Kitabı oku: «Equatorial America», sayfa 16
A few whales were observed within the strait during our passage, some so near as to show that they had no fear of the ship. It was curious to watch them. There was a baby whale among the rest, five or six feet in length, which kept very close to its dam; it suddenly disappeared once while we were watching the school, though only to rise again to the surface of the sea and emit a tiny fountain of spray from its diminutive blow-hole. In passing a small inlet which formed a calm, sheltered piece of water, still as an inland lake, there were seen upon its tranquil bosom a few white geese, quietly floating, while close at hand upon some rocks, a half score of awkward penguins were also observed, with their ludicrous dummy wings, and their bodies supported in a half standing, half sitting position.
Ducks seem to be very abundant in the strait, but geese are scarce. An occasional cormorant is caught sight of, with its distended pouch bearing witness to its proverbial voracity. All the birds one sees in these far away regions have each some peculiar adaptability to the climate, the locality, or to both. The penguin never makes the mistake of seeking our northern shores, nor is the albatross often seen north of the fortieth degree of south latitude. True, were the former to emigrate, he would have to swim the whole distance, but the latter is so marvelously strong of wing that it has been said of him, he might breakfast, if he chose, at the Cape of Good Hope, and dine on the coast of Newfoundland.
Terra del Fuego, – "Land of Fire," – which makes the southern side of the strait, opposite Patagonia, is composed of a very large group of islands washed by the Atlantic on the east side and the Pacific on the west, trending towards the southeast for about two hundred miles from the strait, and terminating at Cape Horn. The largest of these islands is East Terra del Fuego, which measures from east to west between three and four hundred miles. One can only speak vaguely of detail, as this is still a terra incognita. These islands do indeed form "a land of desolation," as Captain Cook appropriately named them, sparsely inhabited to be sure, but hardly fit for human beings. They are deeply indented and cut up by arms of the sea, and composed mostly of sterile mountains, whose tops are covered with perpetual snow. When the mountains are not too much exposed to the ocean storms on the west coast, they are scantily covered with a species of hardy, wind-distorted trees from the water's edge upward to the snow line, which is here about two thousand feet above the sea. In sheltered areas this growth is dense and forest-like, especially nearest to the sea; in others it is interspersed by bald and blanched patches of barren rocks. In some open places, where they have worn themselves a broad path, the glaciers come down to the water, discharging sections of ice constantly into the deep sea, crowded forward and downward by the immense but slow-moving mass behind, – a frozen river, – thus illustrating the habit of the iceberg-producing glaciers of the far north.
One never approaches this subject without recalling the lamented Agassiz and his absorbing theories relating to it.
The author has seen huge glaciers in Scandinavia and in Switzerland, forming natural exhibitions of great interest; each country has peculiarities in this respect. In the last-named country, for instance, there is no example where a glacier descends lower than thirty-five hundred feet above the sea level, while in Norway the only one of which he can speak from personal observation has before it a large terminal moraine, thus losing the capacity for that most striking performance, the discharge of icebergs. The best example of this interesting operation of nature which we have ever witnessed, and probably the most effective in the world, is that of the Muir glacier in Alaska, where an immense frozen river comes boldly down from the Arctic regions to the sea level, with a sheer height at its terminus of over two hundred feet. From this unique façade, nearly two miles in width, the constant tumbling of icebergs into the sea is accompanied by a noise like a salvo of cannon. This glacier, it should be remembered, also extends to the bottom of the bay, where it enters it two hundred feet below the surface of the water, thus giving it a height, or perhaps we should say a depth and height combined, of fully four hundred feet. Icebergs are discharged from the submerged portion continually, and float to the surface, thus repeating the process below the water which is all the while going on above it, and visible upon the perpendicular surface. Nothing which we have seen in the Canadian Selkirks, in Switzerland, Norway, or elsewhere, equals in size, grandeur, or clearly defined glacial action, the famous Muir glacier of Alaska.
