At Retiro station in Buenos Aires one takes the tri-weekly transcontinental train for the ride across the continent. “B. A. P.” upon the coaches stands for Buenos Aires and Pacific, which is the line that carries the traveller to the limits of Argentine territory. The gong strikes, the Argentinians who have gathered to see their friends away on this long journey wave their adieus and the train slowly pulls out without the clanging of an engine bell, with which these British locomotives are not provided. The passengers are all leisurely in their preparations for the journey, and one will seldom see the spectacle of a woman grabbing a box in one hand and a struggling child in the other and rushing frantically for her car. There is usually plenty of room, and whether there is or not the passenger takes his own time. The trains on this line are very comfortable,[159] although one misses the luxurious Pullmans of the United States. All the passenger coaches are compartment sleepers, and one diner is attached. There is no smoking or observation car, so that the solitary traveller oftentimes finds it lonesome, but smoking is permitted everywhere except in the dining-car, where gentlemen are requested not to smoke “when the se?oras are present.” Some of the passengers gather in the diner after the tables have been cleared and talk or play games. The diner has good service and the only trouble is to keep the dust out of your food. A good meal of several courses is furnished in this comedor for two Argentine pesos. All of the diners of course have a bar, so that no one need to go thirsty, whatever his needs or demands may be.
The passengers on this train are always a mixed crowd. One will find tourists from many countries, English or German engineers, Chilean business men, Argentine estancieros, half-breed gauchos in their picturesque trappings, etc., etc. A half-dozen languages will greet one’s ears in the corridors. This feature is, however, one of the pleasures of such a trip. One will begin to speculate about his fellow passengers, and then as he meets them he will[160] learn how far his conjectures come true. He will also learn that this is one of the meeting places of the four quarters of the globe.
One of the chief discomforts in riding across these plains is the dust which sifts in through the windows and doors at times until it is almost stifling. Then again a baby pampero may come up and blow almost with the force of a hurricane. A Kansas blizzard is hardly equal to it in force and velocity. The dust at times comes in such clouds that it makes difficult work for the section-hands, for it must be removed from the track. I have heard stories of the real, simon-pure pampero, which comes up from the Patagonia plains, blowing cars off the track, and the propelling of cars by means of a sail hoisted up on the car. One thing is sure, it is decidedly unpleasant and will so fill your mouth with dust that you feel you are continually chewing sand.
The real pampero generally follows a drouth and is preceded by a few days of extreme heat. At last a cloud appears on the pampas which looks like a great woolly ball set in a frame of gold. The dust of the road begins to fly and whirl about in little eddies. Bird and beast seek shelter and the people may be[161] seen scurrying in every direction. Millions of insects scud past in the clouds of fine dust. The lightning flashes in sheets and forks, and the thunder seems to shake the very earth. Then comes the welcome rain, not in drops but in sheets, and mingled with it hailstones big as nuts. A few minutes after the rain ceases and the sun shines in a tranquil, cloudless sky. The atmosphere is so transparent that one can see almost incredible distances. The people breathe in deep draughts of the delicious air, the blood circulates freely and one feels as though he had renewed his lease on life.
One could scarcely imagine an easier country through which to build a railroad than across these pampas. Not only is it level but a shallow excavation gives a solid road-bed which needs little ballast. The work has mostly been done by Italian gangs who are employed by contractors. One can see their camps in many places. They live in small “A” tents and a car fitted out as commissary wagon is labelled the provideria. It is really a small department store on wheels, where almost anything can be purchased at reasonable prices.
The line from Buenos Aires to Mendoza, six hundred and fifty-five miles in length, is built[162] on the broad gauge so common in Argentina. For several hundred miles after leaving Buenos Aires the country is as level as a barn floor, and the train traverses fertile fields in which wheat, corn and grazing lands alternate. One will pass through corn fields miles in length and then wheat fields still larger; and following these the alfalfa pasture will extend clear to the horizon, with immense herds of cattle dotting it until, in the distance, where earth and sky meet, the largest animals appear as mere specks on the landscape.
One is impressed with the great agricultural resources of Argentina, for only a small portion of this part of the republic is uncultivated. All of it is owned in large estancias that are measured by the square league, which comprises almost six thousand acres. The man with only one square league is a small farmer, and many of the estancias measure ten square leagues, or even more. Statistics show that among the one hundred thousand reported landowners there is an average holding of six square miles. The locusts are a terrible curse for the farmer, and they were very bad last season. I saw millions of them in crossing the pampas. It costs these ranch men thousands[163] of dollars each year to fight this scourge of locusts, and as yet no permanent remedy has been discovered.
