CHAPTER XXI
ACROSS THE ANDES TO MENDOZA
The journey from Santiago to Buenos Aires by the passage of the Cordillera, in former days seldom undertaken between May and October save by the hardy mail-carriers, may, since the opening of the railroad in 1910, generally be accomplished in any month of the year. Sometimes, however, traffic is temporarily suspended on account of snow-slides blocking the track on the Chilian side of the tunnel. Such inconvenience, oftener arising in the southern winter or early spring, will doubtless in time be obviated by the building of snow-sheds along the dangerous sections, as has been done in the United States. At present, from July to December it may be well to inquire about conditions before purchasing a ticket, though prolonged suspension of traffic is exceptional.
The excursion across the Andes, less fatiguing than formerly, is also far less exciting. The comfortable safety of a car ride through the tunnel is tame indeed in comparison with the passage by coach or muleback over the _cumbre_ 2000 feet above. Yet as prosaic comfort is ever more popular than unusual and adventurous experience, tourists today by thousands and tens of thousands make the journey where formerly passed tens and hundreds. Still, even to the gazer from a car window the excursion is memorable; to the lover of sublime grandeur the day affords a rare joy. Very different is this ride from those across the mountains farther north. Until the completion of the line from Chimbote up the Huailas Valley, the Oroya railroad alone will bear comparison with this. Nor need comparison be made. Each is truly an _elevating_ experience and wholly unlike the other.
An afternoon departure from Santiago is customary, often as late as 6.15 p.m. The night must be spent at Los Andes whence the start is made in the early morning. With ample time at one’s disposal, it is well to take a forenoon train from Santiago to have a few hours at the pleasant Chilian summer resort which affords opportunities for many delightful strolls, while the scenery along the way makes a daylight journey desirable. The monument to the Clark Brothers unveiled at Los Andes, October 22, 1911, is a worthy honor to the initiators of this great railway. As early as 1870 they applied for a concession, though it was 1886 before the first was received; while they were unable to complete the work, they have the credit of its beginning. After the _Casa Grace_ took charge on the Chilian side good progress was made. In 1906 it was arranged to pierce the tunnel under one control, and the task was accomplished in time for the Argentine Centennial in 1910. As far as Llai-Llai, where connection is made with the train from Valparaiso, the route lies north along the valley over the road which has previously been traversed. At the junction, venders of delicious fruit are ever on hand selling, according to the season, pears, peaches, oranges, grapes, cherries, or figs, at prices calculated to tempt the hungry tourist. Llai-Llai is a pleasant little town of about 6000 people, at a height of 2625 feet above the sea. San Felipe, somewhat larger, is passed before reaching (to use the full name), _Santa Rosa de los Andes_.
A few rods from the station is the hotel where the night is passed. The town boasts of another, but through travelers prefer the pleasant little establishment, often over-crowded, from the rear of which the train early in the morning departs. In the summer the climate of Los Andes is delightful, the evenings always cool; at other seasons the nights are cold and frosty. Leave word in the office when you wish to be called, or you may be overlooked and miss your train or your coffee, which is not agreeable. The cars are apt to be full, so it is well to hasten, if friends wish seats together, or at times to obtain any at all.
The track follows the Aconcagua River, on which Los Andes is situated, up a beautiful valley, after 8 or 10 miles growing narrower between steeper walls. From luxuriant vegetation to bare rocks and snow, from beauty to grandeur, the change is quickly made. The river becomes rapidly smaller as we pass above the merry little streams which contribute to its madly rushing torrent. One bridge is called the _Puente de las Viscachas_, these being rabbit-like animals resembling the chinchilla but with coarser fur. The rocks of varying hue in sunlight and shadow, cliffs and gorges, and the foaming stream continually attract the eye. A hundred yards beyond the station, Los Loros, is the place called _Salto del Soldado_, the Soldier’s Leap, to see which one must keep a sharp lookout on the left, the train passing on a shelf with the stream 60 feet below. Various tales are told of the origin of the name, one that in the War of Independence a patriot escaped from the enemy by leaping the narrow gorge which is crossed by the train on a bridge. At the station, Rio Blanco, White River, a stream of that name joins the Aconcagua. Not far beyond is Guardia Vieja, where for more than two centuries a sentry or watchman has been stationed for the protection of the traveler, a necessary though inadequate safe-guard, as in the old days bandits sometimes lay in wait even for parties of considerable size. Robberies were not infrequent and murders were by no means rare.
