BATHS OF CAUQUENES. CHILOÉ ISLAND. LAKE NAHUEL HUAPI
In Lady Anne Brassey's nonpareil book, _Around the World in the Yacht
Sunbeam_, published by Henry Holt and Company, New York, 1882, she
describes on pages 159-161 her visit to the Baths of Cauquenes where
she sojourned two days, October 23-25, 1876. When I was in Chile in
1913, I never heard of these baths and returned home ignorant of their
existence. In the interim I thoroughly read Lady Brassey's book and
determined that if the opportunity ever presented itself that I would
likewise visit them. Darwin visited them in 1836. While in Santiago
in 1915, on looking at a map, I found that there was a city named
Cauquenes in the Province of Maule in south-central Chile, it being the
provincial capital. I had made up my mind to go to that place, when
the bung-eyed girl who managed the Hotel Oddo showed me my error and
informed me that the Cauquenes I was seeking, was not a great distance
from Santiago and was reached by train from Rancagua.
One morning I left the Alameda Station at 9.30 and two hours later
arrived at Rancagua. The ride was through a fertile country, well
tilled and with great vineyards. Only two towns of importance were
passed, San Bernardo with 8269 inhabitants which also has street-car
connection with Santiago and Buin whose population is 2713 inhabitants
and is the county seat of the Department of Maipo in the Province of
O'Higgins. The Andean and wine-producing province of O'Higgins, named
in honor of the father of Chilean independence lies directly south
of the rather large Province of Santiago, its boundary line being the
Maipo River. Its population is 92,339.
[Illustration: Plaza O'Higgins, Rancagua]
[Illustration: Calle Brazil, Rancagua]
Rancagua, the provincial capital, is a dirty, odoriferous, dilapidated
adobe city of 10,380 people with the outward appearance of decay. A
walk down the main street which is named Brazil belies the general
appearance of the town for its sidewalks throng with peasants from
whose shoulders hang multicolored shawls. Horsemen wearing red ponchos,
their spurs clanking, trot down the pebble-paved street that is lined
with squalid one-story shops. Although only fifty-four miles south
of Santiago, the place is a good market town; of the numerous shops
those that deal in dry goods, draperies, and saddles appear to do the
most lucrative trade. There is only one respectable appearing spot
in the city, and that is the small plaza in the urban center which
is embellished by a bronze equestrian statue of O'Higgins, his horse
trampling a Spaniard. Of the several apologies for hotels, none were
inviting and rather than to eat at one of their restaurants, it is best
to go hungry. The only decent place to eat is at the railroad station.
One of the taverns is named "The North American" with a proprietor of
our own nationality but its business is mostly bar trade, catering to
the incoming and outgoing trade of the miners at El Teniente Mine. The
day I was at Rancagua was Sunday which I was told was the day on which
the prisoners of the jail were allowed to receive guests. I imagine
that nearly everybody in the town either had relatives or friends in
jail for in front of the building which is on the main street a mob had
collected to await admittance.
[Illustration: Street in Rancagua]
The inhabitants of the town are tanned dark brown, and although
strongly built and powerful I noticed several who were afflicted with
the same malignant blood disease which the Swiss guards imported into
France from Italy during the Middle Ages. I was also surprised to see
a little girl about twelve years old on the street who had the leprosy,
the only case I have ever seen in Chile.
* * * * *
The Braden Copper Company of North American ownership has a 2½-foot
gauge railroad that runs up to their copper mine, El Teniente, which
is about forty-five miles up the Cachapoal River above Rancagua; the
Baths of Cauquenes is one of their stations. This mine which was opened
in 1907 now has six hundred employees, many of whom are from the United
States and Canada.
From Rancagua the train ride of an hour and a half first crosses the
Plain where fat cattle graze in knee high clover, and then skirts along
the ledge of the mountains overlooking the broad terraces or selvas
of the Cachapoal River, winding around promontories on a roadbed no
wider than the coaches; any mishap would be sufficient to send the
train rolling down the mountainside killing all the occupants of the
cars. The station of Baños, (meaning Baths) is high above the gorge
of the river. Across the canyon on a ledge of rocks can be seen the
buildings of the thermal establishment, but before the pedestrian gets
there he must walk a good half-mile. A foot path zigzags to the canyon
bottom and an arm of the river is crossed by a cement bridge to a
rocky islet. Another bridge, this one a swinging one, suspended above
a whirlpool brings one again to terra firma on the left bank. One now
ascends another zigzag path to a forest of elm, ash, and locust, the
foliage being so thick that the sun's rays never penetrate it. Another
suspension bridge which spans a silvery cascade is reached and beyond
it is the hotel, a low, squat adobe building painted red, whose many
rooms open onto two patios.
The name Cauquenes is Araucanian meaning _wild pigeon_. This bird, the
_ectopistes migratorius_, sometimes called the voyager pigeon or the
wood pigeon originally had its range from Labrador to the Straits of
Magellan. Half a century ago they were numerous in the United States,
but in this country they have been absolutely exterminated due to their
having been killed off by hunters; great numbers which escaped the gun
were burned in the Arkansas forest fires four decades ago. Chile is the
only country on the face of this earth where they still exist, and it
is probable that they will continue to live there as the inhabitants
are extremely averse to killing them, the ignorant classes believing
that they bring good luck and that it is an ill omen to kill them.
At the present time they are not found in Chile north of Cauquenes;
formerly there were great numbers in the vicinity of the Cachapoal
hence the name of the baths.
[Illustration: Gorge of the Cachapoal at Baños de Cauquenes]
The Baths of Cauquenes are situated in the Department of Caupolican in
the Province of Colchagua on the south or left bank of the Cachapoal
River in Latitude 34° 14´ 17´´ south and in Longitude 70° 34´ 5´´ west
of Greenwich. The altitude of the place above sea level has been a
matter of argument. Eight different professors claim its altitude in
different figures from 2200 feet which is the lowest and which is said
by Domeyko to be correct, to 2762 feet which is the highest and is
said by Gillis to be correct. 2490 feet which is the altitude claimed
by Guessfelt seems to be the most exact and is the figure accepted by
Dr. Louis Darapsky in his book, _Mineral Waters of Chile_. The season
for the baths is from September 15th to May 31st, and in midsummer the
place is generally crowded. Describing the scenery, Don José Victorino
Lastarria, an illustrious newspaper man of Santiago, says:
"I have never seen a more impressing, and at the same time, a more
charming landscape than that of the Baths of Cauquenes, nor have I
ever seen in so small a space so many different kinds of views nor
such surprising details. Nature has grouped there her most beautiful
accidents. In sight of the snowy Andes, here rise in the foreground
rounded hills covered with vegetation; there rise barren rocks through
whose clefts rushes the turbulent Cachapoal. Here are gardens filled
with flowers; there are impenetrable thickets. Light and shadows
everywhere, colors without end, harmony and contrast which reflect or
darken the rays of the sun."
The temperature is consistent and the variation during the day is
neither rapid nor extreme although the mornings and evenings are cool
and it is warm at midday. Even in the hottest months the heat is not
irksome, due to the fresh breezes which blow down the valley from
the cordilleras. In winter there is snow; the cold, however, is not
excessive.
