particularly in the ravines and sheltered places, are tall and shapely
and their trunks and lower branches are incrusted with mosses and
entwined with flowering creepers and vines, many with a sort of
mistletoe that has clusters of dark-red blossoms; one of the creepers,
called angel’s hair, is delicate and filmy and hangs from the branches
like threads of lace, and there is an undergrowth of ferns and shrubs
and bamboo. These last often shoot up as far as the tops of the trees
and seem to mat them together so that they form arbors over the pathways
between. Farther south and in the region of the Strait, these woods lose
something of their mysterious beauty; here they are composed principally
of antarctic beech, gnarled and bent by the winds, and the thicketlike
undergrowth is somber and forbidding.
Emerging from the channel, for the first time the steamer encounters
heavy rollers, which come dashing in through the broad gateway to the
Pacific, not far to the west. Here, even in summer, it is seldom that
there is neither storm nor fog, but, when it is clear enough, one can
see the tempest-torn promontory of Cape Pillar, at the end of Desolation
Island, the southwestern portal of the Strait. Eastward the conditions
improve; the water grows smooth again and the clouds are usually lifted
above the lower mountain tops; the scenery grows still more impressive
than in the channel—only it is solemnly impressive now—at least, so it
strikes most travelers. The Strait is much wider; the steamer is far
enough away from the shore to enable one to see above the shoulders of
the mountains to their summits, yet not so far that the distance renders
them too indistinct; the water is steel gray, the bases and buttresses
of the mountains take on a shade of purple, the summits seem whiter than
ever, and over all, except during the comparatively rare intervals when
the sun shines, are leaden clouds. In the center of the Strait, where
the continent proper comes to a wedge-shaped point known as Cape
Froward, and up to the eastern arm, only a few miles away, lies Punta
Arenas, the southernmost city in the world.
In the jumble of ranges forming the transmagellan continuation of the
great Cordillera of the Andes, the most important is that named after
the scientist, Charles Darwin, who was the first to explore it, on the
long western arm of the Island of Tierra del Fuego. The highest and most
conspicuous happens to be the nearest to this remarkable port, and, as
no better idea of the region in general could be conveyed, it seems to
me, I quote from the story of a visit to Mt. Sarmiento, made by Sir
Martin Conway the same summer he climbed Aconcagua, rather than attempt
a description myself. He says:
“The sun was shining quite hotly and the ice was almost
dazzlingly brilliant. After scrambling with difficulty onto the
glacier and wandering about the moraine area, we returned toward
the shore, finding an exit through the forest at a much narrower
place. The air was cool, the sun bright; there were little puffs
of breeze; it was the very perfection of a day for active
open-air life. Yet the clouds still hung stationary on the
summit of Sarmiento. We lay awhile on the shore beside the
rippling waters; then rowed away in hopes of seeing our
mountain’s misty veil lifted if only for a moment. The long,
late midsummer sunset was at hand. A tender pink light, far
fainter than the rich radiance of the Alpine glow, lay upon the
surface of the glacier and empurpled its crevasses; it permeated
the mist aloft. The cruel rocks, incrusted with ice, and the
roof of the final precipice, with its steep ridges and icy
_couloirs_, were all that could be seen. The graceful,
ice-rounded foundation rocks of this and all the other mountains
around slope up to the cliff and jagged _arêtes_ above and make
each peak beautiful with contrasted forms, massive, yet suave of
outline beneath, splintered and aspiring above. In one direction
we looked along the channel of our approach, in another, for
twenty miles or so, along Cockburn Channel, with a fine range of
snowy peaks beside it, prolonging Sarmiento’s western range.
“The water was absolutely still; we floated with oars drawn in.
Looking once more aloft, I found the mist grown thinner. The
pink light crept higher and higher as the cloud dissolved.
