Las Cordilleras de Los Andes 

                                                                               April 13th 1874

 On Monday April 13th I came by rail to a nice village snugly nestled and choked with vines at the foot of the Andes. The village itself is called Los Andes. Here I called upon the Parish priest - a Spaniard over flowing with friendship and hospitality - and by a letter of introduction, put my passage across the mountains into his hands. A fellow in S. Felipe asked me 60 dollars for mules and a guide, and I would have closed with him, only that he came out at last saying I should procure my own saddle etc. A man came to the priest’s house to settle and I never saw such haggling in my life as the Cure and himself had. He asked $30. The Cure was cutting him down to $25. I said ‘let him have it.’ The man then wanted to edge in some extra payments sideways; whereat the Cure lost patience and ordered him off. He caved in through the interference of a third party, just as a crowd was gathering around the priest’s door. It was agreed that tomorrow afternoon I set out with mules, guide and all things necessary for four days journey on mule back. The people here told me the mountains were very cold and that I might possibly meet snow. I gave them some notion of North American Winters and I believe they took me for a lineal descendant of Baron Muchausen. 

April 14th 1874

On Tuesday 14th I got up early and a balmier or a more beautiful morning I scarcely remember. I said Mass and went about with a Franciscan Father to purchase some little things, such as warm gloves, for three or four hours! Winter I was about to encounter. We dined at 12.00 o’clock and then recreating I asked the P.P. if I could not procure food and drink on my route. ‘Nada,nada’ (nothing) shouted the disappointed Cure. ‘You will die of starvation on the way unless you lay in a stock - cooked and all - and now there is no time. Wait till tomorrow, I’ll give you all the wine you want anyhow.’ I would not wait. I must get to Mendoza by Sunday time enough to say Mass. I bethought me of a Frenchman who kept a hotel on the town. I asked the Cure about him and he told me (strange to say of a Frenchman) that he was a very good Christian and minded his duties well. We went to him anyhow, and his fine smiling honest face greeted us - as only a Frenchman can greet - told us he’d have a full supply of all ready and packed in an hour’s time. The mules came at 2.00 the French provisions came too. I had a fine stout black mule for my support, my maso (or guide) had a chestnut one, and the baggage mule was a young she one and black. They break in the mules by carrying baggage before they trust a passenger’s life to them. I was on the mule’s back in a jiffy - my habit tucked up and my mantle flowing, like a young dragoon’s, on the beast’s tail. My guide moved off lugging the baggage mule after him with a cord; and after bidding goodbye to the clergy, I started after. I went up the town in a good trot, to overtake my guide and show off a bit. Lord, Lord little I knew what was to come after. In three hour’s ride I found my legs so sore that I could not bear a trot. At 7.30 (5 hours in the saddle) we got to a place called Llovas (Fears) and there put up for the night. I have written this at the end of my third day so far. I am tired and want to go to bed and I shall describe my first night in the bush tomorrow. Well, tomorrow may never come to me. No matter there is not much lost and what is it in a small book. About 7.00 o’clock when it was fairly dark, my guide, whose name is Senor Fernandez, but whom I call Fernando, turned into a shed. There were four walls like a pound and two of those at right angles had an awning of sticks and straw projecting about 10 feet. Here we stopped and I soon perceived it must be our lodging for the night. There were apparently two families in the place, of the genuine Creole breed, or peons as they call them here, for I saw two beds with posts, and half a dozen small beds with little varmints of black headed dirty faced children in them strewn on the ground. I talked with the two men as one of the women went to make us supper from the contents of my wallet. She made a slop thing, called Casuela, enough I thought to feed a dozen. I took a little and a glass of wine, and Fernando and one of the men finished the whole mess which remained. Fernando asked soon if I like to retire, and on my giving a nod he proceeded straightway to make my bed. the bed consisted of three skins, which accompany all South-American saddles, and the saddle I rode on for my pillow. The litter was placed a few yards from the family sleeping establishment, all in the open air, and I lay down in my habit with my mantle for a coverlet. By and bye one of the inhabitants of the wigwam threw an additional rug over me. I slept, yes, about two hours in fits and starts and before day broke got up, shook myself, called my man and bit him get ready for marching. I washed my face in a little river and wiped it in my mantle. the boy made a cup of coffee in a horn and I drank some of it and broke my fast with a bit of bread. We were off at 7.00 o’clock, when only half the family were up. My bones ached pretty well; but, when I rested in the evening and sat at the base of a rock near a mountain torrent in Juneal, just at the foot of the Grand Cordillera, when pain and ache had partly vanished, and my office was finished, the humour of my night’s rest came upon me and I began to hum a tune. 