The most remarkable peak to be seen in passing through the Strait of Magellan is Mount Sarmiento, which is inexpressibly grand in its proportions, dominating the borders of Cockburn's Channel near the Pacific end of the great water-way. It is about seven thousand feet in height, a spotless cone of snow, being in form extremely abrupt and pointed. This frosty monarch sends down from its upper regions a score or more of narrow, sky-blue glaciers to the sea through openings in the dusky forest. Darwin was especially impressed by the sight of these when he explored this region, and speaks of them as looking like so many Niagaras, but they are only miniature glaciers after all. One sees in the Pyrenees and the St. Gothard Pass similar cascades flowing down from the mountains towards the valleys, except that in the one instance the crystal waters are liquid, in the other they are quite congealed. The group or range of which Sarmiento is the apex is very generally shrouded in mist, and is visited by frequent rain, snow, and hail storms. We were fortunate to see it under a momentary glow of warm sunshine, when the sky was deepest blue, and the ermine cloak of the mountain was spangled with frost gems.
It would seem that such exposure to the elements in a frigid climate, and such deprivations as must be constantly endured by the barbarous natives who inhabit these bleak regions, must surely shorten their lives, and perhaps it does so, though "the survival of the fittest," who grow up to maturity, is in such numbers that one is a little puzzled in considering the matter. A singular instance touching upon this point came indirectly to the writer's knowledge.
It appears that four Fuegian women, one of whom was about forty years of age, and the others respectively about twenty, twenty-five, and thirty, were picked up adrift in the strait a few years ago. It was believed that they had escaped from some threatened tribal cruelty, but upon this subject they would reveal nothing. These fugitives were kindly taken in hand by philanthropic people at Sandy Point, and entertained with true Christian hospitality. When first discovered they were, as usual, quite naked, but were promptly clothed and properly housed. No more work was required of them than they chose voluntarily to perform; in short, they were most kindly treated, and though the best of care was taken of them in a hygienic sense, they all gradually faded, and died of consumption in less than two years. They seemed to be contented, were grateful and cheerful, but clothing and a warm house to live in, odd as it may seem, killed them! They were born to a free, open air and exposed daily life, and their apparently sturdy constitutions required such a mode of living. Civilized habits, strange to say, proved fatal to these wild children of the rough Fuegian coast.
CHAPTER XIV
The Land of Fire. – Cape Horn. – In the Open Pacific. – Fellow Passengers. – Large Sea-Bird. – An Interesting Invalid. – A Weary Captive. – A Broken-Hearted Mother. – Study of the Heavens. – The Moon. – Chilian Civil War. – Concepcion. – A Growing City. – Commercial Importance. – Cultivating City Gardens on a New Plan. – Important Coal Mines. – Delicious Fruits.
Magellan named this extreme southern land, of which we have been speaking, "the Land of Fire," because of the numerous fires which he, from his ships, saw on the shore at night, and which were then supposed by the discoverers to be of a volcanic character. The fact probably was that the Indians did not fail to recognize the need of artificial heat, especially at night, though they had not sufficient genius to teach them to construct garments suitable to protect them from the inclemency of the weather. These fires were kindled in the open air, but the natives camped close about them, sleeping within their influence.
Cape Horn, the extreme point of South America, on the outermost island of the Fuegian group, is a lofty, steep black rock, with a pointed summit, which has stood there for ages, like a watchful sentinel at his post. Two thirds of Patagonia and Terra del Fuego – the western part – belong to Chili, and the balance of both – the eastern part – belongs to the Argentine Republic. A recently consummated treaty between these two nationalities has fixed upon this final division of territory, and thus settled a question which has long been a source of dispute and ill feeling between them. This division makes Cape Horn belong to Chili, not a specially desirable possession, to be sure, but it is an indelible landmark.
The sail along the coast northward after leaving the Pacific mouth of the strait affords very little variety of scenery; the dull hue of the barren shore is without change of color for hundreds of miles, until the eye becomes weary of watching it, as we speed onward through the long, indolent ocean swell. Arid hills and small indentures form the coast line, but as we get further northward, this dreary sameness is varied by the appearance of an occasional small settlement, forming a group of dwellings of a rude character, possibly a mining region or a fishing hamlet, connected with some business locality further inland. Sometimes a green valley is descried, which makes a verdant gulch opening quite down to the sea.