In ascending the Visp Valley to Zermatt by the aid of the rack and pinion system, also employed on the Andine, a height of 3000 feet is gained in a distance of 28 miles. On this road 7000 feet are climbed in 35 miles, 2000 of these in the last 8 to Juncal, a rapid ascent for a traffic as distinguished from a purely mountain railway. _Juncal_ is noteworthy, as the place where formerly the night was spent by those tourists and business men designing in the early dawn to set out on saddle animal or in mountain wagon for the summit and the other side. Farther on is a tranquil little lake, above 9000 feet, an opalescent gem, at times turquoise or sapphire, called the Lago del Inca. Now the track makes a great curve into an immense _couloir_, passing at the foot or along the side of cliffs or steep slopes, where, as in places lower down, rocks small and large seem ready to fall, as others have already descended. From the farther side of the great curve we soon look across at the track 1000 feet beneath. We gaze in admiration upon the splendid gloomy cliffs with tints of slate color from blue-gray to black, and on rocks with delicate hues of pink and cream, splashed with red and bronze or green; intermingled with these are patches of pure white snow. Observation cars would greatly increase the pleasure. Too soon at Caracoles, at a height of 10,486 feet, the tunnel’s portal is reached and the splendor of the majestic scene has vanished. Now for almost two miles, to be exact, 10,385 feet, the train goes on through the backbone of the continent at an elevation about the same as the tunnel’s length. Near the center, the international boundary is passed; hence, after ten minutes of darkness, coming once more to daylight, one is in the great country of Argentina on the east side of the Andes, still in a vast wilderness of gorges, rocks, and peaks of multifarious shapes and colors, diversified by immense fields of snow, with many brief visions of grandeur which one would fain tarry to enjoy. Fortunate the traveler, who, 7 or 8 miles below Las Cuevas, has at the head of a side valley at the north a glimpse of colossal _Aconcagua_ 15 miles away, a long ridge of snow arching into two domes, with a sheer drop of 10,000 feet on its black southern wall; and farther on a sight of _Tupungato_, 30 miles away at the south: both mountains first climbed in 1897 by the Fitzgerald Expedition, though he unfortunately was compelled by mountain sickness to forego the satisfaction of attaining either summit himself. The first to reach the supposed apex of the Western Hemisphere, the top of Aconcagua, according to the latest measurement, 22,817 feet, was Matias Zurbriggen, the celebrated Swiss guide, who in almost every land has led English and Americans to the summits of noted mountains. Alone, January 14, 1897, he gained this height, and there erected a stone man as is the custom where possible. In April of the same year, the first ascent of Tupungato, 21,451 feet, was made, also by Zurbriggen, and the Englishman, Vines.
=Puenta del Inca.= The first station in Argentina is _Las Cuevas_: then we drop quickly to _Puenta del Inca_ where a few moments are allowed for tea. The contrast between the green and luxuriant vegetation of the Chilian side and the barrenness of the Argentine is singularly opposite to that in Peru, where the western slopes of the Andes are mostly desert while the eastern are clothed with the richest verdure. At Puenta del Inca is a curious formation from which the place is named, a natural bridge of stratified rock, one of nature’s marvels. The stream has perforated a bank about 20 feet thick so as to form, 80 feet above the river, a fine arched bridge, at the top 150 feet long and 20 wide, and nearly 30 feet thick. The piers have been strengthened by calcareous deposits from springs which gush from the earth just at the bridge. On the left bank of the stream a path of steps partly cut in the rocks leads down to hot waters. First comes the Bath of Venus, an effective grotto of white stalactites. Next is the Champagne Spring, its foaming waters revealing a considerable pressure from below. Among other warm springs beyond is one called Mercury. On all sides gush forth these waters cold, hot, and tepid, saturated with carbonic acid gas; the Venus is 86°, the Champagne 93°, the same when the path is covered with six feet of snow. The waters are superior to the more noted Vichy in containing twice the quantity of carbonic acid, hence greater effervescence; and five times as much iron. This renders them a real treasure, a few months’ treatment causing maladies to disappear (they say) upon which the Vichy waters make no impression. The iron, salts, and gas of the waters make them efficacious in gout, rheumatism, and severe stomach affections, as well as an excellent tonic for those who believe such to be required. Sulphur, good for skin diseases, is also present. The _Hotel del Inca_ affords comfortable accommodations (including a billiard room); all that could be expected at an altitude of 8924 feet, for a daily fee of six _pesos_ ($2.64) with some extras.