The baths have been known since 1646, and were described by Padre
Ovalle in his _History of the Kingdom of Chile_. There are three
hot springs issuing from the porous and shaly rock, named Pelambre,
Solitario, and Corrimiento. Their temperatures are 122°, 113°, and
107°6' Fahrenheit respectively. They are walled up and the waters of
the first-mentioned two are run by pipes into a swimming tank and
into tubs in the thermal establishment. During their course in the
pipes Pelambre loses 3°6' Fahrenheit of its heat and Solitario 5°4'.
Their waters more than supply their use so the water of Corrimiento is
allowed to go to waste. The thermal establishment, though by no means
primitive, is rather old-fashioned. I was surprised to see such an
attractive place as the Baños de Cauquenes not made more of for in hot
springs and natural scenery it is the zenith of God's works. Man also
has done his share well but much improvement can be made, all of which
requires capital. The natural lay out of the place is a paradise. It is
something like the Cserna Valley in southeastern Hungary, but wilder
and grander with also a soft touch of nature. The hills covered with
live oak, laurel, and mesquite resemble those of California, yet are
more fertile. A shaded walk leads from the hotel to an artificial lake
bordered by fifty-five of the largest eucalyptus trees that I have ever
seen. In its center rising from the water stand two willows. One is
never absent from the swiftly flowing Cachapoal which murmurs like the
Tepl at Carlsbad, only louder.
The baths are supposed to be beneficial in cases of gout, diuretics,
rheumatism, anemia, and so forth, although one of the guests of the
hotel evidently came there for relief for consumption. He was a bearded
man about sixty years old and he made an unholy spectacle of himself
by coughing and expectorating on the floor of the dining room while the
other guests were eating dinner.
When I arrived at the place I was met at the door by a young man
wearing white duck trousers and a blue double-breasted yachting coat.
With the exception of his large yellow moustache he had a most cherubic
countenance with a smooth, pink, babylike face without a wrinkle or
blemish. I afterwards discovered that this cherubic individual had an
inordinately strong passion for whiskey, gin, and beer as well as for
any drink which had as a fundamental principle among its ingredients,
alcohol. On several trips which I made later to the Baños de Cauquenes
in 1916 I became fairly well acquainted with this Señor Hermann
Manthey. He had arrived two years previously on one of the German
merchantmen on which he was a steward. The ship was interned and he
struck up-country to make a living and finally evolved in becoming
manager of this hotel, as the proprietor, an old doctor had leased
it for a few years and was too wrapped up in his own private affairs
and also too lazy to give it his attention. Señor Manthey was doing
well on the small salary and large tips he was getting but was not
without ambitions. A few months afterwards I ran across him on a few
days' vacation in Santiago, and he then was planning to get the owner
to lease the establishment to him upon the expiration of the present
lease to the doctor. The hotel with its grounds, fine fruit orchard,
springs, lake, and six thousand acres of hilly grazing land, across
which several rushing streams of transparent water flow headlong into
the Cachapoal is owned by a gentleman in Santiago who leases it out
as he has several other large properties. He will sell it for eighty
thousand dollars which is dirt cheap. Some day I expect to buy it and
make it my home.
At the hotel there are horses to let. On one of these I rode up a
narrow valley and discovered that with nothing but mere bridle paths
leading to them, and miles from the nearest houses, were lonely
thatched and adobe huts, the homes of poor people and charcoal burners
situated in mountain wheat fields or in clearings of a few acres. All
of a sudden while riding I had a sensation as if the horse was trying
to squat on its haunches. I reached for a stick from a nearby limb
to put life into it and nearly lost my balance. A noise like distant
thunder that I had already heard twice that afternoon, although the
sky was cloudless, was audible, and in all directions stones and
small boulders came rolling down the mountain side. It was a slight
earthquake which the natives call _temblor_ in order to distinguish it
from the great ones which they call _terramoto_.
In the center of one of the myrtle-carpeted patios at the hotel
is a fountain encircled by an ivy-covered wall. Here evenings bats
congregate and flap their wings in the vicinity of the faces of the
guests. A party of Canadians, employees of El Teniente Mine, were
stopping at the Baths when I was there. They filled up on liquor
and made sleep impossible for the other guests by their sacrilegious
bawling of _Onward Christian Soldiers_ and other hymns of the Episcopal
Church.
On leaving Baños de Cauquenes I decided to take the twenty-three-mile
horseback ride to the station of Los Lirios and from there take the
train to southern Chile. The country road was very stony; in some
places it was a mere cart track, while in others it was a broad avenue.
During the first part of the ride it windingly followed the south
bank of the Cachapoal and crossed two streams of transparent water,
each known by the same name, Rio Claro. This means Clear River, and
evidently the natives thought that if the name would do for one, it
would be appropriate for the other. At every turn of the road a small
freshet was crossed, for out of every cleft or dent in a hill gushed
forth a spring. These small streams the peasants deviated from their
courses by turning them into their gardens for irrigating purposes.
The natives were very poor all living in adobe hovels with thatched
roofs. A few acres of cattle, a dog or two, two acres of cultivated
land, and some pear trees represented all their worldly belongings; yet
they seemed very content. These peasants as a class were the poorest
people that I have ever seen as far as worldly possessions go, yet
every one of them always had a full meal at dinner time. They ate what
they raised, and where they grew crops they worked them with infinite
care. As they were too poor to buy fertilizer, they worked a new piece
of land each year, coming back to the original piece after five years'
time, because it had then enriched itself by remaining idle. There were
many wheat fields, ripe and yellow, the sixty bushels to an acre kind.
Central Chile gets plenty of rain but as it gets it only in the winter
months, irrigation has to be resorted to in the summer.
Halfway to Los Lirios I arrived at the hamlet of Colihue (mispronounced
by the natives Collegua) with its adobe hovels bordering the now
broad and extremely dusty road. Everybody in rural Chile travels on
horseback, and the people I met riding were many. A man loses caste if
he journeys on foot. At Colihue another road turns off to the left to
the Lake of Cauquenes in the mountains and which teems with fish. The
road now left the Cachapoal and after skirting some barren hills on
the right-hand side for a couple of miles it reaches the settlement of
Cauquenes a most queer place. It consists of a great square compound
of dirt which is surrounded on all four sides by a five-foot-high adobe
wall excepting where there is a church on the west side and a few open
sheds on its east side. An estancia house stood beyond the wall on the
south side and there were some buildings beyond the wall on the north
side where the priest and his servants lived. The highroad both entered
and left this compound by openings rent in the adobe wall. It may be
possible that this place once held a Spanish garrison, and that the
compound was the parade ground, and that the open sheds were former
stables. Everybody that I asked knew nothing about the early history of
the place.
A broad avenue one mile long bordered by giant plane trees led westward
from here. Their foliage was so thick that it made the road dark,
and not seeing my way well I rode my horse onto a pile of bricks, the
impact being so great that it nearly brought us both down. The road
emerged to a pebble river bed, then forded a river, and wound around
the sides of some high hills. Every horseman in Chile takes a slight
upward grade at a gallop and I saw ahead of me a group of horsemen
doing the same; behind us came galloping around the curves six horses
pulling a carriage. These horses were three abreast and on each outside
leader two lackeys were mounted. It was the doctor's wife from the
Baños en route to Los Lirios where her sister has a post station.