This dense monotony becomes more and more tedious, until one longs to get somewhere, anywhere, away from it.
In the dearth of scenic interest, we fall to studying the various passengers traveling between the Pacific ports, a great variety of nationalities being represented. Among those of the second-class was a handsome Italian boy, with marvelous eyes of jet and a profusion of long black hair. He had a small organ hung about his neck, and carried an intelligent monkey with him. The boy and his monkey joined in the performance of certain simple, amusing tricks to elicit money from the lookers-on. Both boy and monkey were happy in the result achieved, the former in liberal cash receipts, the latter in being fed liberally with cakes and bonbons. The capacity of monkeys for the rapid consumption of palatable dainties is one of the unsolved mysteries of nature.
Schools of porpoises played about the hull of the ship, and clouds of sea-birds at times wheeled about the topmasts, or followed in the ship's wake watching for refuse from the cook's department. Occasionally the head of a large, deep-water turtle would appear for a moment above the surface, twisting its awkward neck to watch the course of the steamer, while shoreward the mottled surface of the gently undulating waves betrayed the presence of myriads of small fish, over which hovered predatory birds of the gull tribe. Now and again one would swoop swiftly downward to secure a victim to its appetite. Few albatrosses were seen after leaving the Pacific mouth of the strait. They are lovers of the stormy Antarctic region, with the tempestuous atmosphere of which their great power of wing enables them to cope successfully. The author has seen one of these birds off the southern coast of New Zealand which spread eleven feet from tip to tip of its extended wings. It was caught with a floating bait by one of the seamen and drawn on board ship, where it was measured, but not until a long contest of strength had taken place between men and bird. The albatross was slightly wounded in the mouth and throat by the process of catching him with a baited hook. But they are hardy creatures, and unless injured in some vital part pay little heed to a small wound. After this bird had been examined, it was liberated, and resumed its graceful flight about the ship as though nothing unusual had happened.
An invalid girl of Spanish birth, who was perhaps sixteen years of age, very tenderly cared for by her mother, was propped up daily in a reclining seat upon deck, where she might find amusement in watching the sea and distant shore, while inhaling the saline tonic of the atmosphere. Poor child, how her large, dark eyes, pallid lips, and painful respiration appealed to one's sympathy! It required no professional knowledge to divine her approaching fate. She was really in the last stages of consumption, and was on her way to a popular sanitarium near the coast, hoping against reason that the change might prove restorative and of radical benefit. It was pleasant to observe how promptly every one on board strove to add to her comfort by simple attentions and services, and how the choicest bits from the table were secured to tempt her capricious appetite. The grateful mother's eyes were often suffused with tears, carefully hidden from the gentle invalid. Her maternal heart was too full for the utterance even of thanks.
"Ah," said she to us in a low tone of voice, "she is the last of my three children, two boys and this girl. The two boys faded away just like this. Do you think there is any hope for her, señor?" "Why not, señora? We should never cease to hope. The land breeze and the springs where you are going may do wonders."
Heaven forgive us. The child's fate was only too plainly to be read in her attenuated form, and the dull action of her almost congested lungs.
One day a small, weary sea-bird, newly out of its nest, flew on board our ship quite exhausted, and being easily secured, was given to the young girl to pet. It soon became quite at home in her lap, eating small bread crumbs and little bits of meat from her fingers. Confidence being thus established between them, the little half-fledged creature would not willingly leave its new-found benefactress. It seemed to be a providential occurrence, affording considerable diversion to the sick one. For a while, at least, she was aroused from the listlessness which is so very significant in consumption, and her whole heart went out to the confiding little waif. It was a pretty sight to see the bird nestle contentedly close to her bosom, the pale-faced girl scarcely less fragile than the little feathered stranger she had adopted. No one thought that Death was hovering so very near, yet the third night after the bird flew on board the young girl lay in her shroud, with an ivory crucifix, typical of the Romish faith, in one hand, and the other resting upon the inanimate bird she had befriended, which had also breathed its last.
