A WINTER IN SAN JUAN.
As soon as I arrived at San Juan, I made inquiries for parties who were
about crossing the mountains; but owing to a most severe snow storm
that set in, the clouds of which were plainly visible from the town, I
was forced to the disagreeable necessity of remaining until the snows
melted. The people told me that the winter had proved to be the most
severe of any season within the last thirty years. They said that after
ten dry or mild winters there always succeeded a similar number of
wet or severe seasons, and that the present was the first of the hard
series. The apparently settled weather that greeted me was but the
precursor of most severe storms in the mountains. They said I could not
cross; to attempt it would be madness.
While the time hung heavily on my hands, I heard much about a strange
person, yclept Don Guillermo Buenaparte, a North American by birth,
and a second father to the poorer classes of his immediate vicinity.
So many were the charitable deeds of this man, and so frequent were
the eulogies pronounced upon his character by the natives, that I felt
a desire to visit him in his own castle, which he had constructed of
mud and sticks, some eight or nine miles distant, in a small _villa_
called Causete.
Before I could find an opportunity of going, I was favored with a call
from the gentleman himself, who rode into the _patio_ of my dwelling
one evening, mounted upon a powerful white horse, and covered with
a long _poncho_, which, with a broad _sombrero_, gave him a truly
patriarchal appearance.
Don Guillermo, having heard of my arrival in San Juan, had come to
invite me to his estate in Causete, where he carried on a little flour
mill, and followed a number of other occupations. A day was appointed
for the visit, and when it came around I set out with a peon for a
guide for the _villa_. We soon, on leaving the town, came upon a plain
which gave support to a few stunted trees, peculiar to the _travesia_.
With the soil was mingled the peculiar saline mineral described in
a former chapter, which, with the dryness of the atmosphere (for
it seldom rains in this part of the republic), made our journey a
disagreeable one.
In crossing this tract the reflections of the sun’s rays upon the white
surface affected my sight, and obliged me to follow the practice of my
guide, and, like him, cover the face with a large cotton handkerchief,
_à la gaucho_. The first human habitation that I saw was a rancho built
of cornstalks; and here reposed a peon with his wife, children, and
dogs, while a huge buck goat, with a formidable pair of horns, stood at
the entrance as if to receive us.
I soon came to a place where a liberty pole was standing; and knowing
that such a thing could not be the work of the natives, I concluded
that I must be near the residence of my new acquaintance. I was not
mistaken, for he soon appeared over a little rising ground. After
greeting me cordially, he led me across the canal, that furnished his
mill with water, to his house, where he introduced me to his wife and
four children, the youngest of whom could not yet lisp its father’s
name.
I remained through the day with them, and when night came on, so
interesting had been Don Guillermo’s recital of nine years’ residence
in the Argentine Republic, that I was easily prevailed upon to remain
until morning. The next day came and passed, but still I was an inmate
of my countryman’s house, and finally was persuaded to promise that I
would not leave it until the snows began to melt upon the Cordilleras,
when I must hasten to Chili, and from its principal port, Valparaiso,
sail for home.
I accepted the offer of Don Guillermo’s hospitality only upon the
condition that I should be of service to him by taking charge of his
mill; for the natives were so dishonest that he dared not employ one
in any office of trust, and I felt that it would be but a pleasure for
me to aid him. I was accordingly installed, after fifteen minutes’
teaching, as _molinero_, or chief miller.
I felt proud of my office, though it was but a humble one. My mind was
fully occupied, and I became contented. When opportunities offered, I
took an old condemned English musket, which I charged with powder and
a few pebbles, and made explorations in the surrounding country for
the purpose of making collections in its _fauna_. I often captured
many a rare specimen, and laid the foundation of an ornithological
collection; but although I had no difficulty in getting specimens and
preparing them,--for taxidermy was familiar to me,--I found one great
obstacle to their preservation that I could not surmount. As my readers
doubtless know, arsenic is very essential for preserving the skins of
birds and mammals, and I found I could do but little without it. So one
day I mounted my horse,--a present from Don Guillermo,--and galloped
into town in quest of the mineral; but not one of the druggists would
sell me an ounce of poison; it was a crime to vend the article. I
applied to the physicians, but to no avail. I next tried some of the
officers of the government, but failed again. I even offered _three
dollars_ for one pound. The doctors and officers exclaimed, “What does
the boy want? He’s mad! Where did he come from?” &c.