One who is ambitious to ascend one of the lofty peaks near by, or who would merely stroll to a lesser height to gaze upon those above, or who would wander in strange valleys and on ragged slopes will here find the most favorable headquarters for his rambles, as well as cure for many ailments. While the great mountains, Aconcagua and Tupungato, no longer afford opportunity for a _first_ ascent, there are many other peaks of various altitudes, the summits of which are yet untrodden; one, lofty Mercedario, about 22,000 feet, to the north of Aconcagua, believed by some to be second in height to that alone. Expert climbers only should attempt exploits of such magnitude, and these not without Alpine equipment and more; for to the ordinary paraphernalia of proper shoes, ropes, and ice axes must be added tents, sleeping bags, etc. The season for climbing here is not the same as in Peru and Bolivia, but during the summer of this region, December and January. Strange to say, although in the Temperate Zone, so vastly farther from the equator, these mountains have infinitely less snow upon their slopes than have Huascarán and Illampu. They are therefore much easier to climb, making Swiss guides not an imperative necessity, so far as the technical difficulties are concerned: though whether reliable companions as porters could be secured upon the ground is an extremely doubtful matter.
But on this journey by rail how much has one missed! Discomfort indeed has been avoided; but at the cost of a glorious and exciting experience. In former days, what a rush and bustle at Juncal! in the chilly hour between three and four a.m., when an army of pleasure and of business travelers hurried to secure places in the mountain wagons, or to select a gentle and sturdy animal for the seven hours’ ride. The coach drivers were reckless Jehus who madly raced for the summit and then for the lower goal, amid a caravan of freight wagons, baggage animals, and riders, the latter to their joy soon left behind. Though the roads were called good they were deep with sand, and have no such great curves as the roads over Alpine passes. Short zigzags with acute angles, a roadbed rough with ruts and stones, few walls at the corners where a slip over the edge would mean a roll of a few thousand feet, made a ride in a swaying coach behind horses going at a gallop assuredly exciting to people with any nerves. Some, once embarked and unable to escape, would turn their thoughts from danger to admiration of the scenery, reflecting perhaps that accidents were rare. The view of mighty walls, of glaciers near at hand, of distant glorious mountains; the fine pure air ever colder, though alas! ever thinner, was a blissful experience for those who could enjoy it; but not for the faint-hearted either literally or figuratively. Here and there one would grow faint, become unconscious, perhaps even pitch out of the wagon: oftener a stalwart man than a frail woman. On they would go, their friends uncertain whether a temporary weakness or a serious, possibly fatal affection was attacking the victim.
At last the _cumbre_ or highest point was reached, 12,796 feet above the sea; not a sharp ridge, but a nearly level stretch a quarter of a mile across among the massive hills and mountains: a tremendous range of gloomy, desolate, forbidding peaks, or a splendid rampart of majestic, glorious mountains, according to the soul and mood of the spectator. Here in the midst of this great solitude is the most impressive monument, men say, in all the world, _the Christ of the Andes_, a bronze figure of Christ of heroic size, 26 feet, one hand outstretched in blessing, the other supporting a still higher cross. The circumstance of its erection, the sentiment involved, as well as the unique position of the monument, make it the most remarkable in the world’s history.
