CHILLÁN. ASCENT OF VOLCANO CHILLÁN
While in Santiago in 1915 I met at the Hotel Oddo, a Señor Hugo
Gumprecht who was a guest there. He is a German by birth, but in his
youth emigrated to Australia where he married, became a naturalized
British subject, and lived there for some time. He then went to South
Africa and at the time of the Boer War enlisted in the British Army,
became an officer, and received the Victoria Cross. When the war was
over he went to Argentina and in the village of General Alvear in
the Province of Mendoza, started a hardware store. Here he became
naturalized as a citizen of the Argentine Republic and lived there
up to a few days previous to my meeting him. Business had become dull
in Argentina and as he is an experienced engineer he went to Chile to
see if there was an opening for him there in his line, in the meantime
leaving his family in Argentina until he would establish himself. He is
an educated man about forty-eight years old, is comfortably well off,
and in appearance is a double of Lloyd George, or rather looks like the
pictures of Lloyd George that were taken ten years ago. When I returned
to Santiago in 1916, Gumprecht was still in Santiago but living in a
private house. As he had not yet found anything to his liking, he was
about to make some trips to different parts of the republic to see
what there was doing. I intended visiting the baths of Chillán out of
curiosity and invited him to join me, which he did. I have never yet
found a person that I have cared more to travel with than with him.
One morning we left Santiago and eleven hours later found ourselves in
the 253-miles-distant Ñuble metropolis. Owing to an excess of traffic
the train was two hours late. From the train in the afternoon we saw
the irregular peak of the volcano Yeguas, 11,885 feet high, in the
Linares Andes on the eastern horizon; soon afterwards appeared in
the hazy background the volcano Chillán, 9438 feet high, whose whole
conical contour is perpetually covered with snow. Seen at the setting
of the autumn sun the central valley of Chile presents a view so
pastorally charming that its replica is difficult to be conjured by the
imagination. Broad fields of melons, intermingled with vineyards and
separated from each other by rows of Lombardy poplars and blackberry
hedges, decked the valley floor. On the western horizon rises a chain
of hills, which occasionally has an outcrop in the form of an isolated
mountain. The sun, which had just sunk behind them, made the sky
saffron, as its rays, invisible behind the western peaks, played upon
the snowy summits of the Andes to the east.
The crowd on the platform at the covered train shed of the Chillán
station is the most animated to be found at any railroad station in
Chile with the possible exception of that at Llai-Llai. Landscape
gardeners have endeavored to enhance the depot approach by planting
cedar trees in square holes in the middle of the sidewalk. These trees
have attained the growth of three feet. Leaving the depot, Gumprecht
was walking on my left. Presently he uttered an oath and upon my
looking around I was just in time to see his carcass take a plunge
and land on his belly in front of the astonished crowd. When he picked
himself up, he said:
"I felt something rise between my legs and I jumped, but it was this
_verdammter_ tree."
[Illustration: Plaza O'Higgins, Chillán]
Chillán is the capital of the Province of Ñuble, and has a population
of 39,113, being the seventh city of Chile. Next to Santiago and Talca
it is the largest city in the central valley. It would be larger than
Talca if it took in its suburb, Chillán Viejo. But although a paucity
of manufacturing is done, it owes its existence as a market town to
its being the center of an agricultural district to which it is the
distributing point. There are but few foreigners, unlike the towns
farther south, so that the city is essentially Chilean and here native
life and customs can be seen and studied at their best. There are
several specialties of home-made manufacture that owe their origin to
Chillán, preëminent among which are untanned leather accoutrements and
caparisons for the equine and muline genera, such as bridles, whips,
and spur leathers. Chillán pottery is famous throughout the republic.
It is black, thin, and brittle, and is invariably adorned with scroll
work of pink, lemon, or white. Last in importance is the charcoal fan,
woven by natives from corn husks. The brewery of Julius Jenson is not
large enough to play a rôle in the financial equilibrium of the place
for its proprietor brews but an ordinary beer for local trade.
[Illustration: Calle Roble, Chillán, Looking East from Calle Arauco]
Although the city has no electrified street car system, its horse cars
are a duplicate of the Santiago and Valparaiso trolley cars. They have
double decks, the top being reserved for those who prefer to travel
second class. In other means of transit there is nothing to boast of.
The hacks are antiquated, closed black wooden boxes, while the saddle
horses at the livery stables are of the antediluvian variety.
The main streets are well paved with cobblestones, but the side ones
are poorly paved with small smooth stones, very distressing to walk
upon with thin-soled shoes. The buildings are well built and red
brick is more common than in the cities farther north. However, there
are in Chillán frame houses, which in the neighborhood of Santiago
are conspicuous by their absence. There are several plazas, but the
principal one, O'Higgins, is the best, and in my estimation is the
loveliest in Chile. It has no grassy sward but its great trees give
a delightful umbrage that is refreshing during the heat of a summer
day. In this respect it is not unlike the Plaza Pringles in San Luis,
Argentina. A military band plays here thrice weekly at night and it is
then a treat for tired eyes to watch from a bench the procession of
well-formed girls in the latest creations pass by in review on their
_corso_ around the octagonal park.