Chileans frequently travel on horseback, accompanied by their servants
who follow a couple of horse lengths behind mounted on inferior
animals. When the master stops, the servant likewise does so, but with
the same distance between the two.
Los Lirios consists only of a small wooden railway station, a
warehouse, a large open horseshed around a yard filled with wagons
which is the post station, a small store, and a saloon. To this latter
place I repaired, after dismounting, to get a glass of water after the
hot dusty trip. The building and its stock of goods were poorer than
the poorest backwoods blind pig, and yet for a third-class license the
congenial and friendly proprietor, who was likewise barber and plied
that trade in an adjacent room in the same building, had to pay yearly
two hundred pesos ($34.12). From the appearance of the shack it did not
look as if he took in that much money a year. Some of the moustached
clientele that happened along, I called up to the bar to have a treat
on me. The proprietor brought forth two goblets, each one being of
a quart capacity, and filled them to the brim with red wine which
he poured from a big jar. The contents of one of these goblets sells
for 8½ cents, the cheapest wine that I have ever seen. If my surprise
was great in seeing men take a quart of wine for one drink, it was
even greater when I saw them drink it in nearly one gulp and put the
goblet back on the bar in anticipation of a duplicate. I treated them
two or three times and never once did they renege. I know what would
have happened to me if I had followed suit, yet it seems incredible
when I must state that it had absolutely no effect on the imbibers.
It is inconceivable why a man in that part of Chile need ever touch an
intoxicant, for the sweet, balmy air and the voluptuous appearance of
Chile's maidens are sufficient to intoxicate any normal, healthy man.
An hour after leaving Los Lirios the train arrived at San Fernando,
population 9150, the capital of the Province of Colchagua where we had
lunch. Colchagua which has a population of 159,030 is one of the most
productive provinces of Chile, but the next two provinces south of
it, Curicó and Talca are not. It is a sorry sight after having passed
through the well-tilled, highly productive country ever since leaving
Santiago, to come suddenly upon land that is going to waste on account
of lack of settlement. With the exception of the six northernmost
provinces of Chile, Curicó and Talca are to me the least attractive of
any of the republic. South of San Fernando the first town of importance
is Curicó, its name meaning "Black Water" in the language of the
aborigines; then are reached Molina, population 4327; Talca, the sixth
city of Chile with a population of 42,088 inhabitants, and San Javier
in the Province of Linares which has 4898 people. This town lies about
three miles east of the railroad track but is connected to the depot by
horse cars and to Villa Alegre, the next town south of it, by trolley.
The Andean Province of Linares and its southern neighbor Ñuble are very
important agriculturally, both being two of the best in the republic.
Their crops are diversified, run high in percentage of measure to the
hectare and are of good quality. The capital of the Province of Linares
is the city of Linares with a population of 11,122. It has good stores
and buildings most of which are painted pink. Like in Rancagua the
samples of merchandise on display in the shops are cloth, ponchos,
and drygoods. Although but slightly larger than Rancagua it is a much
finer town, and even though its streets are none too clean they are
far superior to those of the capital of the Province of O'Higgins.
In comparing the two cities it is fair to say that Rancagua presents
more activity in street life and in business. There is one hotel
which is fair, the Comercio. A peculiarity about Linares is that on
the streets, especially that one on which the railroad station faces,
native women are seated in front of portable stoves offering for sale
cooked edibles which should be eaten on the spot. I saw one man who,
when he had finished eating, left the spoon on the table near the
stove. The woman who owned it licked it dry, and after having wiped
it on her undershirt, replaced it in a dish that would be sold to the
next customer. The native women have an art peculiar to Linares and
nonexistent anywhere else in the world of weaving a certain delicate
fiber into small baskets, jugs, and ornaments. These woven wares are
very diminutive and are valuable only as ornaments and curiosities.
They are multicolored and are in much demand by strangers. It is
possible to buy them in Santiago but at an exorbitant price for all
that are on sale there are imported from Linares.
A two-and-a-half-foot gauge railroad runs from a station a block and a
half north of the main depot to the springs of Panimávida, two hours
distant to the northeast. Having seen those of Cauquenes, in order
to augment my education along thermal lines, it was up to me to see
Panimávida and to especially sample its mineral waters, as its bottled
water is the most widely drunk of any mineral water in Chile. It
corresponds to White Rock and to Still Rock.
[Illustration: Main Street of Linares]
The place Panimávida is nothing. It is just as if somebody had erected
a big hotel in the middle of an Illinois or a Wisconsin landscape. The
attractions are absolutely nil. There are six practically tasteless
lukewarm springs covered over with glass tops which supply the popular
table water of Chile. These springs are the property of the Sociedad
Vinos de Santiago (Santiago Wine Company), and as that stock company
is well capitalized the Panimávida waters are well advertised by
them. As people like to dilute their wine with seltzer, this company
has installed a carbonizing plant here, which changes the still water
into a sparkling one. The plant with hotel is leased to a man named
Hernandez, a fine, fat, young fellow with a flowing beard. He is a good
and accommodating hotel man and gets the trade, even having his runners
meet the trains at Linares. Panimávida is an excellent old-maids'
paradise. Under the shady roof of the patio porch they can sit, gossip,
and knit. The proverbial parrot is present and a black cat could be
easily imported. President Sanfuentes arrived during my visit to rest
up after the strenuous strain connected with his installation. It was
an ideal place for this with nothing to distract his attention except
the broad meadows and the corrugated-iron, yellow-painted Catholic
chapel.
[Illustration: Panimávida]
Said His Excellency to me: "What Chile needs is population. Here we
have thousands upon thousands of acres of the richest land in the world
lying idle, because there is nobody to cultivate it. Until we have the
proper number of inhabitants there is no use to cultivate these lands,
because Chile produces four times more of an abundance of fruit than
she can consume. You see how cheap fruit and wine is; there is an over
production. Every year a million tons go to waste because there is no
market. She cannot export them because the United States and Argentina
are nearer to the European markets and the freight rates would eat up
the profits. As there is a great demand for grain, people have gone
more and more into the growing of cereals but as yet this industry is
in its infancy. It should be encouraged for now there is grown just
enough wheat to meet the internal demand."
"Supposing," I asked, "that Chile had four times more population than
she now has, would she not have to import her wheat?"
"Never," he replied, "as there are here millions of hectares of the
best wheat lands in the world that can be bought for a song. They are
now lying idle. Something has to take the place of the timber of the
southern provinces. When it is gone it will have to be cereals."
"I believe," he continued, "in encouraging a large immigration,
chiefly from the northern countries--the United States, Germany,
Scandinavia, and Great Britain. Their inhabitants have more initiative
than the Latins and intermarried with the natives make a strong
blood. Our people and those of all the Latin countries excepting the
Frenchmen lack initiative and that is what we need. The Chilenos are
content to live as they have lived for decades, which is all very
well but it is unprogressive. Thanks to the British we now have a
fairly large merchant marine; to the Germans is due the credit of the
prosperous condition of the southern provinces. The only drawback to
the foreigners here is that they run too much to cliques. They should
scatter more. We should also have more capital to start factories, but
I do not believe in, nor shall I encourage, any industry that will reap
the profits here to spend outside of the country."
A couple of hours south of Panimávida are the springs of Quinamávida.
They are said to be equally as good as those of Panimávida, but the
hotel there is poorly managed and there is a lack of capital to well
advertise its waters.
