PUNTA ARENAS THE WORLD'S JUMPING-OFF PLACE
Pleasant and Busy Life in City of Perpetual Winter--Wealthy and
Well Ruled--Millions Made in Wool, Mutton and Furs--One Splendid
Mansion Amid Many Corrugated Iron Buildings--Famine in Postal
Cards--Jack on Horseback--Officers Found More Fun in Social
Gatherings Than Out in the Wilds--Surreptitious Traffic of a
Free Port.
_On Board U. S. S. Louisiana, U. S. Battle Fleet_,
PUNTA ARENAS, Feb. 7.
Punta Arenas is known commonly as the jumping-off place of the earth.
The generally accepted meaning of that characterization is that it is
not only the southernmost settlement of any size of civilized people in
the world, but that it is the most forlorn, dreary, desolate place that
any one could find in which to live.
Indeed, before this fleet arrived here it is probable that not one
person in a hundred in the United States knew where Punta Arenas was,
and those who had some vague idea about it had an impression that it is
one of those reformed penal colonies where the driftwood of humanity
huddle together, tolerate one another because they are birds of a
feather and eke out a miserable existence in trafficking with Indians,
herding sheep, looting wrecks and spending their spare time in low
ceilinged saloons gulping down liquor that would put knockout drops to
shame.
Well, it simply isn't true! Punta Arenas is a lively city of 12,000
residents, one of the best governed in the world, with all modern
improvements except trolley cars, half a dozen millionaires and scores
of men worth $500,000 or more, with one residence at least that would
hold its own more than favorably with the residences on Madison Avenue
in the Murray Hill part of New York, with excellent schools, with a
"society" that knows as well as any on earth how to wear Paris gowns and
to give entertainments as finished in all the delicate niceties as could
be found in any capital.
Punta Arenas isn't pretty in any sense and even the well-to-do are
content to live in one-story houses with corrugated iron roofs, but it
is a hustling, busy place where every comfort and luxury can be secured,
and it has a pronounced twentieth century air about it. It resembles
strongly a western Kansas or Nebraska town. Its climate is always cool
but never seriously cold. The lowest recorded temperature in this place,
which corresponds in latitude to Labrador in the Northern Hemisphere, is
20 degrees Fahrenheit above zero. The highest is 77. Why, there are two
four-in-hands and one French automobile, this in a town, mind you, where
there are no roads out in the country and no place except the town
streets in which to drive! Any one who has seen these smart turnouts is
justified in dropping into slang far enough to say that is going some!
There was good reason for a preconceived unfavorable opinion of Punta
Arenas. Recently there have been several flattering accounts published
of the town and its life, but they have not received a wide circulation.
Such accounts as were in the books of travel, with probably one
exception, were repellant. Here is what William E. Curtis said in 1888,
in his book entitled "The Capitals of South America," and dedicated to
Chester Alan Arthur:
"It [Punta Arenas] belongs to Chile and was formerly a penal colony; but
one look at it is enough to convince the most incredulous that whoever
located it did not intend the convict's life to be a happy one. It lies
on a long spit that stretches out into the strait, and the English call
it Sandy Point, but a better name would be Cape Desolation. Convicts are
sent there no longer, but some of those who were sent thither when Chile
kept the seeds and harvests of her revolutions, still remain there.
There used to be a military guard there but that was withdrawn during
the war with Peru and all the prisoners who would consent to enter the
army got a ticket of leave. The Governor resides in what was once the
barracks and horses are kept in a stockade. Hunger, decay and dreariness
are inscribed upon everything--on the faces of the men as well as on the
houses they live in--and the people look as discouraging as the mud.
"They say it rains in Punta Arenas every day. That is a
mistake--sometimes it snows. Another misrepresentation is the published
announcement that ships passing the strait always touch there. Doubtless
they desire to, and it is one of the delusions of the owners that they
do; but as the wind never ceases except for a few hours at a time, and
the bay on which the place is located is shallow, it is only about once
a week or so that a boat can land, because of the violent surf.
"The town is interesting because it is the only settlement in Patagonia
and of course the only one in the strait. It is about 4,000 miles from
the southernmost town on the west coast of South America to the first
port on the eastern coast--a voyage which ordinarily requires fifteen
days; and as Punta Arenas is about the middle of the way it possesses
some attractions. Spread out in the mud are 250 houses, more or less,
which shelter from the ceaseless storms a community of 800 or 1,000
people, representing all sorts and conditions of men from the primeval
type to the pure Caucasian--convicts, traders, fugitives, wrecked
seamen, deserters from all the navies in the world, Chinamen, negroes,
Poles, Italians, Sandwich Islanders, wandering Jews and human driftwood
of every tongue and clime cast up by the sea and absorbed in a community
scarcely one of which would be willing to tell why he came there or
would stay if he could get away. It is said that in Punta Arenas an
interpreter for every language known to the modern world can be found,
but although the place belongs to Chile, English is most generally
spoken."