[Illustration: Street in Chillán]
The market place, paved with pebbles, is a broad area, bustling with
life. Nearly every known variety of vegetable is represented, and of
such a quality that I know nowhere else where they are excelled unless
it is at the market at Belgrade, Servia. Chillán is the greatest
onion mart in South America, and here are seen cartloads of that
nerve-soothing vegetable heaped on the ground. Many marketeers come
to town Sunday afternoon and sleep that night in their stalls so as
to be alert with their wares and produce at daybreak on Monday, on
which day the place is thronged. On the fringe of the area are canvas
booths. Here sit toothless hags and buxom virgins offering for sale at
fabulously low prices, quirts, riatas, hobbles, spur-straps, and other
leathern productions of their deft fingers.
[Illustration: Market Place, Chillán]
Regarding hotels, Chillán has some good ones, but unless the
prospective lodger telegraphs beforehand, he is likely to find shelter
beneath a shade tree for the rooms are in constant demand. This speaks
well of the city. In the summer the natural trade is augmented by
the tourists en route to and en retour from the Termas de Chillán
(Baths of Chillán), a watering place, who spend a night or two in the
Ñuble metropolis in transit. At the exit of the old-fashioned railway
station, a runner meets the stranger and touts for the Hotel Central,
a large new building, a block from the center of the city.
I prefer the Hotel de France and believe it is the best in the central
valley. Its proprietor, Monsieur Pierre Heguy, is the super-bantam
cock. This handsome little man with his coal-black beard trimmed to
a goatee meets you at the door with a smile and a bow. "_Voilà_,
monsieur," he says, and with a stately sweeping gesture he stands
aside to allow you to inspect the best hotel bedroom in Chile. His
single-story hotel is of frame and adobe. "But what does that matter?"
he inquires and then concludes: "In case of fire or earthquake it is
much safer than the stupendous Hotel Central. Moreover, do water colors
and oil paintings of landscapes adorn the walls of the bedrooms at
the Central the same as in the Hotel de France? Have the Jews at the
Central any knowledge of liqueurs and champagne? _Sapristi_, no!" and
then he spat.
My bedroom on the street corner was grand and large enough to house the
august presence of an emperor and for it I paid the equivalent of $3.40
a day, which included meals. The carpet was of the old-fashioned kind
with pink roses whose replicas are only found to-day in the farmhouses
and in the old residences of the country towns whose furnishing dates
back two generations. The massive wooden washstand with mirror, chest
of drawers, and the bedstand were all crowned with marble slabs. The
bed was a four-poster and the "crazy quilt" was that of bygone days.
The same bed that I occupied probably once creaked under the weight of
Lady Brassey's expatriated figure when she visited Chillán, having left
the yacht _Sunbeam_ at Talcahuano.
The cuisine is perfect and the liquid refreshments are of the finest
quality. Monsieur Heguy is a connoisseur of those substances which
tickle the palate. He does not indulge in liquid refreshment. He did so
when I first made his acquaintance in 1913 but had to quit as it was
injuring his health. At the time of my previous acquaintance with him
he would drink everything on the bill of fare as long as somebody else
was paying for it, but he never treated when it came his turn.
One night while I was at the Hotel de France there was a temblor or
slight earthquake. I was awakened from a sound sleep a quarter of an
hour before midnight by a noise at my door as if somebody was trying
to break into my room. Lighting a candle I saw that the key tag was
rattling. I yelled out, "Who's there?" and opened the door but saw
nobody. I jumped back into the bed again but no sooner had I done so
than I saw a streak of light underneath the door to my right, and I
heard through the open transom of the door that opened onto the patio
the patter of feet as they crossed the tiled walk and the voice of
the young Englishwoman who occupied the adjoining room talking to her
brother and brother-in-law whose room adjoined mine on the left.
"I think the man next door" (meaning me) "is trying to enter my room,"
she said.
"Really, Mary, you don't say so," I heard a male voice reply.
"What do you think he would do to me if he entered my room?" asked Mary.
"I am sure I do not know," the male voice replied.
"Do you think he would murder me?"
"Hardly that," was the reply. There was a continuance of the
conversation which I could not distinctly understand, then the same
voice continued: "Take this revolver, and if you hear any further
disturbance, shoot through his door."
Now this was a pretty pickle. My bed was in range of a revolver shot.