The road runs nearly due west. An insane asylum called “The Open Door” is passed about forty miles out from the metropolis. A number of Camp towns, such as Mercedes, Chacabuco and Vedia, are passed, but none of them are attractive places. At the latter place the province of Santa Fé is entered, and a number of small towns are passed before the province of Cordoba is reached. Several branch lines shoot off to the south, which are feeders thus thrust out for freight, and branches of other lines run in from the north. Villa Mercedes, four hundred and thirty-two miles from Buenos Aires, is the first large town. The land has begun to rise and this town is sixteen hundred feet above sea level, although the aspect is still that of plains. It is situated on the Rio Quinto, and is a place of perhaps ten thousand people. This used to be the terminus of this line until it absorbed the Great Western a few years ago, which continued the westward route. It is one of the concentration camps for the instruction of conscripts drafted into the artillery regiments.
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The broad pampas are perhaps not so lonely as they seem, for there is generally an abundance of bird life. Flamingoes haunt the lagoons, and long-tailed hawks sit like silent sentinels on the fence posts. The largest bird is the ostrich, of which there are tens of thousands scattered over these broad leagues, which have not yet been broken up by agriculture. In the entire republic it is estimated that there are more than four hundred thousand ostriches. They will feed among the stock, but the agriculturist soon makes them disappear. These long-necked and long-legged birds form a very pretty addition to the landscape. The South American ostrich is smaller than the South African species, and its feathers are not nearly so valuable. They are extremely abundant, however, and bring in a pleasing revenue for the farmer. The feather gatherers bargain with the estanciero to pay him so much for each bird found and picked on his estancia. Many of the ostriches are very tame, for the owners do not allow them to be hunted, but they roam at will, easily getting over the low fences that hedge in the fields. In some places the South African ostriches have been introduced and are raised for the commercial value of their plumes.
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The next place of importance is San Luis, capital of the province of that name, at a still higher elevation. The dead level aspect has now changed to gentle undulations. The long gray shadows on the horizon are the peaks of the Andes, at a distance of one hundred and fifty miles. In this city there has recently been located an observatory by the Carnegie Institution of Washington. The purpose of this observatory is to observe the motion of all stars of the seventh magnitude in the southern heavens, and several American scientists are in charge of the work. A few miles beyond San Luis is an artesian well two thousand feet deep, which was sunk by the government and yields an immense supply of water. The pampa grass now stands in clumps and bare spots become more frequent. The railroad changes its direction time and again instead of taking a bee-line for some distant point. The stony character of the soil increases, but at last a land of vines and tall poplars is entered, and it is not long until the train rolls into the station at Mendoza.
“Hotel Grande.”
This was the instruction I gave to my cab driver at the station in Mendoza after my baggage[166] had been deposited in the vehicle by a portero.
“No hay,” he answered, meaning that there was no such hotel.
I then told him to take me to the best hotel in the city. When we arrived at the hotel selected by him I saw an imposing building on the opposite side of the plaza with “Hotel Grande” upon it in large letters, and instructed my Jehu to drive me over to it. The secret of the matter is that the other hotel paid the driver a peso for each guest. There is only one good thing to be said about the cabs in Mendoza, and that is, the fares are cheap—if you know the established rates. A few years ago a tramway company laid tracks and began operations. Enraged at this intrusion upon their rights the cab owners began a war of fares. They lowered their charges to the level of the rates of the tram line, and announced that they would carry passengers to their very doors for the same price as the street car line would deposit them at the nearest corner, which might be blocks away. The deserted and abandoned rails which one may see in a few places proclaim the glorious victory of the cab owners. Although the fares have advanced somewhat[167] since the abandonment of the street railroad they are still remarkably low.
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE ANDES FROM MENDOZA
 
Mendoza is one of the most picturesque cities in Argentina. It is an oasis in the midst of a stony desert. There is hardly a drier climate in the world, and, where the rainfall alone is depended upon, nothing will grow. Lying at the very foot of the lofty Andes range, it is the westernmost city of the republic. The streets are quite wide and the buildings are almost without exception of one story. The reason for this is the earthquake. The greatest disaster of that kind happened in 1861, and the inhabitants have been haunted ever since by fear of a return of such a holocaust. The tremors which occasionally occur are a constant reminder of the dangers; and the ruins of the great cathedral, whose walls crashed down upon the crowd of supplicants who had gathered within for protection, still stand as a warning. Reports vary greatly concerning that disaster. The most generally credited figures are that of a population of twenty thousand no less than twelve thousand met with death. It is difficult to believe, in the face of similar modern disasters, that any such proportion of fatalities occurred either from the[168] earthquake, the fires that followed or the lawlessness which prevailed in the confusion of the next few days. It is said that many fell victims to the assassin’s knife when they were trying to escape with their few earthly belongings. The new houses have all been built of mud bricks with an extra amount of straw or cane mixed in, and the one-storied walls are made very thick. The result is an elasticity that is considerable of a safeguard against the earth’s tremblings.
