CROSSING THE ANDES.
While the fig, the olive, and the orange trees were clothed in green,
and vast herds of cattle from the great pampas were arriving, to be
fattened in the clover-fields, the mountains still remained covered
with snow, and impassable, save to the trained courier. Still I had
seen all that rendered San Juan attractive, and a longing to return to
my own country came so strongly upon me, that I determined to risk a
passage to Chili at the earliest possible moment.
It was only when my intentions became known that I was made aware of
the numbers and kindly feelings of my San Juan friends; for so many
were interested in my welfare, and warned me so earnestly of the danger
of the journey, and attempted to receive from me the promise that I
would remain with them, at least until the snow had disappeared, that
I could not but feel I had indeed fallen in with some of the truly
hospitable and generous peoples that here and there are scattered
over the world, making it, as do the oases in the desert, not all a
dreariness.
I learned from these friends that the northern passes that led to
Copiapo and Coquimbo were buried in the snow, and that, on the
first-named road, a party of eight _arrieros_, while lately attempting
to cross into Chili, had been frozen to death. The Coquimbo road was
said to be equally as bad, for there eleven experienced guides had just
fallen victims to a fierce snow storm in the valleys of the Andes. The
two southern passes of Uspallata and Portillo were more elevated than
the two northern ones, but were much shorter. The Portillo could not be
passed by man. The mail road of Uspallata was the one fixed upon by me
as the most practicable; and though the courier reported the loss of
two young Chilenos, who probably had been swept away by the mountain
torrent, I believed that, having been reared in a New England climate,
whose winters are rigorous, I could bear the hardships of the cold
better than the native guides themselves.
While I was contemplating an early start, an old man called, and
requested permission to give an account of his sufferings, he having
attempted the passage of the Cordilleras a few days before.
“We started,” he said, “with every prospect of success. The weather had
been settled for several days, and with our mules we left the outer
sierra, and penetrated far into the mountains. But good fortune did
not remain the same, for suddenly a great _temporal_ came flying from
the south, and enveloped us for many hours in its terrible folds. The
snow fell in _clouds_, and I, of all my party, escaped; my companions
are frozen in the drifts, and there they will remain until the melting
of the snow. Look at my hands; all of the fingers were frozen, and
also my cheeks and nose. _No, señor. Norte Americano, no pasa vd. la
Cordillera!_”
The poor old guide was in a pitiful condition; but, undoubtedly, had
he been twenty years younger, he would have fared better. I confess
that this news, with the entreaties of my friends, forced me to
postpone crossing the mountains until a later date. I consented to
remain, and for several weeks tried to content myself; but when four
weeks had passed, I became resolved, and packing my notes, and a few
specimens of natural history, in my canvas bag, I announced to my
friends my firm determination of leaving the country.
Don Guillermo, on seeing that I was in earnest, ordered his peon to
lasso my horse, and bring him to the corral, and made every preparation
for my comfort in the journey that his inventive skill could suggest.
On Saturday, November 10 (the last spring month of that latitude), I
bade adieu to the family, and started on the road to the city. Don
Guillermo accompanied me to the river, that was swollen by the floods
from the valleys of the Andes, and went roaring along its course
with a fearful rapidity. At the banks of the torrent my friend bade
me farewell, charging me to be faithful to the promise I had made
him, namely, that I would endeavor to find out the residence of his
surviving relations, whom he had left sixteen years before in North
America, during which time he had not heard one word of their welfare
or whereabouts. I promised again, and said farewell, and left him;
it was necessary for me to cross the river, and I at once spurred my
horse into the torrent, and began to ford; fortunately, the animal was
sure-footed and strong, and we landed safely on the opposite shore.
I passed most of the next day at a friend’s house, within the limits
of the town, and at dusk rode out to the post-house, and presented a
letter of introduction to the proprietor, a garrulous old don, whose
good entertainment for man and beast had made his house a favorite
resort for travellers. The don read my letter, and declared that I
should remain with him for some time, as it was impossible to cross
to Chili. The next day, Don Carlos Leon Rodriquez, minister to the
province of San Luis, attended by a priest, both of whom were on
their way to the town, stopped at the _posta_, and corroborated the
statement of the _guardo_. The former gentleman offered to present me
with letters to his friends in Mendoza, if I preferred going to that
town, and remaining until the passage across the mountains was sure and
free from all difficulties. Considering that we had never met before,
the kind proposal proved still further to me the hospitable feelings
that the educated people of the Argentine Republic bear towards North
Americans.