Chile and Argentina in 1900 were on the verge of war over a boundary dispute involving 80,000 square miles of territory in the Patagonian country. Immense sums expended for warships and other preparations were the cause of abnormally high taxes, the products of which were needed rather for the development of physical resources and of education. The British Ministers employed their good offices and two bishops, one of each country, traveled among their towns and villages preaching the cause of Peace and Arbitration. Bishop Benavente in Buenos Aires, on Easter Sunday 1900, first suggested the erecting of a statue of Christ upon the boundary, to prevent if possible any recurrence of strife. A treaty was made, the controversy was submitted to the arbitration of the British Monarch; King Edward entrusted the case to jurists and geographers whose decision, dividing the disputed territory, was cheerfully accepted. In June 1903, Chile and Argentina, pleased with the outcome of this matter, made a general arbitration treaty, the first ever concluded among nations; a considerable disarmament followed releasing much money for needed internal improvements, and good feeling and confidence have replaced bitterness and jealousy.
In 1901 the women of Buenos Aires, on the initiative of Señora de Costa, President of the Christian Mothers’ Association of that city, acting upon the suggestion of Bishop Benavente, undertook to secure funds for a statue. A young Argentine sculptor, Mateo Alonso, created the design; the statue was cast from old Argentine cannon. In May 1903, the Chilian representatives came by sea to Buenos Aires for the ratification of the treaties, when the statue of Christ was inspected and Señora de Costa pleaded that it should be placed on the highest practicable point on the boundary of the two countries. In February, 1904, the final steps were taken. The statue was carried by rail to Mendoza, and on gun carriages up the mountain side, soldiers and sailors in dangerous spots taking the ropes from the mules. On the 13th of March, 1904, the dedication ceremonies took place in the presence of hundreds who from both sides had come up the night before and here encamped to witness this extraordinary spectacle. The Argentines stood on the soil of Chile, the Chilians on that of Argentina. The booming of guns, the sound of music re-echoed through the mountains. When all was ready, the monument unveiled, there was a moment of solemn silence, followed by the dedication of the statue to the whole world, as a lesson of peace and good will.
The monument consists of an octagonal granite column 22 feet high upon which is a hemisphere of granite with a partial sketch of the world’s outlines. On this stands the bronze Christ 26 feet high, the cross extending five feet above. Two bronze tablets on the granite base, the gift of the Workingmen’s and Workingwomen’s Unions of Buenos Aires, bear inscriptions in Spanish, on one side statistics and dates, on the other—
“_Sooner shall these mountains crumble into dust than Argentines and Chilians break the peace to which they have pledged themselves at the feet of Christ the Redeemer._”
Until the opening of the railroad in May 1910, this great statue was annually passed by thousands who paused here for a moment in the midst of their dizzy ride to rest and to gaze upon the scene. Now it stands ever lonely between heaven and earth, the silence no more broken by the raucous shouts of swearing coachmen and muleteers, or by the crude jests of a boisterous throng; to the few who now venture along that solitary way, a solemn spectacle.
On this journey over the _cumbre_ one is likely to descry specimens of the great condor, oftener to be seen in Chile than in the countries nearer the equator. In the many days I have spent above 15,000 feet in Peru and Bolivia, not one appeared within the range of my vision. In the mountainous regions of Chile, the birds are so numerous as to be a pest, attacking pigs, sheep, children, and rarely a grown man; hence a reward for condors dead or alive has been offered by the Government. From the top of the pass down to Las Cuevas near the tunnel entrance it was said to be a swift slide at breakneck speed. The thankfulness with which the tourist descended from the coach to enter the prosaic train may well be imagined. The sturdy pedestrian was the one who in safety and tranquillity might truly enjoy the magnificent visions, while others in terror had fleeting glimpses of the splendid panorama. One should not, however, even with a good revolver, in these days venture alone upon the traverse, unless thoroughly seasoned to greater heights; for though the brigands who once haunted this region have probably depar