All that may have been true in those days, except about the rain, the
wind, the shallow harbor and the impossibility of landing in a boat more
than once a week and several other items.
Here is what Frank G. Carpenter said in 1900 in his book on South
America, and it is the most favorable of any of the books dealing with
Punta Arenas:
"The city has been cut out of the woods, and as we enter it we are
reminded of the frontier settlements of our wooded Northwest. Its houses
are scattered along wide streets with many recurring gaps and here and
there a stray stump. The streets are a mass of black mud through which
huge oxen drag heavy carts by yokes fastened to their horns. At one
place the sidewalk is of concrete, at another it is of wood, and a
little further on it is of mud. Many of the houses are built of sheets
of corrugated iron, their walls wrinkled up like a washboard, and all
have roofs of this material. A few are painted, but nearly all are of
the galvanized, slaty color of the metal as it comes from the factory.
"There is plenty of building space, but when you ask the price of vacant
lots you find that property is high. What in the United States would be
a $50 shanty is here worth $500, and a good business corner will sell
for several thousands of dollars.
"Punta Arenas has one residence which would be considered a mansion in
Washington city. This house, however, is the only one of its kind in
Punta Arenas. Most of the dwellings are one-story structures which in
the United States could be built for from $500 to $2,000. Many of the
poorer houses are occupied by rich men; indeed, Punta Arenas has as many
rich men as any frontier town of its size. It has thirty-three men each
of whom owns or controls from 25,000 to 2,500,000 acres of land. Each
has tens of thousands of sheep, and the wool clip of some of these sheep
farmers is worth more than the annual salary of the President of the
United States.
"The citizens of Punta Arenas come from all parts of the world. Some of
the richest people are Russians; others are Scotchmen who have come from
the Falkland Islands to engage in sheep farming; among them also are
treacherous Spaniards, smooth-tongued Argentines and hard-looking
brigands from Chile. The lower classes are chiefly shepherds and
seamen, and among them are as many rough characters as are to be found
in our mining camps of the West."
That extract caused you to be more interested in the place, but still
the reference to rough characters made you feel that if you were going
ashore it would be better to leave your money on the ship and not go
alone. When the fleet came in sight of the town all the glasses in each
ship that could be spared were in constant use. You saw a gathering of
dwellings, almost entirely one-story structures and all of a slate
color. There was one tower in the centre of the place. The town
stretched for nearly a mile and a half along a sloping hill, nearly flat
in the foreground, and it extended back in a straggling way for about
three-quarters of a mile. Back of the town on rising ground was a belt
of burned timber, bleak and forbidding, and then came the sharp rise of
the ground into a low range of mountains, eight or ten miles away and
about 1,500 or 1,800 feet high, with patches of snow here and there in
sheltered nooks.
"Quite a town, that!" was the general comment. The harbor contained a
dozen or fifteen steamships, coasters and tugs and was alive with
Chilean flags. Fully one-half of the buildings, many of them mere
shacks, had the Chilean flag above them. The red, white and blue color
gave bright relief to the sombre appearance of the town. That display of
bunting warmed up the Americans some. Anchor was cast soon after noon
and by 3 o'clock the first men were ashore. The glad hand was stretched
out to them.
The visitors were surprised at the place. They found shops where
everything that one could wish was to be purchased. If you wanted your
fountain pen fixed all the parts necessary were to be obtained. If you
wanted kodak supplies there they were. If you desired paint, brass
tubes, fine olives, dog biscuit, rare wines, high grade cigars, a
theatrical performance, a suit of clothes made to order, fresh meat or
fish, fresh milk, diamonds, hunting supplies, books, hardware--well,
everything that a reasonable person could wish was to be had at moderate
prices, except furs. The furs were there by the bale, and they too were
cheap when you considered the prices you would have to pay for the same
product in the United States, but they were not cheap for Punta Arenas.
Prices were advanced 50 per cent. on furs as soon as the first man from
the fleet got ashore.
The first thing that struck the eye as the launches swung into the long
landing pier was an enormous sign painted on the sea-wall saying:
+------------------------+
| SPECIAL PRICES FOR THE |
| AMERICAN FLEET! |
+------------------------+
It was the strict truth, especially as to furs. Fox skin rugs that had
been selling for $25 went to $40. Guanaco skins that had been $10 went
up to $15. Seal skins that were $50 went to $75. The only way to get the
lower prices was to get some resident of the town to purchase for you on
the pretext that he wanted to make a gift of the furs. Then you paid him
and you got furs nearer their real Punta Arenas value.