I thought that some sneak thief had tried to get into both bedrooms
and had tried her door as well as mine. Mary had supposed that it was I
who wanted to enter her room. It happened that Mary was not good enough
looking for me to have any such designs towards her. She was slim and
angular, highly colored and commonplace, with a pointed nose and little
eyes like those of a pig. I moved my bed out of revolver range and went
to bed again. The next morning there was considerable excitement in the
town about the temblor, for it was this that caused the rattling noise
at the doors. I approached Mary and her male relatives while they were
sitting in the patio, and telling them that I heard their conversation
of the previous night, roundly upbraided them for their conduct, but
like most unmannered persons they were too ill-bred to apologize.
Besides the Plaza O'Higgins, another beautiful one is that named
Victoria or Santo Aldea. It is not well kept up because the irrigation
ditch which runs along the side of an adjacent street often overflows
and causes the walks of the plaza to receive a deluge.
An interesting excursion on foot is a visit to the less than a league
distant suburb of Chillán Viejo (Old Chillán). This foul village of
five thousand inhabitants was the original city before the earthquake
of 1833 which caused the survivors of the catastrophe to build on
the present townsite. There was an Indian settlement here before the
advent of the Spaniards. The name of their cacique was Chiquillanes,
from which the name Chillán is derived. At Las Toscas Creek at the
southern city limits of Chillán the broad Avenida O'Higgins, which
is no more than a dusty turnpike, leads in a southwesterly direction
to another creek, that of Paso Hondo, on whose filthy banks repose
adobe reconstructions of the original town. This place on the whole is
the most poverty-stricken and squalid town that I have ever visited,
although in this respect and in filth, it cannot compare with certain
sections and suburbs of stately Santiago. It is nine blocks wide with
an average of ten blocks long, has narrow streets paved with sharp
stones on which face tumbledown adobe hovels. Its inhabitants are
drunken, and many possess loathsome sores on their faces. The odors
rising from the decaying matter thrown from the house doors, the swarms
of flies, and the full-bellied whippets basking in the sun-baked offal
make a person ask, "Can such things be possible?" In those parts of the
town where such pleasantries are in the minimum, the air is redolent
with the fragrant odor of rats.
Yet Chillán Viejo is a place of reverence in the hearts of loyal and
patriotic Chilenos, for in this old town was born the father of Chilean
independence, Bernardo O'Higgins, who with the aid of San Martin broke
the Spanish dominion in Chile. A school has been built where stood his
house, but a room of the old building has been preserved with some of
his furniture and keepsakes. A marble tablet on the wall of the school
has the following inscription which translated into English reads:
"This house entombs a sublime echo, the whining of a little child which
was transformed into the yells of victory at Chacabuco and Maipo.
"Here was born the father of our Independence, Don Bernardo O'Higgins,
August 20, 1778.
"Chileans, honor his memory!
"Strangers, remember our history!"
In the center of the dusty ill-kept plaza of the town, abundant with
giant ash and pepper trees, is another memorial to this hero in the
form of a bust on a pedestal erected by a loving populace. Let it be
known that Bernard O'Higgins was one of the most unselfish and lovable
characters in military history. Born of Irish parentage in the squalid
village of Chillán Viejo, he donated his whole career for the welfare
of his country. After whipping the Spaniards he was made Supreme
Dictator. Unlike most other dictators he was not vainglorious nor was
he personally ambitious for power or wealth.
The church on the plaza of Chillán Viejo is said to be 285 years old.
[Illustration: Scene at the Station at Pinto]
The Province of Ñuble, of which Chillán is the capital, has an area of
3407 square miles and a population of 166,245, being the fifth in Chile
as to the number of its inhabitants. Its eastern part is mountainous
and very sparsely settled, the great bulk of its population living in
the highly cultivated central valley. Its level lands are a fine rich
country given up to the growing of cereals, principally wheat, and to
all the vegetables known to the temperate zone. There are also many
vineyards.
The Baths of Chillán, as those hot springs are known, are fifty-seven
miles east of the city Chillán at the headwaters of Renegado Creek
on the slopes of the volcano Chillán, 5850 feet above sea level. One
leaves Chillán at 5.30 A.M. and rides for two hours on a light railway
which runs in a sort of a semicircle eastward to the station of Pinto,
a distance of but twenty-two miles. At Coihueco, six miles before
reaching Pinto, the farmers are building a mutual railway which will be
a branch of the narrow gauge, the government furnishing the rails. This
is being done so that the farmers may get their crops into Chillán.
Pinto is a large village lying about a league south of the railroad
station of the same name across the Chillán River.
