VALE OF PARADISE
Val-paraiso means the “Vale of Paradise,” and it is the name of both a
province and a city. The name is so incongruous on this unattractive
shore as to cause a smile, for the location of Valparaiso does not merit
any such appellation. It was so named after a little town in Spain, which
was the home of Juan de Saavedra, the man who captured the Indian village
located at this point in 1536. There is only a narrow strip of land
between the bay and the barren hills behind it, which, in places, rise
up to a thousand or fifteen hundred feet in height. At one place it is
wide enough for only two streets, which are very close together. At other
places this ledge creeps back farther, but nowhere does the gap between
sea and hills exceed half a mile, and a part of this has been reclaimed
from the sea. Through the centre of this level space runs Victoria
Street, which follows the coast line the entire length of the city and
is several miles in length. It is the main commercial street, and is
lined with business houses, public buildings and even private residences.
[Illustration: AN “ASCENSOR” IN VALPARAISO.]
It used to be that all of the city was built on this narrow strip of
land. Little by little, however, the city has crept up the side of the
hills, and the streets rise in terraces one above the other. On the edges
of the cliffs in many places the poorer classes have built for themselves
dwellings of the rudest kind from all sorts of debris. Some of these are
perched upon almost inaccessible rocks, and are propped up with wooden
supports. On the extreme upper part of the rock has been built the real
residence quarter, and many fine homes are found there. It is reached by
steep and winding roads, which tire the pedestrian not used to them; but
there are a dozen inclined elevators, or “ascensors,” as they are called
in Valparaiso, which carry the passenger to the upper heights for a very
small sum. Up the steep roadway the poor horses may be seen drawing their
loads, while the drivers beat them and vociferously berate them with
their tongues.
From the heights one has a magnificent view of the bay, which is like
a half-moon, and is one of the prettiest bays in the world. It has a
northern exposure, however, and is subject to terrific storms in the
winter season, which lash the seas into a fury and the waves beat
upon the sea front with destructive force. It is still to all extents
and purposes an open roadstead, although plans have been drawn for a
breakwater to provide a sheltered harbour. The drawback has been that the
bay is very deep only a short distance from shore, and the problem of
building such a protection is a difficult one. The surface of the bay is
always dotted with vessels from almost every quarter of the globe. One
can at any time see the flags of a half dozen or more different nations
floating from the mastheads. Then there are hundreds of small lighters
which are used to carry the freight between vessel and shore, as no docks
have been constructed at which vessels can unload. In the far distance
may be seen, on a clear day, the backbone of the continent, the Andes,
with its serrated ridges and snowy summits glistening in the sunlight.
The hoary head of Aconcagua, the highest peak of the Cordilleras, can
easily be distinguished from the others by reason of its superior height.
Next to San Francisco, Valparaiso is the most important port on the
eastern shores of the Pacific. This city of two hundred thousand has as
much commerce as the average town of double that size, as it is the port
for Santiago and the greater part of Chile. A business-like character
is impressed upon the entire city. Here live the men who design and
carry out the vast nitrate and mining enterprises of northern Chile,
and practically all business, except that of politics, is managed from
this city. The docks and warehouses are at all times busy places, and
are crowded with boxes and bales from almost every commercial nation.
Banditti-like _rotos_ drive carts and wagons filled with merchandise.
One of the first sights after being set down on the landing-stage is
the two-wheeled dray of Valparaiso. It is drawn by two or three wiry
and sweating horses, on the back of one of which rides the driver, who
lashes the horses unmercifully. The ridden horse is hitched by a trace
just outside the shafts, and he is trained to push at the shaft with his
shoulder, or pull at right angles when the occasion arises, and in every
way is as clever as any Texas bronco. One of these drays with the driver
lashing his team might well figure on the escutcheon of this city.
The “U. S.” mark is less frequently seen in Valparaiso than that of
Hamburg or London, for the United States has not become such an exporting
country of manufactured products as those commercial nations of the older
world; nor is the Yankee in flesh and blood. The predominance of the
British is shown by the prevalence of the English language. Nearly every
one engaged in business has at least a slight acquaintance with that
tongue. One can not go far without crossing the path of some ruddy Briton
or voluble Irishman. Many of the best stores bear English names, and one
will see the same goods displayed as in New York or London. In fact it
is more predominantly English in appearance than any other city of South
America. There are cafés where they meet to drink their “half-and-half”
or other beverages, and there is a club where the _Times_, _Punch_, and
other favourites can be read. It is said that the foreign population
almost equals the native in numbers. Only a small part of this foreign
element is English, as there are many Italians, Germans and French, but
the English are the bankers and tradesmen, and have impressed their
characteristics more forcibly upon the city than the other nations.