Suddenly—so suddenly that all who saw it cried out—far above
this cloud, surprisingly, incredibly high, appeared a point of
light like a glowing coal drawn from a furnace. The fiery glow
crept down and down as though driving the mist away, till there
stood before us, as it were, a mighty pillar of fire, with a
wreath of mist around the base, and, down through all the
wonderful pink wall and cataract of ice to the black forest and
reflecting water. We had seen the final peak now—a tower of
ice-crusted rock, utterly inaccessible from the western side. A
little while later, the fair _couloir_ had faded away, mists had
gathered and night was coming on apace. We rowed away for the
steamer, but had not gone very far before a faint silver point
appeared above the mist where the glowing tower had stood. The
cloud curtain rolled slowly down again and all the summit crest
was revealed, cold and pure. Then the southwest ridge appeared,
and finally the entire mountain, like a pale ghost, illuminated
by some unearthly light. A moment later the clouds rolled
together once more and solid night came on; we hastened to the
steamer for warmth, food, and sleep.”
[Illustration: PUNTA ARENAS, THE SOUTHERNMOST CITY ON THE GLOBE.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
VIII
PERU
Northward bound from Valparaiso to Callao, the traveler leaves behind
him the last of those south temperate zone Latins who contend for the
title of “Yankees of South America.” (And there is flattery in that
pretension if they but knew it, for in the old strongholds of our
vaunted Yankeeism much of the feverish progressiveness has subsided; in
these days the title “Argentino” or “Chileno” would confer a real
distinction on some of us of the North.) In Chile one leaves triumphant
modernism and now enters the realm of antiquity and romance, the home of
Spanish tradition and old-world stateliness. Not even on the Peninsula
have the Spanish tongue, the Spanish dignity and the old Castilian
ideals been preserved in their pristine charm and perfection as they
have in Lima, and the three ancient seats of colonial splendor hidden
away in the fastnesses of the northern Andes—Quito, Bogotá and Caracas,
the capitals of the countries next in order.
Not that romance and antiquity are all that Peru and her sister
republics to the north stand for to-day. If Argentina, Uruguay, and
Paraguay, which constitute the agricultural empire spurned by Spain in
her days of prosperity, are, as John Barrett says in the _Independent_
for March 11, 1909, destined, with Brazil, “to become deciding factors
in the food supply of mankind,” Peru and the other Andean republics have
also their part to play in furnishing elements necessary for the growing
commerce of the twentieth century. “The complicated social and financial
life of the world,” Mr. Barrett goes on, “must have something besides
food and drink. Gold and silver as a medium of exchange, and, in the
arts, copper and tin as essentials in so many phases of industrial
development, the other metals useful in a thousand ways in applied
science, the nitrate salts for prime necessities in both peace and
war—all these and much more are to-day supplied in high proportion from
this part of South America.” Deprive the world of the nitrate of Chile,
the copper, gold, and guano of Peru, and the silver and tin of Bolivia,
and “there would occur a disturbance in our business machinery which
might have very serious consequences.”
In preference to the more direct German line, the visitor should by all
means make the trip northward by a “west coaster,” that cross between an
Atlantic liner and a river steamboat which meanders leisurely in and out
among the Pacific ports and carries a conglomerate of all types of the
genus Latin American, and of all the products of his infinitely varied
soil. As one writer whimsically describes it, it has all the
characteristics of a house-boat, freight carrier, village gossip and
market gardener. With no cause to fear rain or rough weather, the ocean
here being truly “pacific,” the builders of these boats have placed all
cabins on deck, and even thus they seem superfluous except as lockers
for luggage, for the heat keeps one always in the open.
Here the newcomer to these shores talks politics or crops or railroad
concessions with the substantial _hacendado_ returning to his
plantation, or haggles interminably with the _cholo_ woman who offers
for sale woven hats of _jipi-japa_ straw (known commercially as
Panamas), little golden images unearthed from Inca ruins, or imitations
of them fashioned from vegetable ivory, great white-pulped, juicy
pineapples, leather belts of exquisite workmanship, brilliantly colored
ponchos, and the inevitable convent embroideries and laces. These women
spend much of their lives on board, traveling back and forth between
Valparaiso and Panamá, and in their allotted corners sell everything
from candied sugar cane wrapped in banana leaves to emerald necklaces.
It is said that one old woman on a recent trip actually had hoisted
aboard a live cow, which she would have sold piecemeal, in steaks, if
the long-suffering captain had not protested that his ship was no
slaughter-house.
