locks weren’t built at the falls, so that the river would be navigable beyond, but was told that on account of the shallowness of the water, it would be useless, especially as there were no towns beyond and only a few scattered settlements. The sleeping cars of the Northeastern Argentina Rail- road are not so good as those of the Entre Rios Company; they are more on the order of the European second-class sleepers. I was fortunate in being alone in the compart- ment, as I wanted a lower berth, and also felt feverish on account of having. been in the hot sun all the day. I awoke twice that night, the first time at a station named Chajari, and although it was dark, the moon gave enough light to judge, from the height of the magnificent trees and appearance of buildings and gardens, that the neigh- borhood of the town was an old settled country. The second time that I awoke, we were at Monte Caseros, a town of 9000 inhabitants, and the junction for Corrientes. Here are the headquarters of the Northeastern Argentine Railroad. The next morning, we were well within the province of Corrientes, a broad treeless plain of waving grass as far as one could see. The ground is rich and somewhat soggy. Herds of cattle with tails like those of horses grazed in the unfenced plains, and I saw ostriches trot away across the prairie, frightened at the approach of the train. The few inhabitants visible were Indians, but unlike our nomad variety, these were an agricultural people, living in small brick and adobe houses. They were out of doors as the day was breaking over the gently rolling Brazilian prairie across the river, dim figures out- lined against the sky, kindling fires on stones by the side From Buenos Aires to Asuncion 329 of their huts to prepare their morning meal. Yesterday the country was brown and parched from lack of rains, for it had not rained in Entre Rios for a month, and once monthly is the average in that province during the summer. Here everything was green and fresh, and from the muddy pools I saw evidence that, in this region, there had been an abundance of rainfall. The little wayside stations have palms planted about them, while within the garden walls are orange trees. At Paso de Los Libres, about sixty-five miles north of Monte Caseros, a ferry crosses the Uruguay River to Uruguayana, in the state of Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil, at which point the railroad to Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, and the other large Brazilian cities strikes inland: The Argentine province of Corrientes has an area of 54,299 square riiiles, and a population of 369,858 inhabi- tants. It is situated directly north of Entre Rios, is bounded on the east by the Uruguay River and the terri- tory of Misiones, on the north by the Alto Parana River, and on the west by the Parana River, on which lies the capital city, also named Corrientes. Corrientes was for- merly part of Paraguay, then was an independent state, as was the case with Cordoba and Tucuman, but later voluntarily joined what was then the Argentine Con- federation. It had its own coinage and postage stamps. During the morning, there was the monotonous same- ness of the landscape. At Apostoles, the first stop in the territory of Misiones, which we reached about noon, the flatness of the country changed to that of a slightly hilly district, with patches of woods, and if it had not been for the semi-tropical character of the trees the scen- ery might have been that of Illinois. The soil was red like that of Georgia, and, as is characteristic in that State, the grass was of the same coarse variety. About three 330 . South.American Travels . o’clock ia the afternoon, we reached Posadas, the capital of ‘Misiones. The.town isbuilt oma hill overlooking the south bank.of the Alto Parana’ River, here one and.a half miles. -wide,.and has a population of 8827 inhabitants.. It is a ‘most uninviting place, of coarse red brick buildings.. From the depot to the miserable inn; which goes. by-the name ‘of Paris Hotel, wheré I spent the night, is.a considerable jaunt. A slovenly German acted as headwaiter, portier, and general manager. He could speak English, having ‘been: in the United States, and, besides his menial duties, sold. photographs of the falls of Yguassu. ‘Fhe beds have ‘mosquito nettings, as the mosquitoes are very thick. At this hotel, I met an Austrian, Rodolfo Gabler by name, who was salesman for the great machine and hardware import- ing firm of Boeker y Cia., with offices in Buenos Aires. We took in the sights of this town, which consisted mainly in sitting in the courtyard of the Hotel Germania listening to an automatic music box. The Germania was a better hotel than the one we stopped at, and we regretted that we hadn’t gone there in the first place; but we had never heard of it before we reached Posadas. The proprietors of the Ger- mania were a cotiple of Teutons who went by the names of Rohrsetzer and Heidecker. We ate dinner there that night, which angered the Spanish landlord~of the Paris. There are two other hotels, the Yguassu and the America, both poor. In most of the hotels in the towns of the interior, there are two toilets, one for the proprietor and one for the guests. The former is apt to be kept clean, while the filth of the latter is invariably indescribable. When Gabler and myself at different times asked for the key to that of the Hotel Germania, Rohrsetzer pretended that he had lost it, but we saw that it didn’t take him long in finding it when he himself had a call. Heidecker had a gasoline lamp that he was afraid to light from un- From Buenos Aires to Asuncion 331 pleasant past experiences, so he sent in a mestizo boy, here called chinos, to do the job for him. An explosion followed, singeing the boy’s hair and giving him an awful fright. Heidecker was prepared, and when the ignition really took place he had already covered most of the distance to a far garden wall. When the chinos had collected around the boy, and the danger had. passed, ‘Heidecker’s heavy clean-shaven careass stalked up to the-group, and upbraided them for being clumsy, telling them that the.-boy. had made a -bungle of the job, and explained to them. how to light the lamp. He lit a paper, which he handed to a Brazilian servant, and told him to light it. The Brazilian did as he was told, but, in the meanwhile, Heidecker was active in covering ground to put as much space as he could between him and the prospective explosion.