Despondingly I returned to the mill, and my fine collection, intended
for a scientific society at home, was destroyed in a short time by a
minute species of red ants, which ate the skins almost entirely.
A pair of burrowing owls, a dove, a stilt, and a few eggs were all that
I succeeded in bringing home with me.
At the mill the season proved to be a busy one. Merchants from other
provinces visited San Juan, and after disposing of their goods,
generally invested their returns in wheat, which was sent to the mill
to be ground. There were no water privileges in the interior, and
the merchants and farmers of Cordova and San Luis frequently sent
wheat three or four hundred miles by troops of mules. My office,
therefore, proved an advantageous one, as I was enabled to have direct
intercourse with people from several of the northern and eastern
provinces. Among the numbers that I became acquainted with were the
old-fashioned Riojano, who came from his distant home to the north of
the desert, clothed in a heavy _frasada_, manufactured from wool of
his own shearing by the industry of his wife or daughter. Sometimes
the Indian-looking Santiaguenian, or Catamarean, and the crafty yet
polite Cordovese, traded at the mill; and many were the little gifts
that the most respectable portion of my customers brought me from
their estates far back in the irrigated _travesia_, or along the bases
of the Andes. The press of business demanded that the mill should be
run night and day. This compelled the poorer classes that came from a
distance to sleep in the mill. And at night, when all was quiet, save
the restless hum of the revolving stone, it was a curious sight to
peep in at the door, and behold the ground covered with sleeping forms
of men, women, and children of many types and complexions--here the
offspring of the negro and Indian; there the child of a Spanish father
and Indian mother. It was a study worthy the attention of a profound
ethnologist to separate and classify the various crosses and mixtures
of the different races of the genus _homo_ that came to the mill of Don
Guillermo Buenaparte.
Leaving the dusty atmosphere of the mill, I frequently wandered out
into the night air to gaze upon nature by moonlight. The canal that
watered the district of Causete branched off in a different direction
from the main _acquia_, and could be traced, as it wound along the
_travesia_, by the willows and clumps of reeds that grew upon its
banks. The Andes towered above the plains a few miles to the west,
while on the east the solid range of the mountains of Cordova,
stretching far to the north, gave an additional grandeur to the scene.
The nights were bland and lovely, excepting when the wind called the
_zonda_ (a sort of sirocco) came from the Andes, when the natives
suffered from its parching heat, and those affected with diseases of
the heart trembled in expectation of sudden death.
While I strolled along the banks of the canal the mill hummed on as
usual, for Don Guillermo had constructed an ingenious method of alarm,
by means of which the absent or sleepy miller was warned of the state
of affairs within the building.
Such was the delight that I took in these rambles upon the _travesia_,
that duty was in one or two instances neglected, and I found, on
returning to the mill, that some villanous male or degraded female was
stealing the “millings” from the miller’s box, or purloining flour from
the hide sack of some countryman who was fast in the embrace of the
drowsy god. Once or twice, on such occasions, I became so vexed as to
attempt clearing the room of the thievish fellows; but to accomplish
this required a stronger arm than mine, and one attempt almost resulted
in a general _mélée_; but as the female customers always took sides
with the gringo, I came off in good condition, and attained my object:
thus the good name of the mill was not forfeited.
The gauchos love to gamble, and while waiting for the mill to do its
work, they generally spent the time in playing their favorite games,
always staking small sums of money upon the chances in order to make
the time pass more profitably. But whatever might have been the rules
of the other mills, Don Guillermo soon put a stop to what he called
a degenerating practice, and by various small skirmishes with the
gaucho peons, he fully demonstrated that _his_ was a North American
institution, and that, therefore, gambling could not be permitted
upon his premises. The peons remonstrated, but the don was firm. They
threatened to ruin his business by patronizing the other mills in
preference to his own; but as their masters respected the policy of my
friend, they were restrained from carrying out their designs. Thus law
and order were firmly established, and North American principles were
triumphant. It requires no small degree of firmness and knowledge of
human nature to carry on the flour and grain business in the Argentine
Republic.