[Illustration: Post Station at La Dehesa]
[Illustration: Harvesting Scene at La Dehesa]
At Pinto passengers change from the train into carriages and are driven
to the three-miles-distant post station of La Dehesa, where one can
either continue optionally by a seven-hour carriage drive to Las Termas
(The Baths) or by a continuation of the light railway to the hamlet
of Resinto and thence by carriage four hours to Las Termas. The round
trip by carriage costs $11.05; by train it is $1.36 extra. I went by
train which took nearly four hours on account of the presence on board
of two inspectors who had the locomotive stop every few minutes to
give instructions to construction gangs; from Resinto I went to Las
Termas by coach. The railroad followed the north bank of the Chillán
River until the station of Esperanza was reached where a fine view of
the smoking volcano ahead of us was to be had; it then crossed the
river and wound along a precipice up the west bank of the Renegado
Creek, which lay below us in a forest of oak. I rode on a flat car
which by means of hay wire was coupled to the box which served as the
train coach. Resinto, formerly named Posada, on account of the former
saloon and rest house (which in Spanish is _posada_), is the present
terminus of the light railway although it is being continued so that
in this year (1918) it is expected that it will be opened to traffic
as far as the corral of Las Trancas. The carriage road is very rough,
stony, and steep, and in some places extremely dangerous where it winds
around promontories. For the first few miles after leaving Resinto it
follows the creek bed; at a ranch house where guides are to be obtained
for mountain excursions, a trail leads off to the south, which if one
follows it for a day and a half will bring the traveler into Argentina
over the Buraico Pass. It is only advisable to cross the divide on mule
back on account of the steepness. From the boundary a few days' ride
will bring one to the wretched God-forsaken Patagonian settlement of
Chos Malal, in the Argentine Territory of Neuquen.
[Illustration: Mountain in the Renegado Canyon, Chile
This mountain has its double in the Martinswand, near Zirl, in Tirol]
The first stage of the drive is monotonous although the scenery is
good. There are a few scattered ranch houses in openings in the oak
woods; the country could scarcely be called a forest, nor is it an open
country. Mountains come down abruptly to the canyon and one of them
is a double of the Martinswand near Zirl in Tirol. The whole trip is
dusty in summer, which is the only season in which it is possible to
visit Las Termas. After leaving Las Trancas, the station where the five
horses are changed, and from which is seen a silvery waterfall several
hundred feet high, the road enters the primeval forest of oak, elm, and
laurel, decidedly beautiful, and then winds up the cool but dusty glen
of the Renegado, which is fed by numerous trout streams. The roaring of
many cascades and waterfalls is heard, the double one of The Lions, an
hour's ride before Las Termas is reached, being the most beautiful.
[Illustration: Corral of Las Trancas]
The springs, bathing establishment, and hotel known as the Termas de
Chillán are at the highest limit of the tree line. They are owned by
the municipality of Chillán, and at the present time are leased to
a Basque, Monsieur Bernard Paguéguy, the French consul at Chillán,
for the sum of $12,240 for the season of four months, which is at
the rate of $3060 a month. In order to make a profit Paguéguy runs a
gambling establishment in conjunction with the hostelry. People are
not desired as guests who have no lust for the green baize. Baccarat,
petits chevaux, and slot machines operate at full swing regardless
of the strict anti-gambling laws of the country. A policeman recently
lost $204, his whole worldly possessions, and had to borrow $17.50 to
get away. While I was at Las Termas a man dropped $2040 in one evening
which though not much to lose at either Montevideo or at Mar del Plata
is a fortune to lose in Chile.
[Illustration: Forest in the Province of Ñuble, Chile]
At Las Termas there is a main building and about thirty huts called
_casuchas_, where lodgers room _en famille_. There are stables and a
long barrack where the peons live. The bathhouses are about a quarter
of a mile up the ravine.
The main building is of stone and is three stories high in front and
two stories high in the rear as it is built on the slope of the hill.
Besides the dining room and the coffee room, it has a barber shop,
telegraph office, doctor's office, and rooms for guests. To one side is
the administration office, bar, two gambling rooms, writing room, and
kitchen. The ladies congregate evenings in a well-furnished hut which
has for furniture red cloth covered chairs, a sofa, and a pianoforte.
[Illustration: Scene on the Road to Termas de Chillán]
The casuchas all have at least three connecting rooms and are
preferable to the main building. There has been considerable criticism
in the Chillán newspapers about the treatment of the peons at the
barrack. These poor people, afflicted with rheumatism and other
ailments, and too poor to afford to pay the regular price for food and
lodging, walk to Las Termas or come a whole family in an ox-cart or on
mule back. They tether their animals in the woods or turn them loose
in a corral. They bring their own food and bedclothing with them and
pay eighty-five cents a day for the privilege of shelter. Sometimes a
hundred of them are jammed nondescriptly into the dirty barrack which
serves as a dining room, kitchen, and bedroom for dirty and diseased
humanity of both sexes. Some of these poor fellows are seen nightly
sleeping hunched up on the floor against the walls of the buildings
near the kitchen and huddled close against one another for warmth, for
the nights are apt to be frightfully cold. They are unwelcome to the
host because they do not gamble.