There are amusements in plenty, for there are clubs, concerts and an
abundance of theatres to provide recreation as a relaxation from the
strenuous life. There are tennis grounds, football fields and a golf
course at Viña. There are many monuments over the city in the plazas and
on the new alameda, erected to the nation’s heroes, and one to William
Wheelwright, the American who did so much to aid Chile in developing her
transportation facilities. The naval school, which crowns one of the
hills, is one of the most attractive places in Valparaiso, and provides
one of the finest views of the bay and surrounding hills.
“One of the great advantages of life in Valparaiso,” says Arthur Ruhl in
“The Other Americans,” “is the absence of a professional fire department.
The glorious privilege of fighting fires is appropriated by the _élite_,
who organize themselves into clubs, with much the same social functions
as the Seventh Regiment and Squadron A in New York, wear ponderous
helmets and march in procession in great style whenever they get a
chance. One comes upon these _bomberos_ practising in the evening, on
the Avenida, for instance, in store clothes and absent-mindedly puffing
cigarettes, getting a stream on an imaginary blaze. In any emergency they
perform much the same duties as our militia.
“It is the delightful privilege of the _bombero_ to drop his work
whenever the alarm is given, dash from his office to the blaze, and
there man hose-lines, smash windows, chop down partitions, and indulge
to the fullest one of the keenest primordial emotions of man. Inasmuch
as buildings are seldom more than two or three stories in height and
built of masonry, there is comparatively little danger of a large
conflagration, and the average of one fire in four days is ‘just about
right,’ as one of my Valparaiso acquaintances explained, ‘to give a man
exercise.’ Their only unhappiness, he said, was that there were about
fifteen hundred firemen in town, and they were getting so expert that
what one could call a really ‘good’ fire was almost unknown.”
Like its commercial rival, San Francisco, Valparaiso suffered from a
destructive earthquake in 1906. Slight quakes are quite common in this
city, but the inhabitants do not seem to fear them, and go along the
even tenor of their way as though such a thing as an earthquake was
unknown. In one year as many as thirty-five shocks have been recorded,
but the one mentioned above is the only one for a half century or more in
which any lives were lost. In fact Valparaiso has had its full share of
troubles and vicissitudes of all kinds. It was captured and sacked three
times by buccaneers, twice by the British and once by a Dutch pirate. It
has suffered severely from earthquake shocks on half a dozen different
occasions, was destroyed by fire in 1858, bombarded by the Spanish fleet
in 1866, and much property was destroyed in the Balmaceda revolution a
little later. Few cities in the New World have had a career so troubled
and diversified.
The most disastrous experience in the history of Valparaiso occurred
in 1906. On the 16th of August of that year, only four months after
the destruction of San Francisco, the greater part of the city was
destroyed by an earthquake and the fire that followed. The day had been
unusually calm and pleasant. About eight o’clock in the evening the first
earthquake shock was felt, which was almost immediately followed by
others. The whole city seemed to swing backward and forwards; then came
a sudden jolt, and whole rows of buildings fell with a terrific crash.
The electric light wires snapped, and gas and water mains were broken.
The city was left in intense darkness, which was rendered all the more
horrible by the shrieks of the injured and terrified inhabitants. Fires
soon started which, fanned by a strong wind, soon became conflagrations.
Between the fires and earthquake a large proportion of the lower town was
completely destroyed, but the upper town was practically uninjured. Many
of the better-built business houses withstood the earth’s tremblings, and
the wind blew the flames in the opposite direction.
The authorities acted promptly in the matter, so that patrols of troops
and armed citizens were soon on guard. The progress of the fire was
impeded by the use of dynamite. Appeals for help were sent to Santiago
and other cities, which were responded to as promptly as possible. There
was necessarily some delay, for telegraph lines and the railroads had
likewise suffered. The shocks continued for the two following days at
irregular intervals, which likewise interfered with the work of cleaning
up the city. A terrific downpour of rain also added to the confusion of
the first night, for the vivid flashes of lightning and the clanging of
the fire-bells made it a night not easily forgotten by the inhabitants.