On the return to Linares something went wrong with the locomotive,
which in appearance was similar to the dinky engines one sees in the
lumber plants at home used in hauling lumber through the yards. A
priest on the train who had a mechanical turn of mind got out of the
car, and jumping into the engine cab soon had the locomotive in running
order, much to the amazement of the train crew.
Southward from Linares the main line of the railroad passes through
Parral, population 10,047, San Carlos, population 8499, Chillán,
and Bulnes, population 3689. San Carlos is famous for its melons and
Bulnes is likewise so for its wines. At San Rosendo, 315 miles south
of Santiago, the train crosses a branch of the Bio-Bio River, which is
named the Rio Claro in want of another name and Araucania is entered.
By the name Araucania is known that part of Chile bounded on the north
by the Bio-Bio River and on the south by the Calle-Calle River. Its
eastern limit is the peaks of the Andes and its western one is the
Pacific Ocean. In area it is about the size of the State of Maine
and comprises the provinces of Arauco, Malleco, Cautin, and portions
of those of Bio-Bio and Valdivia. The Spaniards always spoke of this
region as the _frontera_, meaning frontier, and so to-day all Chile
lying south of the Bio-Bio is spoken thus of.
The original inhabitants of this country, the Araucanian Indians were
the bravest and most warlike of any of the South American tribes, and
it was not until 1883 that they were finally subdued after 340 years
of warfare. Caupólican, Lautaro, and Colo-Colo, their great warriors
have been immortalized in the poem "La Araucana" by Alonso de Ercilla.
The Araucanians have intermarried so much with the whites that their
race is fast becoming extinct although their facial characteristics and
figures are prevalent in a multitude of South Chileans. Their political
organization was as follows:
A large geographical division was called an _aillarehue_. These
aillarehues were divided into nine smaller parts, each part being named
a _rehue_. Ruling over each rehue were two _toquis_ or caciques who
were responsible to the two _gulmens_ who ruled over the aillarehues.
One gulmen ruled in wartime, the other in times of peace. So also with
each toqui. The office of toqui was hereditary and many became famous
through warfare or by their wealth, for example Colipí, Mariluán,
Catrileo, and Huinca Pinoleví.
The Araucanians had no gods with anything definite attributed to
them, nor did they have temples and idols, but they were exceptionally
superstitious. Their principal god was Pillan, god of thunder, light,
and destruction. He lived in the highest peaks of the Andes and in the
volcanos. Dependent upon him were the Huécuvus, malignant spirits.
Epunamun was the god of war. They also practised the cult of stone
worship. Their most superstitious ceremony was Machitun or cure of the
sick. The Araucanian does not believe that a man should die unless he
is killed in battle, and when he dies a natural death through old age
or sickness they believe that some of their own people inimicable to
the deceased caused him to die. In order to discover the malefactor,
they consult a witch doctor, generally an old hag named a _machi_.
After having indulged in a number of ridiculous contortions and jumps
she names the supposedly guilty party. Without any further ceremony
they pounce on him and amidst a great drunken orgy and libations of
_chicha_ (a native intoxicant) dedicated to Pillan they torture the
innocent victim to death. When a man dies they generally perform
a post-mortem examination upon the corpse to endeavor to extract
the poison from it which caused death. The burial takes place with
great lamentation and imbibitions of oceans of chicha to the tune
of a lugubrious musical instrument somewhat like a drum and named a
_trutruca_. They believe in an everlasting future devoted to earthly
pleasures. They formerly believed that the deceased came to life again
and dwelt on the island of Mocha off the coast, but they changed their
thought when they discovered that the Spanish pirates formerly used
that island as their base for excursions on the mainland. Marriage
among the Araucanians has for some time past been a true compact, the
father of the bride having to give his consent. It is not necessary for
any other members of the family to be consulted, but it often happens
that after the marriage has taken place, fights arise between the groom
and the brothers-in-law who objected, several parties being severely
wounded in these affrays. The plight of woman is miserable; she is
practically a slave and the husband enjoys the fruits of her labor.
Polygamy exists among them.
[Illustration: Bridge over the Malleco River at Collipulli]
South of the Bio-Bio the landscape changes nearly entirely. The flat,
cultivated plains of the river pockets which form the great central
valley now give place to rolling hills intersected by small streams
which lie deep in canyons spanned by bridges. At first there are
evidences of viticulture on the side hills but these soon disappear
as well as the trees, which now only are seen near the river beds.
This absolutely treeless country of rounded hills swelters in the hot
sun as it beats down upon the infinite miles of yellow wheat fields.
In the villages frame houses take the place of adobe ones. There are
numerous small lumber yards and sawmills which bear testimony that in
the distant mountains there is still timber. Occasionally a deserted
sawmill is passed which shows that the lumbermen are in the same fix as
those at home, namely that a new location must be found.
At Santa Fé, the junction of a branch railway that runs to Los Angeles,
of typhoid-fever fame, and the capital of the Province of Bio-Bio,
a curious incident happened. A coffin had been taken off an incoming
train to be put in our baggage car. Coffins in Chile are kite shaped
and are not placed in boxes when transported. The top is not nailed but
is fitted into a groove. I stood a couple of yards away watching the
train crew lift this coffin into the baggage car. They had to lift it
slantingly as some baggage stood in the way. Suddenly the train gave a
jolt causing one of the baggage men to lose his footing. Since there
was nobody now at the head of the coffin it fell onto the platform,
the lid came off, and the malodorous and semi-decomposed cadaver
rolled on top of the baggage man who emitted awful shrieks and howls.
The two other men helping him immediately took to their heels. Women
screamed, men ran, natives crossed themselves, and Germans laughed. The
pinned-down baggage man howlingly extricated himself from beneath the
corpse and made all haste to jump on the train which had now started,
leaving the lich on the platform since nobody would go near it.
At Renaico where there is a large frame depot and restaurant, a branch
line runs southwest to Angol, capital of the Province of Malleco and
continues to Traiguén. At Collipulli, meaning "Red Earth" which has
3005 inhabitants, the train crosses the great viaduct over the Malleco
River which lies deep at our feet, bordered by a dark fringe of oaks.
This is the most beautiful vale in Chile. The clear, narrow, foaming
river is a refreshing sight. A rich man has built a villa on the rise
of ground overlooking the stream which gives the scenery a touch of the
Rhein.
The landscape now changes again. Oak, laurel, and _lingue_ appear, at
first scattered, then in groves, and later in forests, while everywhere
possible in clearings are oat fields, the grain just turning color. The
farther south we go the greener the grain is, until we reach Victoria,
population 9840, where the grain has not begun to change color. Every
three years the farmers cut off the branches from the laurels; these
they scatter over their fields and set fire to. Among the ashes they
drag the grain into the ground for by this procedure they are supposed
to harvest better crops. Land here is worth eighty dollars an acre.
The landscape is decidedly like that of our Northern States, and
the climate is much the same as that of Oregon and Washington. At
dusk Lautaro in the Province of Cautin was reached. This town has a
population of 5968 and is named after Valdivia's Araucanian horse boy
who murdered him and as tradition says ate him. As I mentioned before
all the towns that we passed through south of the Bio-Bio are built of
wood, but up to here their roofs were of tile, with a few exceptions
of corrugated iron, tin, and shingles. The tile roofs now entirely
disappear and their place is taken by those of shingles or slabs of
lumber. The houses are unpainted and as to external appearances are
veritable hovels. They resemble those dilapidated structures of the
nigger villages in our Gulf States. Many towns resemble the one-time
lumber settlements of the upper peninsula of Michigan.