Attempted consolation to a freshly bleeding heart is almost always premature, and there are few, very few, human beings competent to offer it effectually under the best circumstances. The sad-eyed mother listened to a few well-meant words of this character, but slowly shook her head and made no reply. Time only could assuage the keenness of her sorrow. By and by she spoke, with her eyes still resting upon that pale, dead face, where nothing but a wonderful peace and serenity were now expressed.
"Have birds souls, do you think?" she asked, in a low, trembling voice.
"Possibly," was the reply; "but why do you ask?" "Because," she continued, speaking very slowly, "that tiny creature and my darling died almost at the same moment, and if so, her spirit would have company on its way to the good God."
The unconscious poetry of the thought, so quietly expressed by the sorrowing mother, as she sat beside the corpse with folded hands and burning eyes, which could not find the relief of tears, was very touching.
The motor of the big ship throbbed on, the routine of duty continued unchanged, passengers ate, drank, and were merry, the sea-birds wheeled about us uttering their sharp contentious cries, and we pressed forward through the opposing wind and tide, as though nothing had happened. Only a mother's loving heart was broken. Only a soul gone to its God. Surely such sweet innocence must be welcome in heaven. But ah! the great mystery of it all!
Most intelligent people will agree with us that no study known to science can compare with astronomy for absorbing interest. At sea one finds ample time, convenience, and incentive to study the sky, populous with countless hosts of constellations. Especially is it interesting to watch the numerous phases of the moon, beginning with her advent as a delicate crescent of pale light in the eastern sky, after the sun has set, and continuing to the period when she becomes full. Each succeeding night it is found that she has moved farther and farther westward, until, arriving at the full, she rises nearly at the same time that the sun sets. From the period of full moon, the disc of light diminishes nightly until the last quarter is reached, and the moon is then seen high over the ship's topmast head, before day breaks in the east. Thus she goes on waning, all the while drawing closer to the sun, until finally she becomes absorbed in his light. The interesting process completed, she again comes into view at twilight in the west, in her exquisite crescent form, once more to pass through a similar series of changes.
The superstition of sailors touching the moonlight is curious. No foremast hand will sleep where it shines directly upon him. They are voluble in relating many instances of comrades rendered melancholy-mad by so doing. "They talk about the moon making the ebb and flow of the tide," said an able seaman to the author. "There's lots of queer things about the moon, but that's d – d nonsense, saving your honor's presence." Thus Jack eagerly absorbs superstitious ideas, and ignores natural phenomena. No humble class of men are so intelligent in a general way, and yet at the same time so universally superstitious, as those who go down to the sea in ships.
In coming on to the west coast it is natural, perhaps, for the reader to expect us to refer briefly to the late civil war in Chili, but we have not attempted in these notes to depict the local political condition of any of the states of South America. In the past they have most of them shown themselves as changeable as the wind, and remarks which would depict the status of to-day might be quite unsuited to that of to-morrow. The average reader is sufficiently familiar with the struggle so lately ended in Chili. One party was led by the late President Balmaceda, in opposition to the other, known as the Congressional party. That which brought about this open warfare was the refusal of Congress any longer to recognize the president on account of his high-handed, illegal, and venal official conduct. A line will illustrate the cause of the outbreak. It was the Constitution of the country as against a Dictatorship. The President of the Chilian Republic, like the President of the United States, has a personal authority such as nowadays is wielded by few constitutional monarchs. Balmaceda proved to be a tyrant of the first water, abusing the power of his position to condemn to death those who opposed him, without even the semblance of a trial. He succeeded in attaching most of the regular army to his cause by profuse promises and the free use of money, while the navy went almost bodily over to the side of Congress. The contest assumed revolutionary proportions, and many battles were fought. As a casual observer, the author heartily coincided with the Congressional party, and rejoices at their wholesale triumph.