[Illustration: Termas de Chillán]
A steep climb takes one to the bathing establishment. These are two
houses, one for a steam bath and the other for a tub bath. The price
of an ordinary bath is seventeen cents, but there are some private tub
baths where it costs double. The waters are iron, manganese, sulphur,
mercury, and potassium, such a variety as these being hard to find
in so small a radius. Although the waters are good for rheumatism and
gastric troubles they are supposed to cure syphilis as effectively as
salvarsan. Many guests were here for this last-named ailment, although
they showed no visible outward signs. An acquaintance, a doctor from
Rancagua, was constantly urging me to take a mineral bath, which I
refused at first to do as I thought it best to let well enough alone.
By mountain climbing I soon got so dirty that I was obliged to indulge
in one for the sake of cleanliness. As I passed with a towel over
my arm by the tennis court where a match was in progress in front
of a crowd of lady spectators, the doctor saw me. With a roar that
temporarily stopped the game and which made me the cynosure of all
eyes, he bellowed:
[Illustration: Casuchas at Termas de Chillán]
"Ha! Ha! Stephens is going to take a bath, although he advises against
it."
"Yes, doctor," I answered, "I am taking a bath for cleanliness sake.
Fortunately I am not afflicted with----"
"Syphilis," roared the doctor, cutting me short, which brought screams
of mirth from the spectators, more than half of whom were ladies. I was
going to terminate my sentence with "any malady" but the doctor did not
give me time.
On the mountain above the bathhouses are some mud volcanoes and steam
spouts named fumiroles, but they cannot compare with those of the
Yellowstone.
On the day of my arrival, I had not been more than ten minutes at the
hotel when an Englishman and a Frenchman approached me and said that
they intended making the ascent of the volcano Chillán the next day,
and having heard that Gumprecht and I intended doing the same thing
thought that it would be best to arrange a party as there was but one
guide at the establishment. I said that I would decide later on and let
them know. I did not relish the appearance of the Frenchman, who had
a tough face, and would have preferred to make the ascent without his
company, so I went to Monsieur Paguéguy, the lessee and administrator,
and asked him if there were more guides than one. He told me that there
were several. This settled the question, for I would not be obliged
then to make the ascent in company with the "butters in."
"Why do you not wish to go with the two gentlemen?" inquired Paguéguy.
"I am not accustomed to forming acquaintances with strangers who force
themselves upon me," I answered. "Moreover that Frenchman has a bad
look. He looks as if he would kill a man for a five-peso (87½ c.)
note."
"Sacré! Sacré!" yelled Paguéguy, "he is my brother. Sacré! Sacré!"
The administrator raved around like a madman. I told him that it made
no difference whether it was his brother or not, and that the proper
thing for him to have done would have been for him to have introduced
himself in the first place; that the Termas had a bad reputation for
being a rendezvous for card sharps, and that since his brother had the
appearance of one, how was I to know the difference?
Paguéguy told his brother and the Englishman about it. They caught me
alone that evening and tried to pick a quarrel with me. The odds were
against me for the Englishman was much larger than I, and the Frenchman
was also a strong, powerfully built man. The loud altercation attracted
the attention of Gumprecht and a Barcelona friend of mine named
Florencio Prat, who both came running up. The tables were now turned in
my favor, so my two antagonists prudently walked away.
"I think they mean to make trouble; let's follow them and hear what
they say?" suggested Prat.
The duo walked to a casucha and after entering it closed the door. We
three walked around the building and getting below an open window did
some necessary eavesdropping. It was well that we did so for we heard
them planning to catch one of us alone and give the prospective victim
a beating up. It was now time to show our teeth, which we did. Without
knocking we entered the casucha much to the astonishment of the duo and
told them that if they tried any funny business we would shoot them
like dogs regardless of the consequences, and for them to mind their
own business as we intended minding ours, otherwise something would
happen. We also showed them our revolvers. Nothing more developed.
[Illustration: Mr. Henry Stephens]
[Illustration: Mr. Hugo Gumprecht]
When Gumprecht, Prat, and myself left early the next morning to make
the ascent of the volcano Chillán we took as a guide a native named
Savedra. The hotel servants lied to us, telling us that there was no
water to be had en route and that we had better take along plenty of
liquid refreshments. This is their old trick of trying to sell a lot
of beer and whiskey. When Gumprecht told the head-waiter to put in two
drinks of whiskey for himself, the knight of the apron put in twelve.
I saw it and did not like the idea for I thought that Gumprecht really
had ordered twelve shots of whiskey and was going to go on a drunk on
top of the volcano, which could cause a mishap. As neither Prat nor
myself drink whiskey and since I would not permit Savedra to drink
any, I was horrified at Gumprecht, for the amount of spiritus frumenti
exceeded a quart. I approached him and said:
[Illustration: View towards the Argentine Frontier from the Slopes of
Volcano Chillán]
"What in hell are you going to drink those twelve shots of whiskey for?