I had intended to continue my journey as a pedestrian across the
Andes, but it seemed necessary to take with me some beast to serve as
pack-animal, to carry my small collection of specimens, blankets, &c.,
to the port of Valparaiso, As it might become necessary to abandon
the animal along the road, I selected a specimen of horse-flesh which
would have afforded a student of anatomy easy facilities for osseous
examinations, without removing the hide.
During the forenoon I bade _adios_ to my new acquaintances, and with
one end of my lasso in my hand, and the other fastened to the bridle of
my horse, I led the way, on foot, happy in feeling that I had fairly
commenced the last stage of my journey towards the Pacific.
Taking a south-westerly course across the desert, I travelled until
three o’clock over the same dreary waste, when a deep fissure was
observed in the sierra, which I entered, and soon found myself within
the Flecha. Before passing this peculiar gap, a word or two regarding
it may prove interesting. For many leagues along its course the sierra
presents an impassable barrier to man or beast. The Flecha is a narrow
passage from the desert on the east to the valley on the western side.
The sides of the Flecha are of solid rock, rising perpendicularly to a
great height.
The pass exhibits the action of water upon its sides, for the rock has
been worn smooth in past ages, and the bed of the passage is covered
with pebbles. Undoubtedly, a long time since, a strong body of water
found its way through this place, and may have submerged the plain
below; but whether this gap was the bed of a natural stream, or mere
vent, through which the melting snow escaped during the spring months,
cannot now be well determined. The effect that the lofty sides of the
Flecha have upon independent objects is very curious. My horse seemed
to dwindle to the size of a Shetland pony when I removed a few yards
from him, and two muleteers, who passed through at the same time,
looked like pygmies.
Half way up the precipice were holes, said to have been cut by the
ancient discoverers of the country, to assist in searching for precious
metals, but, proving unprofitable, had been abandoned. I continued
along the valley until dusk, when the barking of dogs, and occasional
glimpses of a light, guided me to one side of the valley, where a few
huts constitute the hamlet of El Durazno. These huts were inhabited by
muleteers, who suffered greatly from poverty. Here and there the rough
soil had been levelled, so as to be susceptible of irrigation, and a
few patches of clover gave a cheering aspect, when contrasted with the
barren mountains behind the hamlet. An old woman invited me to enter
her house, and pass the night, as it was damp outside, and the heavy
clouds that hovered about us looked as if about to descend.
The hut was built of sticks and mud, and adjoining it was the kitchen.
Having turned my horse adrift, I entered, and, as I reclined upon a
skin couch, commenced inquiring of the hostess relative to the snow on
the main Cordillera. I was unable, however, to obtain any information
from that source. Our party was soon increased by the entry of several
rude-looking fellows, armed with long knives. The place was so small
that we reclined, packed one against the other, men, women, and
children, promiscuously. The old woman commenced cooking an _asado_
upon the fire; it had hardly begun to splutter and crackle, when the
dog that had sat beside the fire caught up the meat in his mouth, and
commenced masticating it with great _gusto_. The woman, screaming out,
“_O, sus Ave Maria!_” made a clutch at the dog, but was unsuccessful in
recovering the prize. One of the men caught the animal by the throat,
and choked him until the meat was drawn from his mouth, when, with
a hasty “_Ha, perro!_” it was returned to the fire, and cooked for
the lookers-on. More men and dogs came in, and, thinking it best to
retreat while it remained in my power to do so, I requested my hostess
to allow me to retire. Taking a saucer of fat, in which a bit of rag
was burning, she led the way into the other shanty, and assisted in
spreading my saddle cloths upon a rough sofa, built of boards, which
had been placed in the middle of the floor to prevent the approach of
the _binchucas_ that were secreted in the crevices in the walls.