And, besides the surfeit of “local color” one gets on the ship, the
traveler has an excellent opportunity to study that vague institution
known as international trade, at a familiarly close range. The terms
“exports” and “imports” mean little to him until he sees huge cases of
sewing machines marked “Hamburg—fragile,” or sections of milling
machinery from Chicago, or something of the sort, swung over the side
into the lighters, and later sees other lighters towed from shore laden
with curious little bales of Panama hats, or cotton, or casks of rum,
and all the, to him, exotic products of a different world.
Always wonderful, the mighty ramparts of the Andes rise tier upon tier
from the reddish strip of desert shore, first in solid black, then in
slaten pallor to the misty heights of inland distance where the peaks
are ill-defined against the sky, except when the sun burns through the
haze and makes brilliant for a moment some snow-capped summit floating
apparently in mid-air four miles above. Ever northward the lazy coaster
dozes on her course, dropping in at Iquique, parched and stifling, or
Arica where the sun-baked nitrate lies piled for shipment in such
quantities as fairly to blister the imagination, or Mollendo, the other
open door to Bolivia’s wealth; and, finally, after a fortnight of such
coasting, one enters Callao, the port of Lima, which is only nine miles
away, up the valley. Situated in the center of Peru’s coast line, Callao
is the busy exchange for the bulk of the country’s commerce. Its
population is about 35,000. Most of its business men, however, live in
Lima and look upon the port city as the Chileans do on Valparaiso,
merely as the “down town” district of the capital.
Arriving in port the traveler’s thoughts instinctively turn back through
the four centuries of white dominion over the country; and he pictures
in his mind the stirring tragedies of Spanish conquest and the colonial
régime in this dazzling colonial empire won from the Incas. Until 1717
the Viceroy of Peru held sway over the whole of South America except the
then Portuguese Colony of Brazil. On that date the Viceroyalty of Santa
Fé or New Granada (embracing what is now Colombia and Ecuador) and the
Captaincy-General of Venezuela were created and severed from his
jurisdiction; and in 1776 it was reduced to the dimensions occupied by
the present Republic, by the creation of the Viceroyalty of Buenos
Aires, which included territory now occupied by Argentina, Uruguay,
Paraguay, and Bolivia (then known as the Province of Alto Peru). The
Captaincy-General of Chile had always enjoyed a high degree of autonomy
and retained it until complete independence was gained by the
revolution.
Although mightily shrunken from its former imperial estate, Peru is
still a magnificent domain. Its area of 680,000 square miles is equal to
the combined areas of Texas, Nevada, Utah, Arizona and New Mexico; its
coast-line of 1500 miles is as extensive as our Atlantic coast from
Maine to Georgia. The country is divided longitudinally into three
distinct regions: the coast, the cordillera, and the so-called Montaña,
or wooded slopes, the latter stretching away into the Amazon valley.
Along the Pacific coast is a ribbon of dry, tropical lowland, varying in
width from twenty to eighty miles, and reaching up to the foothills of
the coast range. On these foothills, and increasing gradually in number,
through the extension of the irrigating systems toward the sea, lie
extensive plantations of cotton and sugar, which form a large part of
Peru’s exports. But the coastal stretches are, for the most part, still
unreclaimed desert, for, as in the nitrate region of Chile, the rain
falls so seldom that, without irrigation, nothing can grow. The
explanation given by the scientists is that the moisture from the
Atlantic, swept across the continent by the African trade winds, lodges
finally in the Andes and flows back over the continental valleys in the
great rivers confluent with the Amazon, while that from the Pacific is
diverted in some other direction. It has been demonstrated by
experiment, however, that these arid parts need only irrigation to make
them luxuriantly fertile.
Back of the coast the country is cast in a mold of heroic dimensions.
Here the Andes spread out into separate cordilleras which are joined at
intervals by transverse ranges, forming great _nudos_ (knots), with high
plateaux between, surrounded by lofty snow-covered peaks. This
mountainous area approximates three hundred miles in width. In these
heights lay the wealth that made of Peru a fabulous treasure land, and
in the lower valleys the cereals and fruits of the temperate zone, as
well as cattle, provide in great abundance for the Peruvian of to-day.
In her extensive guano deposits, too, Peru has another great source of
wealth.