The visitors found the city laid out in squares with the wide streets
in the central part of the town paved with rubble. The curbs are marked
with heavy wooden timbers and most of the walks are narrow and covered
with gravel. Probably one-third of the buildings in the central part of
town have concrete sidewalks in front of them. The visitors also found
the place well policed with men in long cloaks and swords, bad looking
men to go up against, but men who soon had orders, apparently, to go
into the back streets and disappear. At any rate they were seldom seen
in the heart of the city after Jack got ashore, and it was whispered
openly that the authorities had told them to "go into the bosky" and let
the Americans do their own policing. This was done and the best of order
prevailed during the fleet's stay.
The visitors also found a fine water supply brought from far back in the
mountains, an excellent fire department and the streets sewered and
clean. Electric lighting was the common mode of illumination in the
shops and scores of dwellings. Most surprising among the little things
to be observed was that practically every dwelling had an electric bell
at the front door. Galvanized iron was the predominant material for
dwellings and some stores. The reason was soon apparent. The fire
regulations do not permit the erection of wooden buildings in the
city--up to date, you see--and stone and good bricks have to be brought
in. Rough bricks are made here, but those of a better quality have to be
imported. They will be made here in time doubtless, but the town has
been too busy making money in wool, exporting mutton and selling furs to
start up manufactories for building material for home consumption
strictly. Corrugated iron is the easiest and cheapest to get and the
fashion of having a residence of that material has been so well
established that even a rich man takes it as a matter of course that he
must live in one.
As one wandered further into the town he found a central plaza with a
band stand in it, the western frontage occupied with the Governor's
residence and the Catholic church; the northern side the site of a
residence that made the visitor gape with astonishment to find so really
handsome a building in such a place, the office and general wholesale
store of Moritz Braun, the American Consular Agent here, and the shop of
José Menendez of Buenos Ayres and Punta Arenas, the richest man in all
this region. On the eastern side of the plaza were two banks, shops,
clubs and a dwelling or two. The southern side bordered on a vacant
square sold recently for $150,000.
The plaza was quite impressive in its pretensions. As one wandered
further he observed that the city was treeless, that there was a little
railroad on one of the wide streets to the north which leads to the coal
mine in the hills about seven miles from town, that there were few
gardens and flowers. Occasionally one could see a patch of radishes or
potatoes or lettuce growing in a yard, but most of the yards were bare,
with a wood pile--wood is cheap here--as its chief ornament. A small
white pink was about the only flower that was grown freely out of doors.
In hundreds of windows, however, there were house plants, largely
geraniums, in bloom.
Street scenes occupied one's attention immediately. The most common
would be drays pulled by fine oxen with the yokes about their horns.
Better looking animals are not to be found anywhere in the United
States. All the dray work is done by these carts. There are hundreds of
them in town. The next thing to catch the eye was the fine horses. A
gaucho clad in gay colors would ride through the streets occasionally
with the easy swing of one of our cowboys and he had a picturesque getup
that would fit a circus parade at home. You noted that when they tied
horses they simply hobbled their forefeet.
Few women were to be observed on the streets. Many of them wore black
mantillas for headdress. Now and then a smart carriage with a coachman
in livery would go dashing by. Again one would see a pony cart with
children under a nurse's care in it. Then one's eyes would open as he
saw a fine coach drawn by four horses swing along. It made the visitor
smile a little to see a big bag of potatoes tied up behind the coach,
like a trunk in the racks of stages in some of our Western towns, but
you must expect crudities of some kind in the jumping-off place. Then
would come the Governor's carriage, correct as to livery and all the
other appointments befitting his station.
The signs were all in Spanish, of course. Saloons were found all over.
The entire aspect of things, however, was one of our Far Western towns
that had struck it rich and was in that stage where the wealthy men are
still residents of the place, actually proud to acknowledge that they
have come up from humble beginnings, content to live where they have
made their money and in humble dwellings, and are not yet ready to
advance upon New York and build palaces that blare out to the world that
they are among the newly rich and want all mankind to know it.
After you had wandered about a bit you came back into the plaza for a
look at the one fine residence of the city. It belongs to Mrs. Sara
Braun Valenzuela, wife of Vice-Admiral de Valenzuela of the Chilean
navy. She is one of several children of the Braun family of which Moritz
Braun is now the head. The family's life has been spent here, for their
parents came here as immigrants from Russia more than thirty-five years
ago. The daughter Sara married a man named Nogueira, who, with the rest
of the Braun family, prospered and grew rich in herding sheep and
keeping store. As they prospered they improved themselves mentally and
acquired finish in social matters. To the credit of the family it must
be said that each of its members speaks freely of his or her rise in the
world, and you must smile a little at the twinkle in their eyes as these
accomplished linguists, well-equipped business people, familiar with
finance, stock speculation, trading, correct social usages, say:
"You know our people came here as immigrants, very poor, and had to make
their way in the world, just as many of the ancestors of the rich in
your own country did. By the way, I believe that the founder of the
Astor family started out in life peddling furs and then selling them in
a store. Of course, one has to start in life as best he can. We sold
furs, of course, but the sheep and wool industry gave us our
opportunity. However, one should be modest about his belongings. This is
our home and here we shall probably stay. We are of the town and have no
aspirations except to do our share in advancing the place and to be good
citizens."