These uncomfortable disturbers of night dreams are as large as the
common May beetle, and are armed with a bill resembling that of a
mosquito, which is used with great effect upon the victim. Before
fixing upon a person, the body of the _binchuca_ is thin and flat; but
after his feast is over, he is bloated and disgusting to look upon.
As this tormentor is many times larger than the mosquito, so does the
irritability caused by its leeching process exceed in like proportion
that of the other pest.
When about to withdraw from the room, the woman bade me sleep with the
utmost confidence, and not fear any harm. But as the conversation of
the men in the kitchen had been about the _plata_ that might be in my
possession, I was very particular to impress her with the idea that
North Americans feared nothing; and at the same time I drew a long
knife from under my _poncho_, and placed it beneath the sheep skin that
was to serve for my bed. When she withdrew, I lay down; but as I had
a thought of the _binchucas_ before I prepared for sleep, I carefully
rolled myself in my blankets, Indian fashion, and defied them to do
their worst.
Hardly had I begun to doze, when a sensation of something disagreeable,
touching me, aroused me to the fact that the vile pests were coming
from every quarter of the hovel. I could hear them crawling up the
sides of the room and across the ceiling, when with their usual degree
of impudence, one after another dropped plump upon my body. But my
swathing clothes served as an armor, and they could not enter in to
the feast. All the while they clung with considerable tenacity to the
coarse blankets, trying to effect an entrance, but they had met their
conqueror; for, after waiting until the swarming was over, and the
army had fairly camped upon me, I suddenly and carefully rolled over
and over upon the sofa, until the life was forced out of nearly all of
them, when, being satisfied that a great victory had been achieved, I
dropped into a deep slumber.
When morning came, and I passed out of the hut, I found that the valley
was filled with mist, and I deferred setting out until the thick
clouds had scattered. About nine o’clock a breeze sprang up, which
soon cleared the valley of mists, and I resumed my journey. Soon after
my leaving El Durazno, the valley expanded into a plain of a desert
character. The country between the mountains again became undulating
and broken; at three leagues from the last hamlet, El Sequion, a
collection of two or three mud houses and several ranchos, appeared.
From one of these ranchos a _China_ (half Indian) woman came out, and
questioned me as to my motives for travelling alone, on foot, in the
desolate valley. When I spoke of crossing the Cordillera, the good
creature lifted both her hands, and exclaimed in colloquial Spanish,
“_Por Dios_, don’t go any farther. A man from Chili stopped here the
other day--his mouth and cheeks were like a soft peach with the frost!”
Another woman joined us, and declared that I was too young to be so far
from home, and questioned me to the effect “if my mother knew that I
was out.” In their inquiries, however, they exhibited a kindness that
to me was very gratifying, and I felt that in case of accident upon the
road, I had at least two friends near at hand.
Beyond the Sequion, the valley grew narrower, and in places was so
filled with stones and detritus as to lame the old horse. The road now
became a mere defile, the steep sides of the sierras towering above it
to a great height, their bareness being sometimes relieved by dwarf
cacti, that grew in crevices where soil had lodged; these plants were
in flower, some white, others of a yellow hue.
The clouds again enveloped the mountains, and while I was groping
along over the broken rock, the tinkling of a mule’s bell broke the
stillness, and a moment later I came upon a circle of pack-saddles
and mules’ cargoes, lying upon the ground. A deep voice called out,
“Come here, friend;” and I was soon acquainted with the capataz and
muleteers of Don Fernando de Oro, a rich San Juan merchant, who had
sent his troop to Uspallata to await an opportunity to cross to Chili,
in advance of the troops of the other merchants. The don was daily
expected by the capataz, who had been three or four days on the road
already. The capataz urged me to remain with the troop until the
next morning, which invitation I accepted, and tying my horse to some
resinous bushes, I sat down to a sumptuous meal of boiled corn, dried
beef, and pepper, while my jaded animal satisfied himself in cropping
the tops of the bushes, and a kind of stunted weed that grew among the
rocks. Towards dusk it rained, but my heavy blanket kept me dry. The
guides huddled around the dying embers, vainly endeavoring to warm
their benumbed limbs; around us the hills seemed to be shaken by the
heavy thunders that reverberated along the mountain tops.