The old ruined town lies about a mile from the new town and is a mass of ruins, scarcely a single house remaining intact. There is something sadly depressing about these heaps of fallen stones, broken arches and sightless windows—relics of the old Spanish-Moorish architecture. The old city covered about two hundred acres and contained seven churches and three convents. The first shocks levelled almost every building to the ground. They are a place of frequent pilgrimage and one may still find burning candles in nooks and corners, placed there by devout relatives of those who were hurled unshriven into the beyond. Surely purgatory cannot long retain the souls of those who were overtaken by death while at worship,[169] even though they were unprepared to leave this world.
The centre of the town is the broad Avenue de San Martin, the alameda, with its double row of trees and the stream of water that runs on either side of the roadway. Were it not for this shade and the running water, the streets of Mendoza would be pretty hot in the middle of the day. Down this wide, cobblestoned street the Mendozians have their corso, or carriage drive, and one will see victorias with bells on the tongue wedged in with two-wheeled country carts, and all other kinds of vehicles. Happy farmers and the distinguished citizens of Mendoza mingle together on this occasion. There is a certain kind of provincial good humour about this little city so near the lonely Andes. Small boys armed with buckets on long poles dip the water from the canals and fling it across the thoroughfare. On Monday morning, or following a fiesta, this battle with the dust is conducted by a lot of shame-faced men who are not volunteers or employees of the city, but are working out a fine for the previous day’s debauch. The city also possesses a very pretty park besides a number of plazas. There is considerable street life in the[170] city, and the cafés afford evidence of this, for they are wont to spread their tables far out under the trees in this genial climate.
Mendoza is not a temperance resort, for it is a great wine centre. This is the country of the grape, and it is this fruit that has brought wealth to Mendoza. All about the city are vineyards and meadows, and the outlines of the farms are marked by rows upon rows of graceful poplars. Millions of those poplars have beautified this country, which at one time was a barren waste, and would still be so were it not that man has harnessed the streams formed from the melting snows which rush down from the snow-clad peaks. Irrigation was first established by the Spaniards several hundred years ago, but it has been extended and systematized by the grape growers in recent years. Dams have been built across the rivers and the waters forced through artificial channels, until now there are more than twelve hundred miles of these channels, which water a district of approximately one thousand square miles.
As soon as you leave the city you will see the grapevines growing. Some are trained upon a low prop, as in France or Germany, others climb a staff and look like hops, while[171] many vines creep up the poplar trees and stretch their tendrils across to the next tree, so that the tree trunks are all connected and form a cool, vine-covered lane for hundreds of rods. The vines are thus trained to form cool drives for the owners, and they are especially seductive when the great bunches of ripe fruit hang just high enough out of reach to be tantalizing. Little canals trickle here, there and everywhere among the fields of vines, and thus keep the roots ever moist. The prosperity of Mendoza is bound up in these tiny little streams, which give life to the grape, the onion and potato, for it seldom rains here. The day of my visit the sky became overcast with dark, foreboding clouds, as though a terrific storm was threatening. I hesitated to venture forth. The landlord said, “It looks this way nearly every day but it never rains.” I found out this statement was true and that rain is a rare event.
The development of the wine industry in the Mendoza district has been almost phenomenal. The greater part of the wine produced is not of a high quality, so that it appeals only to the masses and not to the connoisseur. The wealthier classes are satisfied with nothing less[172] than the finest of European wines and champagnes. The quality of the grapes produced is of the finest, and the very best European varieties have been imported. The profits in some years are almost fabulous, for a few acres will bring in a handsome return. Some of the wine-manufacturing establishments are quite large and produce great quantities of that liquor so popular in all Spanish countries. The presses, vats, casks and everything in them is of the latest design. One will find wines leaving these establishments with Bordeaux, Burgundy, Moselle and Muscatel labels. It is shipped in both cask and bottle, and one will see high ox-carts and cumbersome wagons loaded with large casks on their way to the railroad station on almost any road leading to Mendoza. Thousands of tons of the grapes are shipped each year in the fruit form, for it is a peculiarly luscious growth and the bunches attain enormous size. Other fruits have been found to grow equally well at Mendoza and fruit canning is becoming quite an industry there. Peaches, pears and plums grow to good size and of good flavour, while apples, quinces and cherries do very well. The fruit culture is spread over a wide area of country and the culture is rapidly[173] increasing. It is the boast of the Argentinian that the country is capable of producing every conceivable species of fruit, and it is not an idle boast. If the same care was taken that they give that industry in California they could flood the markets of Europe with their fruits. The general trouble is that the trees grow so easily that they are practically unaided, so that the fruit is oftentimes full of flaws and will not pass for prime quality in the markets. Grap............