Several years ago Señor Nogueira died, leaving his wife a millionaire.
She decided to have more of the physical comforts and she built the
fine house in which she dwells. Building materials and workmen were
brought from Buenos Ayres, and the result was a house that would do
credit to any city in the world. Its glass covered porch and its
conservatory give it the appearance of the home of one who not only
appreciates luxury but has a love of flowers and good taste in
furnishings. Four years ago Mrs. Nogueira, still a young woman
comparatively, married Admiral de Valenzuela. The Admiral's duties keep
him away for the most part, but his wife remains, content to dwell where
the rest of her family reside and where she can look after her immense
business interests. She owns a good part of the town and has an enormous
income for a woman in South America. Her house cost about $150,000 to
build. The furnishings cost well into the tens of thousands and the
combined result is to make it one of the most comfortable, luxurious and
complete dwelling places to be found anywhere. One sight of it was
sufficient to make the observer stop short and admire. It was so
unexpected, you see, after you had been wandering about in a city of
corrugated iron dwellings.
There are half a dozen other rather pretentious places in the town. Mr.
Braun's house and lot cost him about $150,000, and there are two or
three places that would be worth probably from $10,000 to $20,000 in the
States. Otherwise the rich are content to dwell as if they were in
moderate circumstances.
You wandered about the plaza some more and soon found yourself in the
rooms of the Magellanos, or the English club, well fitted up
establishments, with smoking rooms, reading rooms, reception rooms and
billiard rooms. These clubs are small compared with those in New York,
but they are complete as far as they go and are really pleasant loafing
places. Then perhaps you went across the plaza to look at the mission
Catholic church. As you went down the side street you noticed an
entrance to what seemed to be the parish house and a school. Some one
told you that in there was a museum of natural history that was really
unusual. In you went, and you met Father Marabini, urbane, gentle,
cordial and a scholar, a lover of nature, under whose supervision a
small but most valuable collection of birds, fishes, reptiles, animals
and geological specimens has been gathered together. When many of the
animals found in Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego have been destroyed and
wiped out under the pressure of civilization, like our buffaloes and the
seals, all this country and the lovers of natural history everywhere, to
say nothing of the devotees of science, will be grateful to this humble
Dominican monk for his labor and patience of years.
In addition to natural history Father Marabini has gone into
anthropology to some extent. His collection along that line has yet to
be enlarged, but you find weapons, hunting and fishing implements,
canoes, specimens of clothing of Indians, photographs of the aborigines,
now fast disappearing. Chief Mulato, the last of the high grade
Patagonian Indians, died only recently of smallpox. The Fuegan Indians,
described as the canoe Indians and the lowest form of humanity on earth,
are also going. Speed will have to be made to get a complete
anthropological collection of these people.
In the natural history collection you see specimens of the albatross,
the largest bird that flies; the condor, all the fowl of the region,
the deer, guanacoes, otter, seals and other fur bearing animals; you
also see geological specimens bearing on the mineral wealth of the
country and also specimens devoted to pure geology. You see the pottery
and the metal working of the natives. You can spend hours there with
Father Marabini and you leave him with regret and respect. His museum is
one that would make a most creditable showing in New York's Museum of
Natural History.
You wander out to the north and you soon find a large building
surrounded by a high fence. You learn it is the Charity Hospital, with
accommodations for thirty-five patients, a boon to this far off land.
The late Dr. Nicholas Senn made a visit to this hospital late last
summer and commended it highly. He prided himself on having visited the
most northern hospital in the world at Hammerfest, Norway, in 1890, and
the most southern last year. He declared this one to be "a credit to the
young city and a refuge for the homeless sick and injured in this
hospitable and remote part of the world."
So the visitor found this a well equipped, modern city with the
residents rosy in their cheeks, cheerful and contented with their lot in
life. They said that sometimes it grew a little monotonous, but never
dreary. Most of the year they have theatricals, and just now they have a
more or less permanent company. A good many of those on the fleet went
to the vaudeville show and said they found it very good indeed.
It was not until Mr. Braun, our Consular Agent, gave a reception to the
fleet that the full power of Punta Arenas to do the handsome and correct
thing was revealed. The guests entered a home modern in every respect.