Fearing that my horse would give out, as he had lived mostly upon
bushes and coarse herbage since leaving San Juan, I arose early, and,
guided by the bright starlight, caught my animal, and led him up the
valley. A spur of the sierra blocked up the valley, and this steep
ascent had to be climbed by the poor animal, he halting every few steps
to draw breath. Having reached the summit, he heaved a deep sigh, as if
conscious of having finished a hard task.
A magnificent view rewarded me for the exertion of making the ascent.
The rocky grandeur filled me with awe, for I was surrounded by a
sublime chaos--broken hills, valleys, and barren cliffs of the sierra.
A white cloud passed over the valley, shutting me out from sight of
the world below; it was no easy task to follow the rocky path beyond;
sometimes it led down abrupt descents into dismal valleys, then again
almost to the level of the summit of the mountain range. Along this
crooked path but one mule can pass at a time, and there are places
where it requires but a single unsteady movement to send the loaded
animal into the abyss below. For nearly a mile the sierra on the left
side was formed of red freestone, and was, in many places, as regular
as a castle wall. In this lonely place the least sound would catch my
ear.
The sierra that I had crossed is called the Paramilla, or “bleak
place;” in the warmest day a cold wind from the snow peaks of the
Andes blows drearily across it. Leaving the broken mass of rock,
the path descended abruptly into a little valley, which contained a
stone hut, and a corral for goats. This desolate spot was enlivened
by the presence of one of the prettiest señoras that I ever met. She
informed me that her husband, who was then hunting guanacos, supported
himself principally by keeping goats that browsed upon the sides of
the mountains. When he wished to butcher any of the guanacos, he, with
the assistance of a pack of trained curs, drove them into natural
rock-walled corrals among the mountains, where, hemmed in, the animals
were easily despatched with the _boliadores_ and knife.
Leaving the valley, I ascended to a high plain that seemed to be on a
level with the summits of the neighboring range of the Cordilleras, and
as the sun was about sinking below the western horizon, I perceived
that this was to be my camping-place for the night. Laying the saddle
upon the ground for a pillow, and carefully spreading the blankets, I
lay down to rest, having first tied my horse to a stunted bush, which
he vainly tried to eat.
I dropped into a restless slumber; but an hour later, a wild, desolate
cry caused me to spring from my blankets, and prepare for defence. I
had been told many stories of the cruelty of the puma, or American
lion, and at this moment feared that one of these animals was on the
plain. It was along this part of the road that guides had seen their
tracks, and hunters had run them down with dogs a few miles from the
plain upon which I had encamped.
Another wild cry, and the animal passed along the plain without heeding
either my horse or me, and, glad to be left in peace, I sank into a
sound sleep, that continued unbroken until the rising sun gilded the
snowy crests of the lofty Cordillera.
It was a beautiful scene that lay before me. Across the plain floated
white clouds of mist, like airy spirits, while before me lay a narrow
valley, through which the road led to Uspallata. Upon one side of the
plain rose several low hills, green with coarse herbage, upon which a
small herd of llamas were feeding, as if unconscious of the presence of
man.
I soon was ready to start; but my old horse seemed incapable of moving.
I rubbed his stiff limbs until I had worked myself into a perspiration;
he was so far recovered as to be able to move slowly. I seized the
lasso, and led him on as before.
The road descended to the ravine just referred to, and for an hour or
so my journey led through the surrounding cliffs; but at length we
again emerged upon a flat plain, covered with low bushes, and over this
I led the way until afternoon, when a green spot at the foot of a high
range of mountains, and the hut of a farmer, caught my eye, and soon
after I drew up before the last house in the Argentine Republic--the
Guarde of Uspallata.
Before I could fairly disencumber my horse of his burden, he bolted for
the clover-field behind the house, and commenced devouring the fodder
with an avidity that told too well of his famished condition.