On the train I became acquainted with the Reverend Steerer, a divine of
the Church of England who had resided for twenty-six years in Temuco
and who gave me valuable information about the country. He had just
returned from a trip to the mountains at the request of the British
Consul in Concepcion who had sent him there to inquire into the mystery
surrounding the murder of an Englishman who was stabbed to death in bed
by some natives who wanted the money he had on him.
At Temuco the Cautin River is reached. The country around here has
had a troubled history in the wars between the Araucanians and the
whites. One of the anecdotes is that on July 31, 1849, the bark
_Joven Daniel_ ran into some rocks near the mouth of the river and was
shipwrecked. The cacique Curin lived near the spot and with the help of
his tribesmen they saved the lives of the crew and passengers together
with the cargo which was given to them out of gratitude. In the cargo
was liquor which they immediately attacked. Under its influence they
murdered every survivor except an eighteen-year-old girl, Elisa Bravo
of Valparaiso, whom Curin selected to be one of his wives. She was
betrothed to a Ramón Bañados of Valparaiso. His family immediately took
up the matter with the government which immediately got into action to
chastise the Araucanians. Dissentions had in the meantime arisen among
the Indians, and two caciques, Loncomilla and Huaquinpan took the side
of the whites. The Araucanians were beaten but no trace of Elisa Bravo
was ever found as it was supposed that Curin married her and took her
to a place of safety.
Another incident happened in 1861. A French adventurer named Aurelie de
Tournes proclaimed himself King of Araucania under the title of Orelie
I. He promised to free the Indians from the Chilean rule and had the
ability to get the aid of several caciques and quite a large following.
In a battle he was taken prisoner; he was tried for menacing public
safety and would likely have been executed if it had not been for the
intercession of the members of the French colony in Santiago, and of a
judge who has previously declared him to be insane.
[Illustration: Street in Temuco]
Temuco is the capital of the Province of Cautin and is the geographical
capital of Araucania. It is the largest city of Chile south of the
Bio-Bio and has a population of 29,557, ranking ninth in the republic.
It is 422 miles south of Santiago, and owes its origin to a fort
which was built here in 1881. In recent years its growth has been
rapid. The city is situated west of the mainline of the longitudinal
railroad, and is the junction for a branch line that runs to the
town of Imperial. There is a considerable English colony which has
a church and two schools, but like all over in southern Chile, the
Teutonic element outnumbers all the rest of foreigners in a ratio of
ten to one. The business is mostly in the hands of the Germans as can
be seen by the names over the stores. Somebody with a Yiddish streak
must have strolled in from somewhere because I noticed the sign of
Benjamin Goldenberg over the door of a second-hand clothing shop. The
city is a long-strung-out place of frame unpainted buildings presenting
a most unattractive appearance; only in the center of the town one
gets away from these eyesores for there brick and cement structures
abound, especially in the neighborhood of the Plaza Anibal Pinto. The
principal streets, Jeneral Bulnes, Arturo Prat, and several others are
well paved with cobblestones over which horse cars rattle in the long
ride to the railroad station. Driving from this station to the town the
hotel omnibuses race each other much to the fright of the uninitiated
stranger. Temuco boasts of an excellent hotel, the Central, owned by a
large, fat German named Finsterbusch, whose facial adornment is a big
aureate moustache. Like most of the Chilean hotels owned by Germans the
place is clean, the beer good, and the cuisine excellent.
The 109-mile train ride from Temuco to Valdivia is made in four and
a quarter hours through a country entirely different from any that
is passed through from Santiago to this point. The low mountains come
in such close proximity to the railroad track that one is pierced by
a tunnel. They are heavily timbered with trees of good saw-log size,
laurel and oak abounding. The only place of importance on the stretch
is the sawmill town of Loncoche. The valley bottoms are impenetrable
jungles of vines, bushes, thorns, and berry plants which reach a height
of about twenty-five feet. It took the pioneers a month to traverse ten
miles of this wilderness whose bottom is soggy muck, the average day's
penetration being but one third of a mile. Antilhue is the junction for
trains running south. The Calle-Calle River is crossed and its south
bank is followed into Valdivia through a fragrant country covered with
scarlet wild fuchsias, honeysuckles, snapdragons, and morning-glories.
On all sides are the green mountains covered with primeval forests.
[Illustration: Plaza de la Republica, Valdivia]
Valdivia has had its share of the world's vicissitudes and calamities.
It was founded in 1552 by Pedro de Valdivia and was abandoned in
1554 on account of the attacks on it by the Araucanians who captured
its founder and put him to death by torture. It was destroyed by an
earthquake in 1575, and when rebuilt was sacked by Elias Harckmans, a
Dutchman who fortified it. In 1645 the Dutch were worsted in a fight
with the troops of the Peruvian viceroy, the Marquis de Mancera who
drove them out. There was another earthquake in 1737 which again
destroyed the place. Rebuilt, it was burned in 1748. In 1837 a third
earthquake destroyed it. Since then it has burned down three times, in
1840, in 1885, and in 1911, the last one being an especially bad fire,
wiping out the entire city. Thus it has been destroyed by earthquakes
three times and burned four times.
It is beautifully situated on the south bank of the Calle-Calle which
is navigable for small boats. The city is uninteresting as it is
absolutely modern. In character it is German, for it is the leading
German center in Chile. No other language is heard spoken on the main
streets. The natives who slightly outnumber the Teutons and also speak
German are to be found mostly on the back streets; they are employed
by the Germans in the different industries. The population of Valdivia
which is the tenth city in Chile is 24,743.
When one alights at the railroad station, it is better to take a launch
to the city to the tune of sixty centavos (10 cents) than by the more
arduous and long trip by cab over rough plank pavements. These launches
owned by a man named Oettinger give the stranger a pleasant ride down
the river and disembark him at a new cement quay near the center of the
city from which place boys carry the grips to the various hotels. One
is immediately impressed by the cleanliness of the cobble stone-paved
streets of the business section and by the handsome though inexpensive
structures. It is by far the cleanest city in Chile. With the exception
of the buildings on the streets near the Plaza de la Republica, which
are of cement construction, all the other buildings are of frame or
corrugated iron, or of both, but painted freshly over. The side streets
are paved with wooden planks, and in some places with wooden beams,
six by sixes. The main industry is brewing. The colossal brewery named
Compañia Cerveceria Valdivia, formerly that of Anwandter Brothers,
one of the largest in Chile, looms up majestically on the water front
across the narrow river opposite the landing quay. The storerooms for
this amber and nut-brown beverage are on the city side of the river at
the dock. The best hotel in Valdivia is the Carlos Bussenius, named
after the host who in appearance could pass as a twin brother of
Finsterbusch in Temuco.
[Illustration: Calle-Calle River at Valdivia, Showing Flour Mills]
A pleasant trip from Valdivia is the two hours' ride down the river to
Corral but another and far grander is that to Lake Riñihue and across
the mountains to the wretched hamlet of San Martin de los Andes in the
greatly overrated southern part of Argentina known as Patagonia.