The killed and injured numbered at least three thousand persons. But
fifty thousand or more were rendered homeless. Thousands of these were
camped on the barren hills above the city, and thousands more were cared
for by boats in the bay.
Strangely enough no damage was done to the shipping in the bay. The
destruction was not confined to Valparaiso alone, but extended inland as
far as Los Andes, and many of the small inland cities near Valparaiso
suffered more or less damage. The property loss in Valparaiso has been
estimated at one hundred million dollars. Like San Francisco, however, a
new Valparaiso is arising which will be superior to the old. The greater
part of the destroyed district has been rebuilt in a better and more
enduring manner. The national government has advanced large sums of
money to the municipality, which, in turn, has given it under certain
conditions to those who suffered losses. To-day in the business section
of Valparaiso it would be almost impossible, after only five years, to
find evidence of this disastrous earthquake, but a little farther out its
handiwork can quickly be traced.
There is a quaint side to life in Valparaiso. A visit to the market
reveals many things of interest. One will first be impressed by the fine
fruits of Chile, for nowhere in the world can one find more delicious
pears, peaches and plums. The marketers bring their produce in huge
two-wheeled carts drawn by the slow-moving ox. The stalls presided over
by men and women fill every available inch of space, until it is almost
impossible to force one’s way through. Everywhere are groups bargaining
over fruits, vegetables or household articles, for these people dearly
love a bargain. Many show by their faces a tinge of the Indian blood that
runs in their veins.
[Illustration: A CHICKEN PEDDLER, VALPARAISO.]
The peripatetic merchants, who carry supplies from door to door, come
to the market for their stock in trade. It is invariably carried on the
back of a donkey or mule, as it is difficult to draw a loaded wagon up
the steep ascents. Their quaint cries may be heard in almost any part
of the city during the morning hours. As a rule this merchant carries
only one article, or possibly two or three, if it is vegetables. The
chicken peddler has built little coops for his birds which take the place
of a saddle. It is interesting to watch him gesticulate and praise the
excellence of his fowls to the good housewife, or the servant who comes
out in answer to his warning cry. The scissors-grinder and dealers in
notions swell the list of perigrinating business men who make the streets
vocal with their calls. The milkman carries the milk in cans swung over
the back of his mule or donkey, or else drives the cows themselves from
door to door.
“_Leche de las burras y vacas_,” meaning donkey’s and cow’s milk, was the
cry that reached my ears one morning in Valparaiso. On looking around I
saw a man leading two donkey mares and three cows through the streets.
Each donkey mare was closely followed by its pretty but comical little
colt. This is a custom imported from Spain and Italy, where goats are
also taken from door to door and oftentimes up three or four flights of
stairs to be milked. It might even be possible to find a milkman with
donkeys, cows and goats in his collection, so that a regular department
store variety of milk could be provided his customers. Add to these the
camel and reindeer, and you have the sources of the world’s milk supply.
Donkey’s milk is used a great deal for babies in South America, as it
is considered better for them than the milk of either cows or goats.
Milk delivered in this way does not need a sterilized label upon it, or
a certificate from the department of health. Furthermore, there is very
little danger of adulteration. The housekeeper reaps the benefit of this
style of milk delivery, but it must be a slow and costly method for the
dairyman. It is another evidence that primitiveness has not entirely
disappeared from Chile.
[Illustration: A VENDER OF DONKEY’S MILK, VALPARAISO.]
One other peculiar feature of life in Valparaiso is that the conductors
on all the street cars are women. This innovation was introduced in the
time of war with Peru, when men were hard to secure for that work. They
did the work so well that they have been employed continuously ever
since. It can not be said of them that they are especially attractive, or
even look very jaunty in their uniforms of blue surmounted by a sailor
hat. The fares are the cheapest I have ever found. The cars are all
double-decked. For two cents one can ride inside, and it costs only half
that rate to ride on the upper deck, which is a far better way to see
the city. The service is good, and there are more than twenty-five miles
of trolley in and about the city. The electric current for this as well
as lighting is generated by water power a few miles north of the city,
where a huge dam has been built across a stream.
A night view of Valparaiso from the bay is delightful. The many electric
lamps in all parts of the city illuminate the otherwise dark shadows, and
are reflected in the waters near the shore. Here and there move streaks
of light in the lower town, as the electric cars dash along from one end
of the city to the other; similar lines of light move up and down in a
dozen places, as the “ascensors” carry their loads between the upper and
lower town. At such times Valparaiso looks like a city of enchantment, a
chosen bit from fairyland.