The person in charge of the house informed me that the passing was
very difficult, and advised me to remain a few days; but, knowing too
well that delays are dangerous, I made preparations for leaving on the
next day. I was to leave the horse in the clover-pasture, and strap
my blankets and other articles to my back, and in this way cross the
main range of the Andes. From this I had no alternative; and so, after
arranging everything for an early start, I lay down under the porch to
take a _siesta_.
I was soon awakened by the tinkling of a mule-bell, and upon rising
saw three persons before the guarde, accompanied by several mules. Two
of these men were dressed in the gaucho fashion, but the other had
the garb and manners of a merchant, which he proved to be; for, as
I approached him, he offered me his hand, and, with a polite _“para
servir vd.,”_ introduced himself as Don Fernando de Oro, a merchant of
San Juan. He informed me that the postmaster near San Juan, with whom I
passed a day and two nights, had requested him to keep a sharp lookout
for a young _gringo_ that was on the road, and to take him safely under
his protecting arm to the American consul in Valparaiso. I felt much
flattered by this acknowledgment, and at once accepted Don Fernando as
my guardian and protector.
The don remarked that his troop of mules, which I had passed two days
before, would arrive on that night, and remain in the clover-field
until a passage could be effected. The troop came in at a late hour.
The next day was a lovely one; and as the weather gave promise of
being settled for a few days, preparations for setting out on the
following morning were commenced. The mules for Don Fernando, and two
guides, were selected from the troop of ninety, and two extra ones were
carefully shod, to answer in case of any emergency. My friend declared
that it would be unfair not to allow my horse to accompany us across
the Andes, after he had been through so much privation; therefore a
heavy pair of shoes were selected from the store mules’ pack, and
nailed firmly to his feet. “Now,” said the don, as he viewed the lank
form of the animal with no little merriment, “Art has exhausted herself
upon you, and Nature alone must support you on the road to-morrow.”
Early on the following morning, Don Fernando, his two guides, and
myself, with our animals, crossed the little river that ran past the
guard-house, and at sunrise entered a narrow cleft in the sierra, and
followed a stony path, until we came in sight of the River Mendoza,
which rushed along the bed of the valley, roaring like thunder. The
path grew narrower as we progressed, sometimes following the margin of
the river, then ascending midway to the tops of the high sierra. It was
a scene of great sublimity. The river, which was a deep mud-color, from
the alluvial matter brought down from the mountain, was hemmed in by
the two parallel sierras, that towered majestically to the height of
several thousand feet.
In some places the path wound like a thread along the bold front of
a precipice; then it descended to the water, and followed its course,
until it again ascended. As we gazed above, the huge pieces of detached
rock seemed ready to fall and crush us.
The melting snow had undermined the soil in some places, and slides of
earth and stones had fallen, and covered up the track.
After crossing a little bridge that had been thrown over a stream which
flowed into the river of the valley, we came upon several ruined huts,
which the don told me once belonged to an ancient tribe of Indians that
inhabited the valleys of the Andes, and subsisted principally upon the
flesh of the wild llamas.
This was before the country had become independent of Spain; and though
many years had passed since their construction by the Indian builders,
it was interesting to note that the plaster that held the stones
together, and which was nothing but a kind of clay, still remained
unbroken, as if the structures had been but recently deserted. These
remains of the walls of the Indian dwellings were four feet in height,
and were partitioned off into small rooms.
In the corner of one of the dilapidated dwellings was a heap of stones,
surmounted by a tiny cross, made of rough twigs. The guides looked
serious as we passed it, and in answer to my questioning look, the don
told the following story:--
“When a Chileno loves, he loves with a passion so deep and strong that
honor, friends, and fortune are secondary in his estimation to her who
has thrown around him the network of her affections. A youth not long
since came from Chili to visit a relative on the Argentine side of the
Cordillera. His stay was protracted, for he had met with a beautiful
maiden, far lovelier than those of his native country; and when he
left, it was only to receive the permission of his friends to return
again, and claim her as his own.
“He crossed these mountains to Chili; but the fierce _temporales_ from
the south had commenced before he reached the main range on his return,
where the risk is greater in effecting a passage at such a season than
on any other part of the road.