[Illustration: Street in Valdivia]
I left Valdivia about the middle of an afternoon and got off the train
an hour and a half later at the station of Collilelfu where I put up
for the night at a wooden shack with a tin roof which was an apology
for a hotel. Early the next morning I arose to catch the seven-thirty
train for Huidif, the railroad terminus of the branch line which
will in time be continued to Lake Riñihue. The ride of an hour only
brought the train to its destination where the passengers alighted to
change into carriages which cover the six remaining miles to the lake
in three quarters of the time. The whole landscape is rolling and is
semiforested, and as the lake is approached vast marshes abounding in
wild fowl are traversed. Lake Riñihue is about fifteen miles long by
four miles broad and is a favorite summer resort for the inhabitants
of Valdivia. The landscape is beautified by vistas of the snow-capped
volcanos, Choshuenco and Mocho.
[Illustration: Riñihue Landscape, Southern Chile]
The seventy-five-mile trip to Osorno from Valdivia consumes four hours
and lies through a smiling farming country with villages, farms,
and soils characteristic to those of the best part of Wisconsin.
It was dusk when I arrived at Osorno, metropolis of the Province
of Llanquihue. The city has a population of about 12,000 and is 601
miles south of Santiago. A daily train makes the entire distance in 25
hours and 40 minutes, a sleeper being attached to the train as far as
Renaico. Osorno is a miserable-looking place of frame buildings built
close together as is the custom in all the towns of southern Chile
where lumber plays the main rôle in the erection of edifices; but few
of the houses and stores are painted. Valdivia is the only place in
this section of the country where the inhabitants take enough pride in
the appearance of their town to give the houses a fresh coat of paint.
I was told by Bussenius to go to a German hotel which had just been
opened by a former chef of one of the interned Kosmos Line steamers.
I did not go there, however, because Americans do not stand in good
repute with the Germans and Chilenos of German descent in southern
Chile. Although the United States was not at war with Germany at the
time of my visit, nevertheless the Teutonic inhabitants of that section
took pains to show their dislike of North Americans. Although I was
subjected to no personal discourtesy at either Temuco or Valdivia,
but on the contrary was treated well, I was obliged to listen to much
tirade against the United States and the inhabitants of our country
in general. The Germans were angered because North American firms
were supplying the Entente with munitions of war and it was a current
topic of conversation among them that the United States was afraid to
declare war upon Germany, saying that if it did so there would be an
uprising there against its Government by the great number of Germans
and Americans of German extraction. They anticipated a Bürgerkrieg or
Civil War in the United States if the latter joined sides with Great
Britain.
As there were a couple of spruce-looking runners at the railway
station for the Hotel Royal, a native hostelry, I gave them my grips
and was driven through the unprepossessing streets of the city. The
cab eventually stopped in front of a building that has the outward
appearance of a certain large residence on the outskirts of Ashland,
Wisconsin, where lumberjacks and sailors were wont to congregate after
pay days and sojourn until their savings were gone. I was wondering
whether this establishment was of the same nature. Fortunately it
turned out to be a very good and comfortable hotel, absolutely Chilean.
Osorno has several other hotels, all German. Osorno has more Teutons
in proportion to its size than any city in Chile. In numbers, Valdivia
has a larger German population, but the ratio is smaller for Valdivia
is the larger place. Three-quarters of Osorno's population is German,
their numbers here being in excess of nine thousand. In southern
Chile where most of the hotel-keepers are German, the inns all have
the Gastzimmer or Bürgerzimmer as in Germany, where the merchants and
clerks assemble nights to discuss news and the events of the day over
large schupers of health-giving beer. A non-trust brewery has recently
been inaugurated in Osorno by a man named Aubel and his wet goods
certainly hit the right spot when partaken of. Outside of his brewery
there is no manufacturing in the town excepting the large flour mill of
Williamson and Balfour. Both these enterprises were born in 1914.
[Illustration: Osorno]
While standing on the plaza one night listening to the military band,
all at once was heard the pealing of bells and booming of gongs.
Everybody started to run in all directions and not knowing what was
taking place, thinking it was either an earthquake or a revolution,
I followed suit and hid behind a maple tree. This scare turned out to
be a fire alarm. The whole crowd now raced and tore down a street that
leads across the railroad track, and I presently saw by the blaze that
the fire was of no small importance. Slipping up to my room I took my
valuables from my valise, and putting them in my pocket joined the
crowd. Above the din of conversations, orders from the police, and
the noise from the fire pumps, could be heard the agonizing screams
of four victims that were being burned to death at the windows of
the second story of a dwelling. They were caught like rats in a trap
while asleep, and when aid came they were beyond all mortal help. The
policemen standing in the road with drawn sabers suddenly ordered the
crowd to run for their lives, which they did in all directions. An
intonation like the sound of a cannon boomed, followed by two or three
sharper reports. Impossible for the firemen to stop the fire which was
spreading to all the neighboring closely packed frame dwellings, the
police had started dynamiting. This last process which was successful
claimed another victim and blinded another person. I saw the remains
of the dynamite victim; what remained of him resembled a pudding. No
vestige of either teeth or bones was found of the four persons who
perished in the fire and whose heart-rending screams are now ringing in
my ears.
[Illustration: Scenery on the Railroad Between Osorno and Puerto Montt]
All the small towns of southern Chile have flour mills and grain
elevators; throughout the countryside on the farms and in the towns are
seen tall block houses, reminiscenses of the days of Indian warfare.
From Osorno the railroad continues ninety-three miles southward to
Puerto Montt, the terminus of the longitudinal railroad southward.
Puerto Montt, with 5408 inhabitants, is the capital of the Province
of Llanquihue. It lies on the north end of Reloncaví Bay, 694 miles
south of Santiago, and is an uninteresting modern frame town, inhabited
mainly by Germans. When a southeaster blows the breakers beat with
terrific force against the docks.
Small vessels belonging to a local navigation firm ply thrice weekly
between Puerto Montt and Ancud, the capital of the Province and the
Island of Chiloé which lies eighty miles to the southwest on the
extreme northern end of the Chiloé archipelago, on the Bay of Ancud.
Large ships of the Compañia Sud-Americana de Vapores, generally known
as the Chilean Line, also make both Puerto Montt and Ancud weekly,
while those of intermediate size sail from Puerto Montt and make all
the small ports on the Gulf of Corcovado en route to Punta Arenas. At
eight o'clock in the morning following the day that I arrived in Puerto
Montt, I boarded the steamer _Chacao_ in a blinding downpour of rain
with a ticket for Ancud which cost about $1.20 in the equivalent of
our currency. The sea was not rough but was rather choppy, while the
rain prevented the passengers from remaining on deck. Unfortunately the
clouds hung too low to permit me to get a good view of the mainland.