A trolley line leads out to the aristocratic suburb of Viña del Mar,
where the rich people of Chile also have their summer residences. There
are some beautiful homes in this city, of splendid architecture and
surrounded by luxuriant foliage. In these villas the wearied and worried
man of business finds rest after business hours. For a few months in the
summer this resort is the centre of the social life of the republic, and
the hotel is so crowded that it is difficult to secure accommodation,
unless arranged for beforehand. There are delightful drives, when not
too dusty, and then there are tennis courts, golf links, polo grounds
and other places of recreation. A fine club building has been erected,
where the devotees of games of chance can find the alluring games that
their natures seem to crave. At Miramar is a small bathing resort, but it
is extremely dangerous, for just a short distance from shore the bottom
seems to drop to a great depth. It is used principally as a place for
promenades and dress show for the society folks, and every day a long
line of carriages wend their way out to that pleasant little bit of
beach.
[Illustration: AN ATTRACTIVE HOME, VIÑA DEL MAR.]
The great attraction of Viña, however, is the race course. Sunday is,
of course, the gala day, and the race course is crowded with lovers of
the sport. The people of Chile have passed the bull-fight period in
civilization, for the bull-fight and lottery have both been banished by
statutory enactment, and the horse races have taken their place. They vie
with the residents of Buenos Aires in their devotion to this sport. The
residents entertain house parties on that day and all attend the track.
They become very enthusiastic, and few who have the money neglect an
opportunity to stake it on the horses, for all are posted on the records
of the various animals listed in the races, and each one has his or her
favourite.
The province of Valparaiso does not extend quite to the Cordilleras,
but it does reach out several hundred miles into the Pacific. Some four
hundred miles west of Valparaiso lies the island of Juan Fernandez, which
is generally known among English-speaking people as Robinson Crusoe’s
Island.
“Poor old Robinson Crusoe! Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
They made him a coat of an old Nanny goat,
I wonder how they could do so!”
Thus runs the old nursery rhyme with which all of us are familiar. There
are few reading people, young or old, who have not read that fascinating
tale of adventure, written by Daniel Defoe, which depicts the adventures
of Robinson Crusoe. And yet, perhaps, there are not so many who are
familiar with the location of the island which Defoe pretends to describe.
The island of Juan Fernandez, generally known among Chileans as
Mas-a-Tierra, is a great mass of rock almost twelve miles long by seven
miles wide, a large part of which is as barren as a desert. One side,
however, where fruits grow and the wild sheep and goats find their
sustenance, is covered with a luxuriant vegetation. It is in a desolate
location, for it is away from the trade routes and there are few vessels
that pass that way. The fishing boats that ply between Valparaiso and
the island keep up communication with the mainland. The waters of the
Pacific teem with fish, and the fishermen have found the little bays
of this small island profitable waters for their trade. It is a great
lobster-fishing ground also, and the largest lobsters by far that I ever
have seen were caught at this island.
Even to-day there are very few people who live on the island of Juan
Fernandez. Only about half of it is fertile, and access to it is so
difficult that it does not appeal to many. There is one settlement at San
Juan Bautista—St. John the Baptist—where the boats land, and one or two
other little groups of houses where a few colonists live. The attempt
that has been made by the Chilean Government to colonize it cannot be
called a success, for fewer people live there to-day than there did a
few years ago.
Were it not for the story woven about the island few people would be
interested in it to-day. It was here among these barren hills, and in
the natural caves which abound on the island, that Alexander Selkirk
lived for four years and four months, more than two centuries ago. It
was here that he met and adopted a lone Indian, whom he named Friday,
because of the day he first found him. It is little wonder that existence
was lonesome, and it is even a greater wonder that he did not lose his
mind from lack of association with other human beings. At last his
watch fires attracted the attention of a passing schooner and the lone
wanderer was taken to England, where, for a time, he became quite a hero.
He was found, as the captain of the boat said, “clad in goat-skins and
was running about as though he were demented.” There is a rock on the
island which is called “Robinson Crusoe’s Lookout,” because it is said
to be the place where the signal fires were built. It is on a high hill
and commands a view of the sea for many miles. A large cave, which is as
large as the average parlour, is supposed to have been his home. In the
sides of this rock are rusty nails said to have been driven into it by
pirates who used to make the place their rendezvous.