The next house on our way was twenty-five miles distance. We were to have breakfast at 10.00, but Fernando said it was not worth while as we would get to a nice house and place at 12.00 and might then have our meal comfortably. The fact of it was that we were marching until 2.00 o’clock, where starved and tired and half dead, I dropped rather than alighted from the back of my mule at Juneal. Here we must stay all night as the great Cordilleras have to be scaled at early morn to avoid the winds which sweep over them in the daytime and afternoon.  Our journey up to this was along a river, which tumbles over rocks and precipices. Our route lay in this wise - a narrow path paved by the mules hooves ran along the back of the river, sometimes on level ground, but more generally on the brink of precipices, hundreds of feet high, and two or three times this day we crossed hills by zigzag roads high enough to make respectable mountains in Ireland. At Juneal there is a deep valley, and all round it you see mountain peaks some 15 and 20 thousand feet high. We had gotten into it by descending a steep pass, how to get out of it we shall see tomorrow. After dinner I strolled off to the river side and at the foot of a rock I read my office, mused and poetised, whilst they were getting me a bed and a room in the mud cabin. The houses are mud. My state apartment here consists of four mud walls, a mud roof, a mud floor, it is 10 feet square and no windows. A dirty woman lays a mattress on the floor and puts sheets and a quilt on it. In shutting the door I could see no sign of a bolt, so I asked the dirty woman if I could bolt it in anyway, and she said, ‘Yes, with this handing me a stone. I managed to get the stone wedged in behind the joint and retired to my second night’s rest which was a perfect luxury compared with the last night. 

April 16th 1874

 On Thursday April 16th I made the most wonderful and terrible journey in my life. There are two heights to be got over before one comes to The Cordillera or great pass of the Andes. They are almost perpendicular and each about 3000 feet high. The zigzag road has no protection whatever. It is not even a road, it is a clumsy path and no animal but a mule, or a goat intent upon suicide would attempt it. Had I known how things were, I should never have dared this fearful journey. The first hill we began to climb about 4.00 o’clock in the morning and got over it at 5.00. There was a small plateau then before we reached the terror of the Andes, the Portillo, which is so called because the path is paved with loose stones that slip at every step, and because it is so steep. We got over it about 6.00 and there was a beautiful round of winding paths, and saw a clear lake at this place 7000 feet above the level of the sea. It was grand to look about one and see the peaks which bemused us last night on a level with your feet. The air was sharp and cool and the sun was beginning to gild up the snow tipped peaks still higher than where we stood. Well we began to ascend the Height at half past seven and climbed on till the earth itself seemed to vanish from beneath us. The top is a ridge and into it, about 20 feet from the summit, is cut a path about 4 feet wide. We went along this for about ten minutes. I dared not look into the abyss, but I did not venture another. We reached at length the top, which was about 30 feet square and no more. Here we stood 12,400 feet above the level of the sea, a blast of wind, the slipping of a foot, the breaking of a girth, and we were dashed headlong into eternity. I’ll never forget the state of my sensations as all this crowded upon my mind in the most dangerous pinnacle of the mountain. I got off my mule and made Fernando do the same. I gave the poor fellow, who was shivering, a horn of brandy and myself the same. I recommended my soul to God and began the descent on the other side. This was not so steep; and as we had met the sun at the top, and felt ourselves getting warm again, we did not mind it much. When we got well into the level, we encamped at a little stream’s side and made our frugal breakfast. No house for 50 miles, except a shed at a place called Puente del Inca, a sort of mineral or spa with a natural bridge. We reached after a long and tiresome journey through a sterile dried up valley between two awful ridges of mountain and reached Puente de Vaca, a sort of resting place, at half past 5.00. I was just 13 hours in the saddle; and not been accustomed to rides I can only say that I was sore from head to foot, hungry and thirsty besides. We got a nice dinner. I got a bed also - a real genuine bed with posts - and went to rest myself therein at 8.00. 