The islands of Maillen and Guar were skirted and three hours out we
anchored off the port of Calbuco, county seat of the Department of
Carelmapu in the Province of Llanquihue. This town is situated on a
peninsula at the south end of the Bay of Reloncaví and from the steamer
deck resembled the lumber villages of Puget Sound. It is connected
with Puerto Montt by a rough wagon road and there is talk of extending
the railroad here, although I can see no reason for its necessity,
excepting that the harbor at Calbuco is sheltered while that of
Puerto Montt is not. The difficulties of engineering and the cost of
construction, I imagine, would never make it pay. Shortly after leaving
Calbuco we entered the Gulf of Ancud and after skirting the south end
of Llanquihue entered the narrow roadstead of Chacao, and arrived at
the hamlet of that name about two o'clock in the afternoon. Chacao was
founded in 1567 and until about fifty years ago was the principal port
of Chiloé when it was practically deserted in favor of Ancud whose
growth at that time had been rapid, and which owing to its being a port
on the Pacific Ocean was fast getting the commerce.
Ancud was reached about four o'clock in the afternoon after a trip that
consumed eight hours. It lies at the south end of the bay of the same
name, an indentation of the ocean, and is protected from the dreaded
southeasters by a mountainous headland named Lacui. The bay is filling
up so fast with mud which is washed into it by the rains, that vessels
of large draught have to anchor from one to two miles out. Our ship
anchored about half a mile out and we were transferred to terra firma
by gasoline launches. The village has 3424 inhabitants and is a dirty
settlement smelling of dried fish, built on the side of a hill. It is
the seat of a bishopric, the frame cathedral being the best building
in the town. There is absolutely nothing to do in the place which for
amusement has but one moving picture theater. Numbers of mixed bloods
and Indians are in evidence seemingly outnumbering the whites, many of
the latter being Germans.
Chiloé has an area of 8593 square miles, being larger than the State of
Massachusetts; its population is slightly in excess of eighty thousand
inhabitants many of whom are Indians. These Indians are not warlike
like the Araucanians nor are their physiques as good. Their numbers are
on the decrease owing to alcoholism and to diseases which always follow
in the wake of the advent of the white men. A continuation of the Coast
Range, the Cordillera de Pinchué runs the extreme length of Chiloé from
north to south, its summits from 1500 to 2000 feet in altitude being
near the Pacific Coast which is inhospitable and has no harbors. The
east coast of the island, separated by the thirty-five-mile-wide Gulfs
of Ancud and Corcovado abounds in good harbors and it is here that the
settlements are. These gulfs teem with small mountainous islands, most
of them being uninhabited.
A railroad runs southward from Ancud sixty-five miles to Castro, the
distance being made in four hours. There are no towns on the route
but numerous stops are made at small settlements such as Quichitue,
Puntra, Quildico, and Dalcahue. Midway between Ancud and Castro are
the Puntra and Putalcura River valleys of great fertility. Here are
many farmhouses with fields of green oats and with pastures of clover
in which feed droves of cattle and swine. Hides are one of the chief
exports of the island. Where there are no clearings the forests are
primeval and are beautiful in their green coloring. It is a dripping
forest of moisture with lianas, giant ferns, purple and crimson
fuchsias, and species of orchids. The bark of the tree trunks and
of the windfalls are covered with inch-deep moss. The density of the
woods and the exuberance of plant growth is the nearest approach to a
tropical forest imaginable in a temperate zone for the whole island of
Chiloé lies south of Latitude 42° South.
[Illustration: Indian Belles, Chiloé Island, Chile]
Next to Ancud, the most important place on the island is Castro which
was the capital until 1834. It is the oldest town on Chiloé and here
the Spaniards made their last stand. It is a well-built village of 1243
inhabitants, situated on the west side of the long and narrow Putemun
Bay, and is well sheltered from the winds by the ten-mile-distant
mountains to the west. It consists of several parallel streets running
lengthwise along the bay. A wagon road runs southeastward from here
about thirty miles to the settlement of Ahoni. I only remained a
few hours in Castro because there arrived in the afternoon a steamer
from Punta Arenas on its way to Puerto Montt. Its route lay through
the channel which separates the large island of Lemui from Chiloé,
and then took a course eastward between several islands and rounded
Cape Chegian at the southeastern extremity of Quinchao Island. This
last mentioned island is about twenty miles long and is very narrow
excepting at its northwestern end where it broadens out, and is
separated from Chiloé by the Strait of Quinchao. It and an archipelago
of smaller islands form a political department of which the town of
Achao, where we anchored at dusk, is the county seat. Achao has a
population of 1571 inhabitants and has taken away much of Castro's
former trade. It is a long-strung-out fishing village on the side of a
hill, the forest on which comes down to the water's edge. Shortly after
leaving Achao, the ship sailed westward to Chiloé again and stopped at
Dalcahue on the Strait of Quinchao. Dalcahue has a road leading to a
three-miles-distant railroad station on the Ancud-Castro line. During
the night, Quincavi was touched at and after a steam through the Gulf
of Ancud and the Bay of Reloncaví, Puerto Montt was again reached at
11 A.M. It was a nice clear morning and the snow-capped Andes on the
unexplored mainland were resplendent in sunlit brilliancy.
On the mainland southeast of the Island of Chiloé is Chile's largest
river, the Palena. It rises from Lake General Paz, whose waters are
traversed by the international boundary line of Argentina and Chile; it
flows northward through western Patagonia and bending to the west after
a course of about thirty miles finally empties itself into the Gulf of
Corcovado. North of the Palena and at its source, separated from it by
a low range of hills in Patagonia, is the Futaleufu River whose origin
is in the Argentine Valley of the 16th of October. It flows westward
through the Andes into Lake Yelcho which in turn empties into the
Yelcho River. This river finds its way into the Gulf of Corcovado south
of the Quinchao Archipelago.
The person who visits Chile and returns home without having seen the
Llanquihue lake region has made his trip in vain. Here is a country as
grand as Switzerland, which although its mountains are not quite so
high, they seem higher and are better for vistas for the valleys are
lower. Moreover the snow line is here lower. In Switzerland one gets
the best views of the giant peaks from altitudes of valley bottoms
that are themselves six thousand feet and over above sea level; here
one gets the same view from low-lying rivers and lakes which makes
the sheer abruptness grander. There are no great thick forests in
Switzerland which are here omnipresent, garbing the mountain sides
from the barren, snow-capped peaks down to the very water's edge. This
Llanquihue country is beginning to become popular with excursionists
and it will not be long before it will be one of the world's famous
playgrounds.
Twenty-one miles north of Puerto Montt on the railroad to Osorno is the
large triangular Lake Llanquihue, much indented with bays and coves
on its western shore. Its breadth is over thirty miles, and it is
the largest freshwater lake in Chile. Its outlet is the Maullin River
which flows in a southwesterly direction into the ocean to the north
of the Bay of Ancud. The scenery in the neighborhood of the lake is
most charming. The west and north shores is a rolling country much of
which is cleared into farms, well kept up and showing a high degree of
prosperity. From the south shore rises a steep incline tapering towards
the top into the conical snow-capped volcano, Calbuco, whose lower
reaches are embowered in forests of hardwood. Many small streams rush
from its sides and pour into the lake. At the eastern extremity rises
the mighty, majestic dome of the volcano, Osorno, rising 8645 feet,
nearly perpendicularly from the clear waters.