I think it's a bad scheme."
"I only ordered two drinks," he replied.
"The waiter put in twelve."
"Impossible."
"It's the truth," I replied.
A search of Savedra's saddlebag testified to my statement. The
head-waiter was brought.
"I thought you ordered twelve drinks," he said. Spanish for twelve is
"_doce_" and for two is "_dos_," the pronunciation being near enough
for a man to misunderstand purposely. The head-waiter did this trick.
We left the hotel on horseback and for the first few kilometers it was
the steepest climb that I have ever made on the back of an animal. The
narrow path zigzagged up the nose of a mountain, exceedingly dangerous,
and as my beast had an English saddle, I several times slid off onto
his rump while making the ascent. I did not know that it was possible
for horses to climb like that, and I thought that I had previously been
in very steep places in California.
[Illustration: Glacier Covered with Fresh Snow on the Volcano]
After riding some distance we came to a small glacier, and dismounted
to cross a creek at its mouth. The horses were panting, puffing, and
sweating but when we came to the creek Savedra let them drink all they
wanted of the cold ice water. This astonished me, but he said that
they were used to it. This glacier was cavernous for the stream flowed
out of a hole at its mouth. Soon another glacier was reached, this one
fairly long, which we crossed and then came out upon a lava field. We
had to dismount before coming to the lava field and feel our way, for
some fresh snow had fallen on the glacier, which was in some places up
to the horses' bellies. From the lava field we got our first good view
of the volcano summit. It was several miles off in front of us up a
direct steep ascent over glaciers, snow fields, lava, and ashes. It was
in eruption and was making a terrible noise. A great column of white
smoke rose to half a kilometer high until the air currents caused it to
be borne horizontally away in white cloud patches. I was frightened and
expressed my thoughts that we were near enough to the crater.
"It is nothing," said Savedra.
"I am afraid of nothing," said Prat.
A league-wide glacier stretched in front of us; we crossed it, keeping
near the edge of some lava fields. Three long crevasses crossed the
glacier, one of which was dangerous so we dismounted and jumped it,
holding the horses by the bridle to let them jump it. Prat's horse
was the only animal that jumped it without either falling with its
fore feet or hind feet into it. My beast fared the worst and I thought
that it was a "goner." The crevasse seemed bottomless and to extend
to infinity. The glare of the sun on the fresh snow was terrific
and caused us all to have sore eyes which lasted several days not to
mention that our faces were burned so much that the skin peeled off.
The sky appeared to be indigo instead of azure. Since leaving the
lava fields there had been several volcanic eruptions of five minutes'
duration, each one louder as we approached. I had now become used to
them and was no longer afraid.
[Illustration: Rim of the Crater of Volcano Chillán During Eruption]
[Illustration: Snow Fields of Volcano Chillán]
Looking in any direction the scene was enough to imbue any mortal with
a wholesome fear of God. Grand is not the word for the description; it
was superlatively wild, lonesome, and awful. It is nearly impossible to
realize the terrible loneliness and awesomeness of the great peaks of
the Andes, uninhabited by man or beast or bird which mark the boundary
between Central Chile and Northern Patagonia, their great snow-clad
serrated or conical summits towering thousands of feet into the
cloudless ether. The terrible view makes a man feel his insignificance.
I have been to the top of Misti, Ararat, and Mont Blanc, the first
mentioned two having an altitude double that of Chillán, but from their
summits the view is incomparable with that seen from the mountain on
whose slopes I now was. To the southeast probably fifty miles as a
crow flies rose the conical snow-capped extinct volcano of San José,
and beyond it the precipitous anvil top of twenty thousand feet high
Quemazones (Burnt Places) inaccessible, both lying in Argentina.
Early that morning a certain Carlos Michaelis from Punta Arenas had
left the Termas on foot for the summit of the volcano, so after we had
gazed with astonishment upon the awe inspiring works of Nature just
described, we turned our attention to the higher slopes of Chillán to
see if we could see him, for up to now we had seen no sign of him. We
finally saw a black spot high up on a snow-field which with binoculars
proved to be a man. He was plodding upward through the thick snow
laboriously, and at every few steps he would stop.
The glacier now became so steep that the slightest stumble of one of
the horses could have easily sent us rolling hundreds of feet down its
icy slopes to eternity. We had to dismount twice again and feel our
way on account of the deep snow before we reached the final lava field
where equestrian ambulation had to cease.
[Illustration: From the Slopes of Volcano Chillán]
[Illustration: Savedra, Gumprecht, and Prat on Lava Fields of Volcano
Chillán]
Arrived at the end of the trail, a kilometer below the crater, a
whistling noise accompanied by steam rose again from the summit; then
there came sounds as of a mighty priming followed by a fierce eruption
which threw rocks as big as bath tubs in all directions. Fortunately
they did not go far, but their bombardment was enough to scare Prat who
was "afraid of nothing" and also Savedra who had previously said "It is
nothing." These two men brave at a distance now refused to go on, so
Gumprecht and I alone started on the ascent with difficulty, picking
our way among the multitude of rocks and shoe high ashes. Finally
tired we sat on a bowlder and waited for Michaelis whom we could see
a short distance below us. When he came up, throwing his weight on his
alpenstock, we ascended to the crater.