The suicidal act which ended Balmaceda's life was no heroic resort, but the deed of a coward fearing to face the consequences of his murderous career. It is not the man who has been actuated by high and noble sentiments who cuts his throat or blows out his brains. Such is the act of the cunning fraud who realizes that he has not only totally failed in his object, but that his true character is known to the world. Suicide has been declared to be the final display of egoism, and it certainly leaves the world with one less thoroughly selfish character. The disappearance of such an individual may produce a momentary ripple on the surface of time, but it fails to leave any permanent mark.
Nearly three hundred miles south of Santiago, capital of Chili, on the Pacific coast, is situated the city of Concepcion. It stands on the right bank of the river Biobio, six or seven miles from its mouth, and contains about twenty-five thousand inhabitants. The people seem to be exceptionally active and enterprising, though at this writing suffering from the effects of the late civil war. It is the third city in point of size and importance in the republic, and dates from over three hundred years ago. It will be remembered also that it once held the place now occupied by Santiago as capital of the country. The city is built in the valley of Mocha, under the coast range of hills, and is justly famed, like Puebla in Mexico, for its pretty women and beautiful flowers. It is a clean and thrifty town, with handsome shops, a charming plaza, and an attractive alameda. This latter deserves special mention. It is a mile long, and beautified with several rows of tall Lombardy poplars, the sight of which carried us to another hemisphere, where those lovely Italian plains stretch away from the environs of Milan towards the foothills of the neighboring Alps and the more distant Apennines. Great things are prognosticated for Concepcion in the near future by its friends, and it is already the principal town of southern Chili. The streets are well paved, and lined by handsome business blocks, together with pleasant dwelling-houses, built low, to avoid the effect of earthquakes, the universal material being sun-dried bricks, finished externally in stucco. The façades are painted in harlequin variety of colors, yellow, blue, and peach-blossom prevailing. The town has really more the appearance of a northern than a southern city, and has long been connected with Valparaiso by railway.
Some of the most extensive coal mines on this part of the continent have been discovered in this vicinity, and are being worked on a large scale. In fact, Coronal, not far away, is the great coaling station on the Chilian coast for steamships bound to Europe or Panama. One would suppose that this coal mining must be quite profitable, as we were told that twenty-five and even thirty dollars per ton was realized for it delivered at the nearest tide-water. The port of Concepcion is some seven miles from the city, where the river Biobio flows into the ocean at Talcahuano, – pronounced Tal-ca-wha'no, – a small town on Concepcion Bay possessing an excellent harbor. There are here a large marine dock, an arsenal, and a seaman's hospital. Close by the shore is a spacious and convenient railway station. The bay is some six miles wide by seven in length. There is a resident population of nearly four thousand, who form an extremely active community. The majority of the houses are of a very humble character and, like those of Concepcion, are built of adobe.
Spanish capitals in the West Indies and South America were originally placed, like Concepcion, some distance from the coast, to render them more secure against the attack of pirates and lawless sea-rovers, who might land from their vessels, burn a town on the seashore, after robbing it of all valuables, and easily make good their escape; whereas to march inland and attack a town far from their base, or to proceed up a shallow river in boats for such a purpose, was a far more difficult, if not indeed an impossible thing to do. Thus Callao is the harbor of Lima; Valparaiso, of Santiago; and Talcahuano, of Concepcion. The situation of the last named capital is admirable, at the head of the bay, which affords one of the best harbors on the west coast of the continent. When the transcontinental railway from Buenos Ayres, on the Atlantic side, is finished, surmounting the passes of the Andes, – already "a foregone conclusion," – it will have its termination here at Talcahuano, which must then become a great shipping point for New Zealand and Australia. Half a dozen lines of European mail steamers already touch here regularly. The river is too shallow to admit of vessels drawing more than a few feet of water ascending it so far as Concepcion, but Talcahuano is all sufficient as a port.