April 17th 1874

 Friday 17th - three hours along the brink of precipices and one more Cordillera - a young one - to ascend brought us to the top of the last ridge we have to cross. It is not very high, but it is 80 miles wide and all a desert. I heard about travelling through a desert. Well, it is worse than mountains. The sun’s rays, refracted from the hot air sand, the bleak outstretch all around, and the slippery nature of your path combine to make you as uncomfortable as could be. I here knew what thirst was in earnest. We had wine with us, but I did not care for it, it did not seem to quench the thirst a bit. I’d have given all the wine and the mule besides for a glass of water, pure and simple water and could not get it. My boy, who is never hungry, or thirsty or sleepy in the saddle but all three with a vengeance when out of it, never thought of taking a supply of water with him. We came to our oasis called Uspullata, at half past 4.00 and there put up for the night. We fell in with several fellow travellers here and three of them were nice gentlemen enough. I fling myself on a seat and asked a women if they had any wine. I was afraid to drink much water and had not patience to wait till our things were unpacked. She brought me wine and water and, Oh dear! didn’t I enjoy that nasty horrid wine. I did not know it was bad until my thirst was slaked. There were no beds here but I got a room and Fernando fitted up a bed with the saddle cloths and the house lent us sheets and a coverlet. I slept soundly until 3 o’clock and then got up to see how things were. This was Saturday April 18th. 

April 18th 1874

 I find, upon enquiring that there are 30 leagues or about 80 English miles between me and Mendoza, and I must get there tomorrow in time to say mass. Two-thirds of the way is a desert and the other third a mountain gorge. It was too dark at three to find the mules so we had all to wait around a fire in the yard until about 6.00 o’clock. We set off then at a brisk pace. We reached a deserted mine about 10.00 and then breakfasted. At half past one we descended another height and had now left the last Cordillera. Before doing so we had a fine view of the immense plain that lay outside the mountains on whose top we stood. We were not yet freed from mountains though as we had to follow a torrent river, twisting and turning for about 10 leagues, with mountains on each side all the way. At 4.00 o’clock we reached the last halting place and now I found myself 40 miles exactly from Mendoza. We dined, rested and I said my office and then at 6 o’clock, half an hour after sunset, started to travel all night and get into Mendoza in the morning. I understood from Fernando that there was a house about half way to Mendoza and there I thought of refreshing myself about 11.00 and resting a couple of hours. The lad however does not know that there is such a thing as truth, for he never tells anything but lies, and deceived me here until we were six leagues off. I then found there was no house until we came within two leagues of our destination. About 10.00 o’clock I made the best of a bad bargain. I got off my mule, Fernando made me a bed on the roadside on which I lay and threw my mantle over me. He set fire to a parched bush and we managed to sleep a few hours. It was past 12.00 when I awoke and now I must perform the rest of my journey, about 20 miles, fasting. At six o’clock Sunday morning, April 19th, I reached S. Francisco’s Church, as tired and cold and hungry and thirsty and as near death by complete exhaustion as ever I was in my life. I had been twenty-two hours in the saddle - a day and a night with hardly any rest. I said Mass immediately and had to catch the altar to genuflect. I got a cup of coffee afterwards, went to bed and arose a little refreshed about 12.00 o’clock noon. Thus have I come to an end of the five most laborious and adventurous days I ever passed in my life.