“He had with him experienced guides, and a favorite mule carried his
wedding garments and the presents that he intended to offer his future
bride. On the Cumbre pass, at an elevation of twelve thousand feet, a
_temporal_ struck the party, and one by one the mules became buried in
the snow.
“The boy worked like a hero (I was with the company), and during the
storm his orders were obeyed by the muleteers with alacrity, for they
loved him well.
“But all exertions proved unsuccessful; not an animal escaped; and the
weary party descended the Cumbre into the valley, worn out with their
tremendous labors. The boy never lived to leave the valley; there he
lies,”--pointing to the cross,--“buried in his chosen spot. The guides
piled stones upon his body, to keep the condors from devouring it. See!
there is one now watching the grave.”
I looked to the place designated, and saw upon the opposite cliff a
huge dark-colored bird, that stood sentinel-like, a solemn watcher
above the unfortunate Chileno’s grave.
Not far beyond, the path again troubled us by its extreme narrowness,
and a dizziness came over me as I gazed far below into the mountain
torrent.
Along this part of the road were piles of the bones of animals that had
died upon the road during the past years. Some perished from hunger,
and many fell over the precipices, lodging among the rocks, where,
after long and painful struggles, they died. It seemed, truly, like
going through the Valley of Death, so numerous were the carcasses and
bones of cattle in this part of the valley.
Condors were occasionally seen upon the cliffs, sometimes circling
high in the heavens. I had often observed these birds with interest
when they came in numbers from the Andes, to feed upon carrion around
Causete.
The condor is, I believe, the largest of the carrion-feeders; it has
a fleshy crest upon the head, with wattle-like appendages beneath the
beak; the nostrils extend through the cere, the head and neck are bare
of feathers, and the skin of the neck lies in folds; around its base,
a little above the shoulders, is a frill of white, downy feathers
encircling it. Its flight is graceful, and at times very lofty. The
breeding-places of the condors are in hollows of the cliffs, hundreds
of feet from their bases; the eggs are laid upon the bare rock.
I have seen these birds in pairs; but in winter months they generally
congregate in greater numbers.
While in the air, the condor soars in graceful circles, moving its
wings but little: they feed upon carrion, but will kill weak and
wounded animals, somewhat resembling the caracara in this respect.
The range of the condor extends along the Andes, from the Straits of
Magellan to 8° north latitude. I have seen specimens kept as pets in
the gardens of native gentlemen.
At the Cueste de la Catedral a grand sight awaited us. From the brink
of the river there arose a precipice of dark-colored stone, that
frowned upon the narrow path which passed along its front. A stream of
water fell over the brink of the ledge, and wherever the water struck
the rough projections, it was converted into spray, which fell in
turn upon other points of the rock, giving to the scene a fairy-like
appearance.
Just at dusk we arrived at a point where the valley turned in a
new direction, and was particularly distinguished for the desolate
appearance of the surrounding rocks, which is, however, somewhat
relieved by a bridge of English model, built by the Mendoza government.
Across this we hurried, and stood upon La Punta de las Vacas, or Cow
Point, where a desolate stone hut had been occupied years before
by cow-herds, smugglers, and now sometimes served to shelter the
benighted traveller. On the opposite bank of the torrent stood the
first _casucha_, or post hut, built of bricks and plaster. It was
very small, and was modelled upon a cheap plan, being without doors,
sashes, windows,--a large square hole answering for the first and last
conveniences.
During the Spanish reign, those snow huts were liberally supplied
with provisions, wines, wood, and bedding; but republican rulers are
satisfied to let the four men who compose the mail party carry their
own blankets, fuel, and food upon their backs--a miserable rule, that
causes much suffering among the post-men, who are often shut up for
many days at a time in a cheerless hut, while the snow storms are
raging around them.
A league beyond the _casucha_, the guides led the way into a narrow
valley, where the animals were turned loose, to graze upon whatever
they might find. The don spread a raw hide upon the ground, upon which
we laid our blankets, and consigned ourselves to the embraces of the
drowsy god.
The long walk had thoroughly jaded me, and it needed no narcotic to
insure a sound sleep for the following seven hours.