They found a great hall whose floor was covered with rugs, a large room
behind that as big as a private saloon in Paris, a magnificent dining
room with panelled ceiling, a superbly furnished drawing room and side
rooms used for smoking or retiring rooms. There did not seem to be a
door on all the first floor. It is a house of large floor dimensions
rather than of elevation, and the first floor was like a palace rather
than a mere dwelling.
The appointments--table furnishings, beautiful candelabra, glassware,
punch bowls (there were half a dozen of them), dainty little tables
spread with confections and the main dining room table elaborately set
and decked out--were such as only great wealth could provide.
And the company! Of course the naval officers were in full dress with
all their gilt fixings and white gloves, but every other man there, and
there were dozens, was as correctly garbed in evening dress as at any
Fifth avenue reception. The number of handsomely gowned women was a
surprise. There were probably fifty in costumes that were distinctly
Parisian. The one comment was:
"Where did they get these fine looking women?"
You didn't see them on the streets and you were astonished that there
was so much society in the place. You heard all languages spoken and you
might imagine you were in Paris. When the band struck up it was with a
quadrille. You were pleased perhaps to see the old dances--quadrilles,
lanciers, schottisches, the old waltzes--danced. You see, the new kind
of glides, two steps, walk arounds, fancy steps they call dancing
nowadays--and perhaps it is dancing--hasn't struck Punta Arenas yet.
Surely in that respect the town was behind the times. It couldn't do the
hippety-hoppety steps and the slides and glides. Poor old fashioned
Punta Arenas!
The brilliant scenes at Mr. Braun's home were duplicated two nights
later at the Governor's ball. This reception was a display in keeping
with the wealth of the place. There was no vulgarity, no crudeness, no
little amusing sidelights that showed that the town had just arrived in
a social way. It was plain that Punta Arenas knew how to entertain.
Scores of naval officers said that they never saw entertainments in
Washington in better taste.
After all this you began to investigate what it meant. There was one
answer to the question--wool and sheep. When you hunted for statistics
you got them from an official whose business it is to collect them. You
found that last November the population of the place was 11,800 and of
the territory 17,000. In 1889 the population of the territory was 2,500
and the town only 1,100. It was a pretty raw town then. You found that
in 1906 the number of sheep in the Magellan territory was 1,873,700 and
that thirty years ago it was less than 2,000. You learned that the
industry was started through the Falkland Islanders, 200 miles to the
eastward, where the Scotch missionaries got rich quick and were not
averse to worshipping mammon to some extent. You learned that the number
of tons of wool exported last year was 7,174, that the number of
refrigerated sheep exported last year was 104,427 and that this year it
would probably be 130,000.
You learned that the imports of the town were nearly $3,000,000 a year
and the exports nearly $5,000,000. You found that there was a coal mine
in operation close by, producing about 12,000 tons a year, chiefly for
local use. The coal is of the lignite variety and disintegrates rapidly.
It is improving as the shaft sinks deeper, and the owners hope soon to
have coal that they can sell to steamships. That will help Punta Arenas
a good deal.
You learned that there are three daily newspapers here, each giving
cable news. Indeed, we heard of the assassination of King Carlos here as
quickly as the rest of the civilized world. You were even surprised to
find that there is one tri-weekly newspaper in English and you get a
copy and read the list of guests at Mr. Braun's reception, quite up to
date with the society news. You learned that Punta Arenas had been
connected with the rest of the world since December, 1902, when the
overland telegraph was put through to Buenos Ayres. You learned that
there was gold in all the hills near by; that four dredges were engaged
in mining over in Fireland, as they call Tierra del Fuego here, and one
in a gulch just back of the town. Some progress has been made with this
mining and there are Americans and men from the Transvaal engaged in the
industry. A lot of money has been put into it, but the expense of
getting the gold is still too high to make the proposition attractive to
the general public and so one need not look for a gold rush here for
some time. You learned that there was copper mining in many places, but
that the difficulty in getting transportation by water from the remote
places high up the mountains where such mines are is such as to eat up
most of the profits. You learned that about 60 per cent. of the
population is foreign, ranking as follows as to numbers: Austrian,
German, French, English, Spanish, Scandinavian and American.
The prosperity of the town you then realized depended upon sheep and
furs, chiefly sheep. You found four immense ranching companies doing
business here and you got the annual report of the largest one, the
Exploration Society of Tierra del Fuego. It has 1,200,000 shares, owned
mostly by Valparaiso and Santiago people, but Punta Arenas has 140,000
shares, of which Mr. Braun owns 62,000. This company owns 1,200,000
acres of land and its wool clip is nearly 6,000,000 pounds. Last year it
had 900,000 sheep, 14,000 cattle and 8,000 horses on its property. Its
capital is $6,000,000 and last year it paid nearly 15 per cent. in
dividends. It has its property divided into five big ranches. Altogether
its real estate holdings are as big as the State of Delaware and nearly
one-half as large as the State of Connecticut. That isn't very large
compared with the entire territory of Tierra del Fuego, because that
land is as big as the State of New York, but it is pretty big doings as
sheep ranches go. Australia and Argentina can make a slightly better
showing in the production of wool, but, as the Punta Arenas people say,
this country is still young in the business.