It happens that this crater has changed three times during the past
year, and that the present explosions do not rise from the crater,
but from some holes and fissures of rocks that form the north wall
and which are above it. A new crater is forming here, and although
considerable smoke issues from the regular one, the danger lies higher
up. At any time there is liable to be a violent eruption and the whole
north wall will then be torn asunder.
The crater is about an eighth of a mile across with precipitous sides.
I could not see its bottom on account of the vapors, but the ledges
of its interior were piled high with rocks. Michaelis planted some
trigonometrical instruments to take observations here, while Gumprecht
and I tried to climb the north wall. We could now see the country to
the north. The high volcanos Yeguas, Descabezado, and Peteroa were
visible in the blue distance while near at hand the detached white peak
of the Nevado de Chillán, so called from its crown of perpetual snow,
higher than the volcano soared its lofty dome into the heavens. This
is the peak that is seen from the floor of the Central Valley and from
that distance it appears as if the smoke were issuing from it.
As Gumprecht and I neared the apex, he was overcome by sulphur fumes
which issued from holes all about us, and was obliged to lie down. I
tried the ascent alone, and it took me nearly twenty minutes to climb
twenty meters, an average of approximately six feet to the minute.
This slowness was due to the slippery dampness of the ground which
was here covered with a greenish mold caused by its constant wetting
by the steam. This ground was so hot that it was nearly impossible to
touch it with the hands and the intensity of the heat soon made itself
felt through the soles of my shoes. I was obliged to crawl from rock
to rock. Eventually I arrived at a sort of natural platform where some
previous explorers had placed a few rocks denoting the limit of safety.
This place was about eight yards from the rock pile from which the
explosions took place. The whole ground was soft. The explorers might
just as well have placed their small stone pile half a mile down the
mountain side because it is dangerous anywhere near the summit. A few
years ago some people were badly hurt on account of flying rocks.
There had been no explosion for several minutes, so thinking I was safe
I sat down to rest. Suddenly without the slightest warning, and with
the most horrible roar that I have ever heard, like a mighty geyser,
the sulphur fumes shot upwards followed by a gush of fire combined
with a pelting of large stones which shot out of a large hole with the
impetus of a catapult. The air sang with inflammable material which
sizzled as it struck the wet rocks. I tried to run, but fell and slid
on my bottom ripping off the seat of my trousers. A rock hit me on
my right foot which, although I did not feel much pain from it at the
time, later on developed into an ailment which several times during the
two following years kept me confined in bed for at least three weeks
each time. In less than a few seconds I covered the distance to where
Gumprecht was lying. I yelled to him to hurry down the mountain to save
himself.
"Vait a minute," he yelled, "I can't breath this Gott damn schmoke."
When he got up we hurried down the mountain in quick time, stopping at
the old crater where Michaelis was taking observations. That man did
not return with us, but waited two hours until the explosions stopped;
he then ascended to the stone pile, but no sooner had he arrived there
than an explosion took place followed by such a pelting that he had
to remain until dark behind some cliffs, waiting for the violence to
diminish.
When we had descended to where the horses were, Prat and Savedra
rejoiced upon seeing us return alive, for they had a fright on seeing
me do the slide, and later both Gumprecht and I running, thinking
that we were done for. This did not prevent Savedra from drinking
Gumprecht's whiskey after we had left them to make the ascent. We
chided them for their cowardice in not coming any farther.
"I am too young to die," was Prat's excuse. Savedra said nothing; he
evidently could see no reason why he should undergo strenuous exercise
besides running the risk of getting blown up, when he could see the
explosions from where he was. It was hot when we had left Las Termas in
the morning and I wore a summer suit of clothes and a straw hat. Near
the summit of the volcano in snowy defiles where the sun never reaches
it was around the zero mark which I keenly felt if I stood still a
minute. When we arrived back at the hotel, the crowd gathered around us
and asked us all about the trip. The Englishman and the Frenchman with
whom we had quarreled started out the next day to make the ascent, but
overcome with a "streak of yellow" went only as far as the end of the
glacier. Their game was ping-pong.
[Illustration: Mountain Scenery and Waterfall at Las Trancas]
When we finally left Las Termas we walked to Resinto, a distance of
twenty miles, and drove to La Dehesa stopping en route a few minutes
at the post house of La Quila to change horses. The road is rocky and
is bordered by blackberry bushes whose vines grow to a prodigious size.