[Illustration: Lake Todos Santos from Petrohué]
Puerto Varas at the southwestern end of the lake is the summer resort
where the travellers leave the train. It is a clean little village of
frame houses in the heart of a country renowned for its frutillas, or
diminutive wild strawberry which grows here in abundance, and whose
name should not be confounded with _fresas_, which is the name for
the strawberry of larger size which we are acquainted with. The whole
region is a German settlement, and this is especially true at Puerto
Varas where scarcely anybody of any other nationality is seen excepting
some of the laborers. The Bellavista is the best hotel. It is a clean,
comfortable house where the proprietor is a professional landscape
photographer. Transportation of passengers to San Carlos de Bariloche
in Argentina is effected thrice weekly during the summer season and
once a week the remainder of the year. A little steamer belonging
to the South Andes Transportation Company leaves Puerto Varas at 8
A.M., and after a four hours' steam across the placid waters of Lake
Llanquihue brings one at Ensenada at the base of Mount Osorno in time
for luncheon. Here one now has the choice of a carriage or horseback
ride to the twelve-mile-distant Lake of Todos Santos (All Saints). This
short journey crosses a saddle of the divide between Lake Llanquihue
and the valley of the Petrohué River, of which Lake Todos Santos and
its tributaries are its source. This ride is over a road which in wet
seasons is poor and full of ruts but is decidedly charming on account
of the darkness of the forest which comes down to both sides of it. The
Petrohué River of unsurpassing beauty winds in a gorge between the high
Santo Domingo Mountain and the Calbuco Volcano, and empties itself into
the fiord like Reloncaví River. Behind a mountain chain to the west of
which Calbuco is the culminating pinnacle, is the large and beautiful
Lake Chapo, nearly inaccessible owing to the steepness of the mountain
sides which have to be climbed first in order to get a view of it.
[Illustration: Puella]
At Petrochué which is reached at 3 P.M. there is nothing but a dock
from which one embarks on another small steamer that takes one in
four hours more to Puella at the eastern end of Todos Santos Lake.
The lake is long and narrow with several arms running like the legs
of a spider up into the pockets of the mountains which are formed as
their sides dip to unite with one another. The verdure of the forests
is dark and primeval, while the water itself is dark blue with barely
a ripple on its surface. The appearance of the entire landscape is
somber and mysterious. A small round island, named Isla de las Cabras,
rises precipitously in woodland glory from the center of the lake.
Ever present in the distance are snow-crowned domes, those of Osorno
and Santo Domingo behind us to the west, while in front of us rises
the awe-inspiring rugged peak of El Tronador (the Thunderer) white in
its icy altitude of glaciers. At Puella is a primitive hotel where the
traveller stops for the night. This place is at the very foot of the
Thunderer, so named from the loud intonations caused by the glaciers
breaking off at their edges and falling with roars into the ravines.
El Tronador is 11,278 feet high; its summit is only ten miles from
the deep-lying lake. Thus one can imagine its great perpendicular
steepness. This continues downward for an infinite depth in the lake,
whose banks are so sheer in many places that it is impossible to
obtain a foothold. The bottom of Todos Santos Lake has never been found
although it is believed to exceed a thousand feet in depth. The water
made by mountain springs and eternal snows is so cold that swimming is
impossible. About a third of a mile from the hotel at Puella is a large
waterfall, while at frequent intervals throughout the sublime landscape
are numerous falls and cascades.
Taking an early start from Puella, one arrives by carriage or mules
in two and a half hours' time at Casa-Pangue, a small frame chalet
where are stationed the Chilean custom-house officers. From here to
the international boundary at the top of the divide is an ascent of
about two thousand feet, the road lying through a thick forest. It
takes two hours to reach the summit where there is an iron post with
a sign on one side of which is the word Chile while on the other side
is Argentina. The divide is covered with snow from May till September
which on the hillsides reaches a great depth. Not far from the
international boundary marker on the descent is a crude wooden cross,
which denotes the burial place of workmen who died in a snowstorm while
constructing the road.
About halfway down the descent one suddenly perceives through the
thick foliage the turquoise blue of Lake Frio. This lake fed by the
torrential Frio River derives its name from the frigidity of its waters
whose origin is the glacier on the east slopes of El Tronador. A launch
is waiting at a pier to ferry passengers across it which takes about
twenty minutes. A road follows the left bank of the lake, but it is
not passable for carriages; it is used now for freight only. Rounded
rails lie on it parallel to each other and over them pass the concave
surfaces of bullock carts. All passengers were formerly transported
this way. A couple of miles beyond Lake Frio the western extremity of
Lake Nahuel Huapi, Argentina's largest lake is reached at the hamlet of
Puerto Blest by means of a mule-back ride.
[Illustration: El Tronador, Chile
As seen from Casa-Pangue]
Puerto Blest consists only of a dock and a frame building which is
the rest house for travelers and which is owned by the South Andes
Transportation Company. Here one stops for the night to continue
on the following morning the four-hours' steamer trip to the
thirty-mile-distant Argentine town of San Carlos de Bariloche. Lake
Nahuel Huapi is over fifty miles long by seven miles wide at its
broadest place, and is very irregular in shape, having many antennæ
or arms which reach into the mountain depressions. In its center is a
large island whose proper name is Victoria Island. It is long, wooded,
and mountainous and comprises about ten thousand acres. The Chileans
call it Menendez Island after the wealthy family of Menendez whose
seat is in Punta Arenas, and who formerly owned much property across
the Chilean frontier not far from the lake. The Argentine government
made a present of this island to a Señor Anchorena of Buenos Aires upon
condition that in ten years time he would expend on it for improvements
eighty-eight thousand dollars which was the amount that they considered
it worth. His own idea, which he has carried out, was to make Victoria
Island a private game reservation and to this end he has imported
wild animals from the north of Europe which have here thrived and
propagated. It abounds in deer, huanacos, and pheasants, but so far he
has not improved it commercially.
The farther eastward that one goes on Lake Nahuel Huapi, the less
beautiful and interesting the scenery becomes. The mountains become
lower, rockier, and more treeless, until the trees become stunted
and finally disappear so that the eastern end of the lake instead of
having the beautiful sylvan nature that was omnipresent in Chile has
now the sterile aspect of the west end of the Argentina pampa with
barren mountains and plains of dried grass. San Carlos de Bariloche
is a lonesome, God-forsaken village of about five hundred inhabitants
on the south shore of the lake. On the wide semblance of a street are
rough brick, adobe, and frame buildings with two churches, a parochial
school, a bank, and a government office. The inn which goes by the
name of Hotel Perito-Moreno is as much a disgrace to a hostelry as San
Carlos de Bariloche is to the name town. The paper was falling off the
walls and the broken windowpanes were repaired by having newspapers
pasted over the apertures. Straw mattresses with blankets, which I
imagine teemed with vermin, took the place of regular beds, while the
food was so execrable that it was nauseating. As the place is rarely
visited by anybody excepting cattle-buyers, it is not supposed to be up
to date.
The inhabitants of wind-swept San Carlos, however, are not complaining.
They have passed that stage and have resigned themselves to face
whatever misery might present itself to them. There is talk of
the Southern Railroad continuing from Neuquen to make the town its
terminus. This would effect another Transadine route and open up the
country to civilization. Not far from San Carlos de Bariloche the
Prince of Schaumburg-Lippe has an eighty-thousand-acre ranch. It is
said that he bought this to make his home on in case he should be
deposed in Germany. For manager he has Baron von Bülow, the nephew of
the former Chancellor of the German Empire.
[Illustration: San Carlos de Bariloche]