Peace and quiet did not last long before a second innovation was
attempted, although upon a new plan. A band of thieves and loafers
erected a hut of cornstalks and briers upon the opposite side of
the canal, in the district of Anjuaco, and the place was once more
disturbed by midnight revels, and by frequent raids upon the grounds of
neighboring farmers. Sheep, calves, and, even horses, disappeared in
a mysterious manner. At length Don Guillermo became exasperated, and
watching an opportunity when the rascals were absent, he attacked the
shanty, levelled it to the ground, and, collecting the ruins into one
pile, set fire to it, and burned it to ashes.
The party returned, and, on seeing the condition of their house, would,
in their rage, have demolished the buildings of the don, had not fear
prevented them; for they well knew that the law-and-order man possessed
fire-arms, dogs, and a stout heart.
During my stay at the mill I occasionally visited the town of San
Juan, and passed a few hours with some acquaintances. I found, to my
surprise, among the wealthier citizens, a class of society, which,
for dignity of deportment, strictness in etiquette, and generous
hospitality, would favorably compare with any class that I have met in
the United States or in Europe. The young men were intelligent and full
of generous ardor, and the maidens--how shall I describe them? Since
returning to North America, my friends have sometimes asked if they
resembled our Indian women!
“Most certainly not,” I have almost indignantly answered. The higher
classes of San Juan boast of a pure descent from the old Spaniards
or Portuguese. The fine, clear atmosphere of the Andes provinces has
affected favorably the complexion, and most of these people have a skin
as light as that of the inhabitants of the southern states of the Union.
Many of the females, particularly the younger ones, have complexions
that, in clearness and beauty, would rival the blondes of the north.
In addition to personal beauty, the ladies of San Juan can boast of
varied attractions. The guitar is used with a grace and skill that give
evidence of careful study and long practice. Many play upon the piano,
using instruments that have been carted a thousand miles over the
pampas, from the port of Buenos Ayres.
All can embroider with skill and elegance. Poetry appears to be
assiduously cultivated among them, and many specimens of true
inspiration came to my notice that would be considered worthy of the
name of Tennyson or Longfellow.
Altogether I know of no situation more pleasant, or containing more
elements of interest and romance, than San Juan. It combines every
description of scenery, from the arid plain of the _travesia_ to the
sublime alpine ranges; and it has a climate, during many months of the
year, of surpassing loveliness.
The San Juaninos are a most hospitable people; and when the remembrance
of their unaffected and genial kindness comes to my mind, I feel the
keenest regret that we are so widely separated.
The town is said to contain about nine thousand inhabitants; but I
think the estimate high, although many persons have given a larger
population. It certainly, in numbers, falls below Mendoza. The town
is laid out in the same manner as was Mendoza, and is watered by
the canals that run from the River San Juan, a stream rising in the
Cordillera.
No goitre exists in this vicinity. I saw only one case of it during my
stay, and the subject had lived many years in Mendoza.
About the town are large pastures of clover, which serve to fatten
the numerous herds of cattle that pass through the town on the way to
Copiapo or Coquimbo, in Chili. Soap, raisins, and cattle are among the
exports to the latter named state. Flour is forwarded to the pampa
towns, and to the villages on the _travesia_. Wine is made in large
quantities, but does not now pay a sufficient profit if sent to any
considerable distance, although it was exported largely in by-gone
years. All the fruits that grow in Mendoza thrive better in this
province. The oranges of Mendoza seemed to possess an acrid taste, but
I did not detect this in any of the fruits of San Juan. The vineyards
surpass anything that I have ever seen,--not in the culture of the
grape, as but little is done to the vines, but in the quality of the
fruit. I distinguished eleven kinds of grapes in the _quintas_ around
San Juan.
The iron plough and other improved implements of agriculture were
unknown, and when I described to the _quinteros_ the facility with
which the celebrated Prouty and Mears centre draught plough is handled,
they fairly overwhelmed me with questions, which had, at least, the
merit of artlessness.
There is at San Juan a Board of Water Commissioners, who have charge
of the irrigating department. These officials are seven in number.