You began to wonder how the sheep could thrive in this terribly cold and
barren region and you were surprised to be told that really it wasn't
very cold here. You hunted that matter up for yourself and you found
that Father Marabini had been keeping a well equipped meteorological
establishment for fifteen years and you got the printed records. You
found that the average temperature for February, the warmest month in
the year, was 52.5 Fahrenheit, 11.6 centigrade; that the highest
temperature for fifteen years was 77 degrees (20.59 centigrade), and
that the lowest recorded in summer in all that time was 33.8 (1.31
centigrade). That made you shiver some. Then you looked for the lowest
winter records. You found them in July. The lowest recorded temperature
for that month is 20 degrees above zero (-6.70 centigrade), and the
highest 44 degrees (7.91 centigrade). You found that the average
temperature for the three summer months in fifteen years was 52.5
(11.396 centigrade), and the average for the winter months was 36 (2.225
centigrade). Few places in the temperate zone can show a variation of
temperature of only sixteen degrees between winter and summer.
The temperature record and the rich grasses on the plains told the story
of sheep farming here. There isn't much snow. Now and then there is a
fall of from two to three feet, but for the most part the snowfalls are
only a few inches in depth. The greatest climatic drawback is the
searching winds. These winds blow hardest in summer and give a decided
chill to the air. The fleet was here in the best season of the year. On
two days out of the six it was comfortable to wear light overcoats. The
temperature was something like our April weather. Occasionally it rained
for a few minutes, but four of the days were absolutely clear. We came
in when there was a high wind and a drop in the temperature and we
feared that the stay would be most uncomfortable. It was anything but
that from a climatic standpoint.
So goes the statement quoted early in this article, that it doesn't rain
every day in the year in Punta Arenas because some days it snows. The
value of the other statement that the bay is shallow is shown by the
fact that if the port hadn't been crowded the fleet would have anchored
within half a mile of the city. As it was, it anchored about a mile out
and the water was so deep that three of the battleships had to move in a
quarter of a mile because there is a limit to the length of anchor
chains. As to the impossibility of landing more than once a week, it may
be said that there never was an hour when the launches could not land.
Once or twice the wind came up and the little craft tossed about a bit,
but that happens in any port. So goes another of the many informing
things that have been said incorrectly about this much abused and
misunderstood place.
After learning something about the business of the place the inquirer
naturally turned to the form of government. He learned that it was a
place without politics because it has no suffrage. The Governor and
three alcaldes, with a consulting board of paid city officials, run
things. The alcaldes are representative men. One represents the foreign
interests especially. They pass rules and ordinances which are approved
or disapproved by what would be called in Santiago the Colonial Office.
These laws are rarely disapproved. The alcaldes are wise in their
generation. They do not adopt unpopular measures. Public opinion is so
strong that any alcalde who got to cutting up and attempting boss rule
would find himself so cut off from the rest of the people with whom he
must live and do business that he would feel as if he had been banished.
There is a movement to make the territory a province with political
powers of its own, but it is being fought vigorously.
"We are so well governed," said a resident of ten years to the Sun man,
"that we do not need a change. We can put the responsibility right on
the one man in our present situation. Nothing goes wrong and our taxes
amount to about $3 on $1,000 in a year. Real estate and live stock are
about the only things taxed."
Well governed as Punta Arenas is it is curious to note how certain
customs in municipal government exist the world over. Did you notice
that police official who just went by? Well, he keeps his carriage and
private coachman and his people dress well, and his home is above the
average in its pretensions. His salary? Oh, about $1,500 a year. You see
they can't pay high police salaries in a town of 12,000 and only about
fifty policemen. But there are certain resorts which sailormen and
others support in all remote places of any size, and the authorities
somehow seem not to observe them too closely--well, there's no need to
go into the matter further.
Some things, however, are a little different in Punta Arenas from other
places, because it is one of the few large free ports in the world. You
can import anything duty free. Chile had to adopt this plan to build the
place up. Even ocean freight is high to this far off place. Argentina
had to make several of its neighboring ports free in consequence of the
advantages of Punta Arenas, and so you have about five free ports down
in this neck of the woods.
Some curious effects have followed, the most interesting of which is
that Punta Arenas is one of the greatest centres of smuggling in the
world. You will not get any of its merchants to admit it openly. For
instance, it is said that there are more Havana cigars imported into
Punta Arenas than into all the rest of Chile put together. They are not
consumed here. They go somewhere. Punta Arenas does not begin to use all
the millions of goods imported. A little figuring would show that. The
outside population in the territory, amounting to about 5,000, could not
take care of the rest after the wants of Punta Arenas are satisfied.