A marble tablet has been erected on the “Lookout.” This was placed there
by some English naval officers in 1868, for Selkirk himself was a naval
officer. Among other things this tablet says:
IN MEMORY OF
ALEXANDER SELKIRK
MARINER.
A NATIVE OF LARGO, IN THE COUNTY OF FIFE,
SCOTLAND, WHO LIVED ON THIS ISLAND,
IN COMPLETE SOLITUDE, FOUR YEARS
AND FOUR MONTHS.
HE WAS LANDED FROM THE “CINQUE PORTS”
GALLEY, 96 TONS, 18 GUNS, A. D., 1704, AND WAS TAKEN
OFF IN THE “DUKE,” PRIVATEER, 12TH FEBRUARY, 1709.
HE DIED LIEUTENANT OF H. M. S. “WEYMOUTH,” A. D.,
1723, AGED 47 YEARS.
THIS TABLET IS ERECTED NEAR SELKIRK’S LOOKOUT
BY COMMODORE POWELL AND THE OFFICERS
OF H. M. S. “TOPAZ” A. D., 1868.
Although Defoe’s tale is not wholly true, and some of the descriptions
are incorrect, yet the story was suggested by the adventures of the
marooned mariner, and the terrors of loneliness, solitude and fear which
overwhelmed Robinson Crusoe were the same as those undergone by Alexander
Selkirk.
Pascua, or Easter, Island is situated considerably farther out in the
ocean than Juan Fernandez, and farther north. It was so named by a
Dutch navigator, who landed on the island on Easter morning, in 1722.
He carried back with him to Amsterdam the first record of its strange
monuments. The greatest length of this island is eleven miles, and its
greatest breadth is four miles. Yet here on this little speck in the
ocean, an island no larger than Manhattan Island, where the sun is warm
both summer and winter, and the climate is enervating, at one time lived
a strange and marvellous people. None of the inhabitants of the island at
the time of its discovery knew anything about the monuments or the race
that built them. The traditions which were handed down from father to
son shed no light on that subject. Some claim that they were a race of
giants, evidently inspired by the gods whom they worshipped. Others claim
they were a race that antedated the flood. There is also a theory, based
on these monuments and those on other islands of the Polynesian Islands,
that this entire group were once a part of a continent now submerged.
These people hauled mammoth stones from quarries that face the sea,
carved on them faces and cut with rude implements upon all the four
sides the story they wanted to tell. These stones were transported to
chosen sites and set up with engineering accuracy, until almost the whole
island became a gallery of monumental sculpture. Then came a new era;
the race of builders disappeared, and no one is now able to decipher
the hieroglyphics. In all there are over five hundred of these carved
statues, colossal heads and other samples of the art of these prehistoric
people. Except in a few cases the monuments face the sea, and to the
east, and they range in size from a mammoth monolith seventy feet in
height to a pigmy the size of a small boy. Some of them weigh several
tons and were transported from quarries distant as much as eight miles.
How this was done without the aid of mechanical devices is a mystery.
Besides the statues there are several immense platforms constructed of
large cut stones piled together, as if they had been shaped to conform
to the plan of an architect, and all are set with true edges without
cement and plaster. These platforms are about thirty feet high, and from
two hundred to three hundred feet in length. After a fashion they look
like immense banquet tables or council platforms. Around or upon these
tables the prehistoric chiefs may have sat in stone seats and deliberated
or made plans to conquer enemies.
On this island there are some peaks which rise as high as twelve hundred
feet above the surface of the sea, and there are walls of stone formed
from lava which for scores of centuries have lain there, and small lakes
formed in natural cups and bowls which were probably once the open mouths
of volcanoes. There are the remains of what was once a house of stone.
As the tumbled blocks now lie they mark out a structure one hundred feet
long, twenty feet wide, with walls five feet thick. Some of the slabs
are marked with geometrical figures and with representations of animals
and birds. These suggest a gigantic species, larger than any that exist
to-day. In fact all their representations of life suggest a heroic mould.
But the peculiar feature of this house is that the ceiling was not
more than five feet high, which would seem to render it unsuited for
a dwelling place. It might have been intended for a storehouse of some
sort. At the present time there are only a few hundred people living on
the island who are of the Sawaiori race, and resemble very strongly the
natives of Tahiti.