They have labored hard to extend the main canals beyond the _villas_
of Causete and Anjaco, even to the very base of the _Pié de palo_, or
wooden foot--a sierra some fourteen miles east of San Juan. By these
means the sterile saline _travesia_ is gradually becoming clothed
with verdure, and spreading pastures of clover, surrounded by poplars
and willows, cover spots that three years since were occupied only by
scattered thorn-bushes.
As I have already mentioned, the situation of miller, that I filled,
was the means of giving me many opportunities for meeting and studying
different phases of character.
One of my customers, whom I have set down in my journal as Don José,
the penitent, was indeed a study. He was a large-limbed, long-winded,
courageous old fellow, of the pure Spanish stock, and descended from
the original conquerors of the Argentine Republic. I had frequently
heard his name mentioned by the gauchos, one or two of whom delighted
in telling of his prowess during the last revolution. The town of San
Juan had been taken by an armed band while the illustrious Benavides
was outside the place, and Don José, who was then an _arriero_, or
muleteer, felt it his duty to rescue it from what he considered the
wrong political party. The _cuartel_ had been taken, and no soldiers
could be enlisted for the purpose; but Don José’s energy did not fail.
He scoured the country about San Juan, and collected twenty-five
gauchos, who followed him to the town. The precipitate entry made
by the gallant little party struck fear and consternation into the
revolutionists, and Don José was hailed as deliverer for many weeks.
The rich people, who had never before noticed him, now touched their
_sombreros_, and honored him with their praise and approbation. But,
as Don José said, this did not give him money, and he therefore was
no better in station than before the revolution. He was still a peon.
After the excitement had died away, and rich dons no longer doffed
their hats as he passed, he sat soberly down and meditated upon how he
could raise money enough to rent him a farm, for he well knew that his
industry would soon make him independent, provided he could hire a spot
of land fit for cultivation. Nobody would loan him a _peso_.
Our hero, nevertheless, did not despond. He sought relief in religion,
but in a different manner from that which is usually practised. The
don knew that several of the churches of the town had large endowments.
People dying, and wishing to enter a better world, there to enjoy a
life of bliss, had left sums of money to the church, surely not to
be applied to charitable purposes, for the priests generally require
nine dollars for saying mass over the body of the poorest child of
the church. The priests will sometimes lend these moneys upon good
security, and to pious people, at the low rate of five per cent.; and
we may well call this a low rate, when, in business transactions, the
people of the interior towns rarely charge less than eighteen per cent.
The don, knowing that he had not attended mass regularly, did not feel
satisfied that his application for money to the priests would meet
with success, and he therefore commenced a plan that, if carried out,
would insure him all the money that his wants required. He resolved to
become a penitent. He looked back over his past life with sorrow. “I
have sinned--have sinned more than all others,” he said to the other
penitents. “I am resolved to change my mode of life, and now I will
live for some good purpose.”
Each day his phiz lengthened. “How solemn he looks!” said the friends
of his family; “poor Don José!” He lost flesh rapidly, and the brave
deliverer of the town became feeble as a woman. He attended church
regularly, was always at the masses, and never absent from the
confessional. He was, in short, a model church member. The priests
were his friends,--not the jolly, fat, laughing padres, but the
frizzle-headed, stern old fellows, that rarely smiled, and then only
at the follies of the world. Don José fasted a great deal, and then,
after advising with his confessor, determined to scourge himself,
and to pass three days in solitary confinement. He bade adieu to his
friends, and locked himself into a little domicile that belonged to
the church. Here, in communion with himself, he passed three long days
and nights without food. With a short piece of raw hide he chastised
his body,--vicariously, probably, after the example of his illustrious
Manchegan countryman,--and spots of blood (from the arteries of an ox)
were observed upon the floor and walls of the chamber when good Father
R. entered, and who declared that his son had done his duty nobly.
Don José had accomplished his object. He could be trusted by the clergy
now, and it was with pleasure that the treasurer-padre gave the sum
required by our hero. With the borrowed money he rented a farm, and I
can so far attest to the success of his operations, that as I passed
his residence I often filled my saddlebag with the fruits of his
penitence, which I took to the mill to make happy the little cherubs of
Don Guillermo.