Why, there are no less than twenty-two coasting steamers engaged in
trade from here, to say nothing about scores of sloops and schooners
darting in and out among the islands and channels that run far up the
Pacific coast. One of the merchants gave an instance of the smuggling.
He said:
"Not long ago I had several hundred articles of limited sale consigned
to me by mistake. I couldn't sell them here and didn't want to send them
back. I sent some somewhere else. They sold like hot cakes. You see the
price was so much lower than you could buy them before in that same city
where they were sent. It is true that there is a great deal of quiet
wealth here, but really you mustn't ask too many questions."
An interesting sidelight was thrown on this subject when this same man
was talking about the illumination of the city by the American fleet's
searchlights on the night before the fleet sailed. Fully seventy-five
beams were thrown from the ships. They swept the town fore and aft. Some
of the ships concentrated their lights in one spot. Five beams from our
ship were centered upon the church steeple in the plaza. It made the
place so light that you could read a newspaper anywhere. The entire town
was in a light almost like that of midday.
"I wonder that it didn't make some of our people run into holes to
hide," said a citizen who knew things when he was speaking of the
brilliant illumination.
As is well known, Punta Arenas started out in life as a penal colony. It
will surprise most of those who know the place and probably some of the
residents themselves that it is still a penal colony legally, because
the penal laws were never repealed. Indeed, it is even now a place of
exile. Every few months some man arrives from the upper part of Chile
who has been banished to the place. Once here he is welcome to stay or
go as he pleases. These men are usually embezzlers or undesirable
citizens from some other cause in small places where the machinery of
justice is inadequate to fit the crime. The culprit is ordered to Punta
Arenas.
It was in 1843 that Chile took possession of all this territory,
wresting it from Spain. She established a penal colony at once in Port
Famine, a few miles from here. In 1849 she removed the colony to Punta
Arenas. Two years later there was mutiny of the guards, led by Lieut.
Cambiaso. There was a good deal of slaughtering before it was quelled.
In 1877 there was another similar mutiny, and then Chile withdrew the
guards and let Punta Arenas get along as a commercial place.
The free port regulations followed, merchants came dropping in, fur
trading became profitable and then came the sheep industry and Punta
Arenas graduated into the really modern city it is. Where it is possible
to make money there you will find people these days, for the rovers of
the earth are just as active as ever and neither cold nor heat, sickness
nor desolation will stop the march of commerce.
There are still many citizens of Punta Arenas who came here in the days
of the penal colony. Many of them were political prisoners. Many were
mere youths who had gone wrong. Scores of them have remained and have
grown up to be good citizens and solid business men, a credit to any
community. Still the memory of the past remains with some, as was shown
when the Sun man was walking along the street with a merchant and
stopped to look at a finely dressed party of men and women going down to
the pier to go off to the Connecticut on the day of the elaborate
reception on board. The men were in frock coats and tall hats and the
women in beautifully fitting afternoon gowns.
"That's as fine a looking group of men and women as you would see in any
of our ports," said the Sun man.
"Perhaps so," said his companion, "but one has to smile a little when
one thinks of some things."
"A past?" inquired the Sun man.
"Oh, yes," was the answer, "but one shouldn't refer to that. Only it
does make me smile."
This man hadn't received an invitation to the reception. He had a past
that would bear the closest scrutiny. His point of view was responsible
for the tone of his remarks. Nevertheless, how many of our own frontier
towns could stand inspection when it comes to investigating the careers
of some of their solid citizens?
Here is a town which has fine free schools, where the Methodist mission
conducted by the Rev. J. L. Lewis not only has a congregation of 300 but
an English school of forty pupils; where the Episcopal mission has a
congregation of 400 and a mixed school of 100 children; a town where
there is very little crime, and what there is is chiefly disorderly
conduct; a place where everybody is prosperous, apparently; where life
is sometimes dull, but always comfortable, with good government, and
where a man can stand on his own merits as he is and not as he has been.
The bluejackets enjoyed their stay here thoroughly. Only the special
first class men were allowed on shore; to have turned all the men of the
fleet loose would have swamped the town, for there were more persons in
the fleet than in the city. The men who did get shore leave made for
post card shops first. In a day nearly all the best cards were gone. The
supply lasted throughout the stay, but now and then you would meet a
party of bluejackets hunting the town over for better specimens. So
serious was this drain upon the town that the supply of postage stamps
ran out on several days. It was necessary to go to the treasury vaults
here to replenish the post office.