Descending the eastern slopes of the Cordillera, the Montaña region
stretches away gradually into the Amazon valley, covering an immense
area. This Montaña country comprises more than two-thirds of the total
area, and lies wholly within the Torrid Zone. Watered by mighty rivers
that have their source in the Andean snows, and graded in elevation, its
varied productiveness and fertility are phenomenal. It is in the
Peruvian Andes that the Amazon begins its long course to the Atlantic;
the river, however, goes by the name of Marañon throughout its length in
Peru. In the beginning it is augmented by the Huallaga, Ucayali, and
Yavarí and a dozen more mighty streams having their sources in the same
heights or in the foothills on the eastern slopes, and, while still
within Peruvian territory, becomes a river of such immense depth that
ocean liners steam clear across the continent to Iquitos, thus giving to
Peru a port accessible from the Atlantic for her shipments of rubber and
other tropical products.
The disposition of the country’s population of 4,500,000 inhabitants is
significant of the history of the nation’s development and suggestive of
the prosperity that awaits her when the Andean barriers shall have been
gridironed with the railroads that will open up the Amazon region to
colonization some day. The coast areas now support a fourth of the total
population, the cordilleras two-thirds, while the rich forests and
fertile plains of the Montaña—the country of Peru’s present-day
opportunity—support but half a million. The bulk of these inhabitants
are of Indian and mixed Indian and Spanish descent. But little
impression has yet been made by European immigration, as in the
established agricultural republics of the Atlantic seaboard. It is
confidently expected that the birth of the New Peru—the Peru of
railroads, colonization, and great agricultural and mining activity—will
reverse this disparity in distribution and increase the population to
many times its present numbers, for now it is less than that of Holland,
although Peru is three times the size of France.
The New Peru, which is heralded by all recent visitors to the west coast
republics, is building an industrial and commercial nation on the long
smoldering ruins of Spain’s golden empire, and it will be a worthier and
more lasting structure than that with which Pizarro remorselessly
smothered the unique civilization of the Incas. The war with Chile
seemed to awaken her to the necessity of keeping pace with the times,
not only in military but in commercial affairs. Since then she has made
great strides.
A short distance up the coast near Ecuador’s port of Guayaquil lies the
little town of Tumbéz, where Pizarro landed with his troop of two
hundred men and planted the banner of Castile in the Inca’s domain. One
of his first acts after establishing the power of Spain in the Inca
country was to found a new capital nearer the coast than Cuzco, where,
in the midst of the Andes, the Incas had for centuries had their seat of
government. He chose the site of a pre-Incaic oracle on the Rimac River
(the “river that speaks”) where the legendary predecessors of the Incas
came to make their vows. For nearly three hundred years this city, which
is now called Lima, but which he christened the City of the Kings,
enjoyed the distinction of being the “second metropolis” of the great
Spanish Empire on two continents and the center of a viceregal court,
the splendor of which rivaled that of royalty itself. Stately palaces
and churches were soon erected; wide avenues and beautiful plazas were
laid out and substantial walls constructed for defense, and here came in
the viceroy’s train the proudest nobility of Spain.
Lima is reached by both railroad and trolley line from Callao, and lies
on a broad, fertile plain on the left bank of the river. Fifty miles
back of the city the great chain of the Andes passes; but spurs from the
majestic range stretch down and enclose it as within an amphitheater.
Lima is only five hundred feet above sea-level, and in the summer season
unquestionably hot, although the cool breezes from the Pacific temper
the climate to a certain extent. In general appearance the early writers
likened it to Seville; to-day, as the capital of a progressive republic,
it has broadened out and become more active than its dreamy Andalusian
prototype. As in Santiago and the old parts of Buenos Aires, the
business and poorer residence streets generally are narrow and paved
with cobble-stones, and most of the buildings are two or three stories
high. In the better residence sections the visitor is agreeably
surprised to find the charm of other days still remaining in the massive
wooden street doors studded with brass, barred windows and Moorish
balconies, or _miradores_, of heavily carved mahogany, and beautiful
_patios_. The famous old Torre-Tagle mansion, where so many of the
viceroys lived, is still standing to perpetuate this interesting type,
as in the older tropical Spanish cities. _Portales_, or arcades, extend
along the sides of the plazas in front of the shops to afford shelter
from the sun.