The Chilean blackberry, named _sarsamorra_, is different from our wild
blackberry in the fact that it is sweeter, has a milder flavor and in
shape is wider, shorter, and rounder. When I made this trip, the bushes
were bent down with the weight of this succulent fruit which was now
ripe. The sarsamorra is a pest in Chile, as it springs up everywhere,
and spreading over the fields is hard to stamp out. It forms natural
hedges for estate boundaries and field limits.
In all this Ñuble country overcoats and thick underwear come in handy.
The nights are cool in summer while in winter there is snow in the
hills. I saw people in the plaza in Chillán in March, which corresponds
to September in countries north of the Tropic of Cancer, wearing
overcoats. Not that it was really cold enough to wear them, but it is a
fad with South Americans to don overcoats upon the slightest occasion.
I was obliged to stop a day at the Hotel Central on my return to
Chillán owing to the failure of the administration of the Termas to
telephone to Monsieur Heguy reserving me a room at the Hotel de France.
The Central is not bad, but it seems to have no proper management; it
is a costly establishment but is not as clean as the Hotel de France.
As the hotel was filled, I was obliged to sleep in a sample room.
Because I presented an uncouth appearance upon my arrival, due to a
week's "roughing it," the obsequious boy who acts as head push, hotel
runner, etc., thought that I was a bum and intended giving me a cot
in a room with a couple of "drunks" on the top floor, to which I made
serious objections. At the Central the better a person is dressed upon
arrival, the better a room he gets. The size of a piece of meat served
in the dining-room is equal to that of a walnut.
At Pinto I met Don Vicente Mendez U, governor of the Province of Ñuble.
He was returning from a tour of inspection of the farmers' mutual
railway. He was very much interested in North American customs which he
wanted to see introduced in Chile especially in his province, chiefly
the prohibition propaganda of which he had read much. He thought that
it would be a good thing to have the Province of Ñuble go dry and
advocated it strongly. Later on in conversation with him when I told
him that I was in Chile to look the country over in view of starting
up a new industry, stating that I thought that a brewery would pay in
Chillán, he changed his views and said that it would be quite the thing
because the Julius Jenson brewery did not do a big enough business to
satisfy the wants of the inhabitants, and that the inhabitants of the
city had to import beer from Valdivia and Talca. He made an appointment
to meet me the next day and brought with him the mayor of the city
and some of the important officials. There was proposed to me that if
I would build a brewery in Chillán, I should receive as a concession
a track of land on the railroad besides an exemption from taxes for a
number of years. They were very enthusiastic about the proposition. The
governor also said that it would pay in Chillán to found a hypothecary
agricultural bank. I doubt the feasibility of this because crops often
go to waste on account of no market. My friend the doctor from Rancagua
grew twenty thousand bushels of barley in 1916; of this he was only
able to dispose of one carload.
In 1916 there was a great railroad strike on the State Railroads of
Chile; owing to it trains were invariably late and did not run nights.
I was therefore obliged to stop off overnight at Curicó en route to
Santiago. At the stations of San Carlos and Villa Alegre there were
enough watermelons, here called _sandias_, piled up to supply the
entire republic. There are no freight sheds at the stations large
enough to store the crops about to be exported, so it is not uncommon
for a farmer to have his whole grain crop spoiled by rain as it lies in
sacks near the platforms.
We arrived at Curicó at night and stopped at the Hotel Curicó, which
is run in connection with the eating-house at the depot. It is a large
brick old-fashioned building. The daughter of the landlady is one of
the most attractive girls I have ever had the fortune of meeting, and
in the two days that I was there I had a feeling for her that can be
described as infatuation. She was rather tall and slender but well
built, a brunette, and about twenty-two years old. She was also refined
and possessed good sense. I did not try to become well acquainted with
her as I had no desire to play with fire, but these attractions of hers
I was able to perceive without intimate acquaintanceship.
Curicó is the capital of the province of the same name. This province
and that of Talca are the two poorest in Central Chile in agriculture,
although the land is fertile and in some parts is highly cultivated.
The city lies in the center of the Central Valley and owing to its
geographical situation it has become quite a busy town. Its population
in 1917 was 22,452 inhabitants against 17,573 in 1907. It is the
twelfth city of Chile. Curicó has far better government, public and
private buildings than Chillán, and its main streets teem with life.
The streets are narrow and are paved with small sharp stones. The Calle
Prat is the street that leads to the railroad station and is one of the
main ones. Four blocks east of the station it is intersected by another
main street which runs north and south. Following this street south
one arrives at a beautiful plaza, on which is the severe but stately
Capitol and several other large buildings which are of the Georgian
type of architecture. Besides the Hotel Curicó, there are six or seven
other hotels, the Central, the Comercio, etc. Of these the Central is
the best. It has two patios above one of which is a grape trellis from
which, when I saw it, dangled bunches of fruit, blue, red, and green.