The bluejackets then swamped the fur stores. Many really fine specimens
of furs can be secured here and at moderate prices compared to those in
the United States. The bluejackets spent thousands upon thousands of
dollars, and so did the officers. Fox, guanaco, seal, otter, alpaca,
vicuña, puma--any kind of fur that seems to be in the market, except
tiger's skins, was to be found. Then the plumage of birds, ostriches,
swans, gulls and so on was sought out eagerly. Some of the skins were
fully dressed and some not, but the commonest sight in Punta Arenas for
the six days the fleet was here was hundreds of sailors making for steam
launches with great bundles of furs under their arms. Many a woman in
the States will have the opportunity of explaining to inquiring friends
that Tom or Dick or Bill got that fur for her right across from Tierra
del Fuego, and many an officer will show a floor covering with something
of the same satisfaction.
Having purchased his furs and postal cards and having taken samples of
the various brands of libation, as sailor men usually do in foreign and
home ports--it must be said in truth there was almost no excessive
drinking because only special first class men were ashore--Jack turned
his attention to other things. He soon found that there were dozens of
very good saddle horses in town and he promptly went horseback riding.
Scores of sailors could be seen galloping about the streets. Amusing?
Yes, in a way, but not because they could not ride. Many of them rode
like cowboys. You see a large part of the young blood of this fleet,
indeed most of it, comes right off the farms, Western farms, too, and
those boys know how to ride and handle horses. The people gaped at them
and then took it as a matter of course that an American Jack tar could
do almost anything.
The officers, too, had their fun ashore. In two hours after the fleet
was anchored many of those off duty were seen in riding costume
cantering about the streets on fine horses that the chief of police put
at their disposal. An hour or two later the launches began to land
roughly dressed men with rifles and bags. They were hunting parties,
going right out to get foxes and pumas and all sorts of wild things in
the suburbs. Finally a mysterious group landed from the Vermont. They
had ponchos and picks and shovels and guns.
"Where you going?" was the inquiry on all sides.
"Ask Connolly," was the answer.
Now, Connolly is the famous writer of sea fiction, particularly
Gloucester fishing stories, the warm personal friend of the President,
and he once served in the navy two months as yeoman, at Mr. Roosevelt's
suggestion, so as to pick up local color.
"Going out to camp on the hills and discover gold!" was all you could
get out of Connolly. Late the next afternoon the bedraggled party swung
into town again. Connolly's hand was tied up. A more trampy looking
outfit never struck a town.
"What's the matter?" asked the crowd surging about Connolly on the pier.
"Oh, nothing at all," he said, and then he looked faint and sighed. Then
began a quest for information as to whether they found gold or shot
anything, and how was Connolly hurt. Finally it was whispered that a
Tierra del Fuego Indian who had stealthily crossed to the mainland had
shot at the party and the Mauser bullet, Mauser, mind you, had nipped
Connolly and had caused a bad flesh wound. Then it was a puma that had
leaped upon him and he had strangled it to death. Then the story went
that he had been shot accidentally by one of the party. Then he had
broken his fist in a fierce personal encounter with savages. All through
this period of rumors and yarns all Connolly could do was to nod and
make a show of great nerve in not noticing the terrible pain under which
he was suffering.
Well, there had to be an end of it, and it came out that Connolly had
slipped in wading a stream and in trying to keep himself from falling
had put a finger out of joint. He grinned over the joke and when he was
asked for details of the shooting he said:
"Honestly, we did see some puma tracks!"
That, so far as results were concerned, was the experience of all the
hunting parties. The Yankton took some of the officers across to
Fireland, about twenty miles, one day. They got some fine birds and a
fox or two and had really good sport. Punta Arenas not providing any
hunting, the officers took to receptions for the rest of the stay.
One thing that keeps impressing itself upon the patriotic observer as
this fleet goes from port to port should be mentioned. It is the painful
lack of the American flag on shipping. The English and German flags are
seen everywhere. All over this South American country you also hear one
lament from merchants. It is that there is no American line of
steamships trading directly all along the coast. Everywhere they tell
you of the great opportunities for American goods down here.
"If you Americans would only find out what we want and then learn how to
pack the goods and then would establish steamship lines there is immense
wealth to be had in our trade. Give us American steamship lines," is the
burden of general comment.
This is not the place for a discussion of the revival of the American
merchant marine or the best methods to attain that end. The writer of
this has no desire to go beyond the province of his assignment, which is
to chronicle the doings of the fleet, but surely one may mention with
propriety the one remark in every port that the presence of the fleet
has brought forth.
Punta Arenas was like the rest in its craving for American trade. It may
be the jumping off place of the earth, but if you did have to jump off a
ship and should land here you might be in far worse places, and if you
had to jump off from here the fact would still remain that you might
jump from more undesirable places. The American sailor men were
practically unanimous in voting Punta Arenas all right and a tremendous
surprise.