The great cathedral and the government palace of the same period flank
two sides of the Plaza Mayor. On the third side stands the city hall,
above which are the balconies of the principal social clubs. Near by is
the old Inquisition building. In the high-domed and mahogany-paneled
room in which the Holy Office sat, the Senate now holds its sessions and
signs the laws of the republic on the very table whence in the old days
were issued warrants for _autos da fé_, and the legislators now hang
their hats in the former torture chamber, in fine disregard of the
horrors it once witnessed. There is a venerableness attached to the old
churches and convents abounding in Lima which makes one hope that the
exigencies of modernism may not demand the destruction of these splendid
relics of colonial architecture.
[Illustration: PLAZA MAYOR, LIMA.]
The Plaza Mayor was the very heart of the brilliant colonial régime. The
courtly Dons of these days, many of whom are descendants of the
principal courtiers of that period, still are delighted to tell of the
brilliance of the viceregal court under the Marquis de Cañete or the
Duke de Palata, or the dilettante Prince de Esquilache—a court that was
the talk of two continents. In the gorgeous salons of the old palace the
gayety reached its height in the days of the Viceroy Amat. It is not
surprising to learn that the deposed Ferdinand VII would gladly have
followed the example of the Portuguese king and moved with his court to
his new-world capital had he been able to escape from the grasp of
Napoleon. At one corner is the site of the house in which Pizarro fought
in vain with his assassins. His skeleton now lies in a glass case in the
cathedral, exposed to the visitor’s astonished gaze. In the center of
the Plaza a beautiful bronze fountain has stood for three hundred years,
untouched by the strife that surged about it as each new period of
Peru’s stormy career was ushered in.
In the Plaza de la Exposición, on the Paseo Colón and in other parks and
boulevards are erected the statues of the nation’s heroes, and other men
who have made Peru’s history—Christopher Columbus, the two Liberators,
San Martín and Bolívar, Colonel Bolognesi, who fell in the war with
Chile, refusing to surrender “until we have burned our last cartridge,”
and many others. The Paseo Colón runs through the fashionable residence
section. It is one hundred and fifty feet wide and connects the Plazas
Bolognesi and Exposición. Through the center runs a garden bordered with
superb trees and artistically laid out flower-beds and flowering bushes,
and interspersed at intervals with monuments, pillars, and fountains.
The present day parade of the _gente decente_ gives the visitor a
picture of beautiful women and well-groomed equipages that measures up
to the best traditions of Peru’s social eminence. In the heart of the
city is the great bull ring, where once society gathered for other
purposes than merely to take the air.
Excellent electric car service is a feature of Lima’s modern
improvements. Trolley lines extend to the many seaside resorts for which
society deserts the capital in the hottest months—Chorillos, the Newport
of Peru, just south of Callao, or Miraflores, Barranco, Ancón and the
numerous imitations of Coney Island.
Too much cannot be said of the charm of Lima’s culture and refinement.
If the _Limeños_ have inherited from their ancestors too much of the
aristocratic pride and military arrogance that distinguish the
_Peninsulare_, they have also fallen heir to the courtly grace and
_savoir faire_ that made the Knights of Alcántara famous among the first
gentlemen in Europe four centuries ago. From the Lima home of to-day the
visitor will take away with him recollections of hospitality, kindness
and old-world dignity, lightened by a pronounced keenness of wit. They
have the reputation of being generous and hospitable, if inclined to
extravagance, and of forming warm and lasting friendships. Ardent
imaginations and brilliant intellects lend a charm to conversation with
the men, only less than that which the world-famed beauty, intelligence
and kindly courtesy of the women lend to theirs. Very reserved when on
their way to church in their black mantos or promenading the Alameda in
their handsome toilettes, these ladies exert themselves to make their
homes agreeable to their guests. The behavior of the young girls on the
Alameda is more like that of their Chilean sisters.
At the head of Peru’s educational system stands the fine old University
of San Marcos, in Lima, founded in 1551—nearly a hundred years before
Harvard received its charter. It has now many additions and covers all
branches of learning, and its courses are thrown open to every class.
[Illustration: SCENE ON THE OROYA RAILWAY.]