Few places have been so frequently devastated by fire, flood, and earthquakes, or so often ravaged by war, as has this interesting city. In the early days the Araucanian Indians put the settlers to the sword again and again. This was the bravest of all the native Indian tribes of South America, and is still an unconquered people. The city was laid in ruins so late as 1835 by an earthquake, though no special signs of this destructive visitor are to be seen here to-day. Still, one cannot but feel that with such possibilities hanging over the locality, there must be few people willing to expend freely of their means for substantial building purposes, or to make Concepcion a permanent place of abode. Human nature adapts itself to all exigencies, however, and the place grows rapidly, notwithstanding the discouraging circumstances which we have named. It is not the native but the foreign element of the population which is doing so much for this region. Were the mingled native race to be left to themselves, there would be few signs of progress evinced; they would rapidly lapse into a condition of semi-barbarism. The Chilian proper is a very poor creature as regards morals, intelligence, or true manhood; his instincts are brutal and his aims predaceous.
Like all South American cities, Concepcion is laid out by rule and compass, the fairly broad streets crossing each other at right angles. There is a large and costly cathedral, but a wholesome fear of earthquakes has caused it to be left without the usual twin towers, which gives it an unfinished appearance. The place also contains other churches, a well-appointed theatre, two hospitals, and several edifices devoted to charitable purposes. Opposite the cathedral stands the Intendencia, a large and handsome government house. Telephones and electric lights have long been adopted, and the telegraph poles do much abound. In these foreign places, so far away from home, to see the streets lined, as they are with us, by big, tall poles, holding aloft a maze of wires, is very suggestive; but where can one go that they are not? It is curious to realize that we can step into an office close at hand and promptly communicate with any part of the world. We may have sailed over the ocean many thousands of miles, and have consumed months to reach the spot where we stand, but electricity, like thought, annihilates space, and will take our message instantly to its destination, though it be at the farthest end of the globe. These marvelous facilities are no longer confined to populous centres. Electricity not only bears our messages to the uttermost parts of the world, but it propels the tramway cars in Rome, Boston, and Munich, while it also lights the streets of New York, Auckland in New Zealand, as well as of London and Honolulu.
The importance of Concepcion is manifest from the fact that several new railway connections terminating here have lately been accomplished; but the important event already referred to, of the transcontinental railway, will finally insure her commercial greatness. The town is surrounded by a widespread, fertile country, abounding in both mineral and agricultural wealth, equal to, if not surpassing, any other province in Chili. The city was financially strong before the late civil war, and has still some very wealthy residents. The principal bank of Concepcion, with a capital of one million dollars, paid a dividend to its stockholders in 1890 of sixteen per cent. on the previous year's business. The cathedral and government house, already spoken of, front on the plaza, a large open square ornamented with statuary, trees, and flowers, the latter kept in most exquisite order and constant bloom by means of a singular and original device. It seems that each separate plot of these grounds is owned or cared for by a different family of the citizens, and that a spirit of emulation is thus excited by the effort of the several parties to make their special plot excel in its beauty and fragrance. This keeps the whole plaza in a lovely condition, and makes it the pride of the city.
Society and business circles are mostly composed of foreigners, the German element largely predominating. The native, or humbler classes, as we have already intimated, are a wretchedly low people. They "wake" their dead before burial, much after the style which prevails in Ireland, except that the process is more exaggerated in manner. Drinking and debauchery characterize these occasions, which are continued often for three days at a time, or so long as the means for indulgence in excess last. In case of youthful deaths, the child's cheeks are painted red, and the head is crowned in a fantastic manner, the body being dressed and placed in a sitting position, thus forming a strange and hideous sight. Such treatment of a corpse could only be tolerated by a barbarous people. In the environs of the town, Lazarus jostles Dives. There are here many hovels, as well as a better class of residences. Some of them are wretchedly poor, built of mud and bamboo, the inhabitants half-naked and wholly starved, if one may judge by their appearance. On Saturday, which in Spanish towns and cities is called "poor day," the streets of Concepcion are full of either assumed or real mendicants. The Spanish race is one of chronic beggars, – they seem born so. Scarcely less of a nuisance than the beggars are the army of half-starved, mongrel, neglected dogs, that throng in the streets of the city, rivaling Constantinople.
