[17] _Chile_, Scott Elliot (Martin Hume's Introduction), South American Series.
Chile threw off the yoke of Spain in 1810. The yoke upon the Indies was really falling off itself. Spain was too weak to coerce her colonies much longer. But in 1814 Spain tried again. A half-Irish Chilean patriot was the hero of this struggle, a patriot who, his ammunition giving out, charged his guns with coin in lieu of grapeshot and cut his way to Santiago, and he on land and the Englishman Cochrane on the sea caused Chile to become one of the foremost factors in the final liberation.
Many travellers have rendered homage to the beauty of the Chilean landscape. "The appearance of the Andes from the Central Valley is always imposing, grandiose and magnificent. They are unique: it is worth crossing half the world to see them. The dry, stimulating air and the beautiful cloudless sky in themselves provoke enthusiasm."[18]
Elsewhere I have spoken of "the beautiful Andes and the death-dealing Andes." Almagro's terrible march across the Chilean Andes, as described elsewhere, shows these characteristics of the Cordillera vividly.
Much of the early history of Chile is made up of the rebellion of the Indians; their attacks upon the coastal towns, such as Concepcion and Valdivia, which they sacked, massacring the Spaniards.
The town of Concepcion, in 1751, suffered something of the fate that overtook Lima and Callao in the earthquake and tidal wave, and Santiago, too, suffered greatly. With a crash the tower of the cathedral fell, awakening the inhabitants at midnight. There were horrible rumbling noises--those curious subterranean earthquake voices in the Andes. "There was scarcely time to pray to God," say the chroniclers. Every single church and house was thrown down, and nobody could even stand upright. Those who could, flew: they fled to the hills for refuge--refuge from the sea, the dreadful tidal wave. For the ocean retreated, as if mustering force for the deluge. Then it returned, not once, but thrice, washing over Concepcion as if the day of doom indeed had come.
The destruction of Valparaiso in August 1906 was the last terrible disaster of this nature.
"The day had been unusually calm and pleasant. At about 8 p.m. there was a sudden, unexpected shock, immediately followed by another; the whole city seemed to swing backwards and forwards: then there was a horrible jolt, and whole rows of buildings (about thirty blocks of houses, three to five stories high, in the Avenida Brasil alone) fell with a terrific crash. The gas, electric-light and water mains were at once snapped, and the whole city was plunged in darkness. This, however, did not last long, for, five minutes after the shock, great fires started in the ruined buildings about the Plaza del Orden, and, aided by a violent storm wind, which began about the same time, spread northwards over the city. Between the earthquake and the subsequent fire ninety per cent. of the houses are said to have been destroyed. The Arsenal, station, custom-house, hospitals, convents, banks, club-houses and Grand Hotel were for the most part ruined, for without water, and in the horrible confusion that at first prevailed, it was almost impossible to check the fires.[19] But the authorities showed no lack of energy and presence of mind. Patrols of troops and armed citizens kept watch; thieves and marauders attempting to loot were shot. The fire was, where possible, checked by dynamite. Messengers on horseback were sent to Santiago and other places, appealing for help, and especially for provisions. The telegraph lines were destroyed; the railways were wrecked for miles--bridges had twisted and tunnels had caved in--but communication with Santiago seems to have been re-established within a wonderfully short time. This was all the more creditable, for the shocks continued on Friday and Saturday, and apparently did not cease until about 6 a.m. on Tuesday morning.