MONTEVIDEO. THE CAPITAL OF URUGUAY.
SOON after General Garfield became President, an ex-member of Congress, since the governor of a western State, came into a correspondent’s office in Washington, and sitting down with a discouraged and disgusted air, asked, “Where in Tophet is Uruguay? I have been offered the honor of representing the United States in that country, and before I accept I would like to find out where it is.”
THE CITY OF MONTEVIDEO, LOOKING TOWARDS THE HARBOR.
Not three out of four men in the Congress of the United States could have answered the question correctly; and if the embryonic diplomatist had entered into an inquiry about the resources of the country, and the number and character of the people, he could not have found a man in our National Legislature, on the Supreme Bench, or in the Cabinet, who could have given him the information correctly, and he might have sought in vain for it in our modern school geographies. Yet Uruguay is one of the most enterprising, progressive, and prosperous nations on this hemisphere, growing faster in proportion to its area and population than the United States, and is beginning to be a formidable competitor of ours in the provision markets of Europe.
The country which appears on the map as Uruguay is known in South America as “the Banda Oriental,” with a strong accent upon the last syllable, which, being interpreted, means “the Eastern Strip,” as it was once a part of the Argentine Republic, which in those days was known as “the Banda Occidental.” Uruguay is the old Indian name, and the legal one, being recognized by the Constitution. The inhabitants are known as “Orientals,” with a strong accent on the “tals.” Uruguay is the smallest independent State in South America, and in its agricultural and pastoral resources the richest, with undiscovered possibilities in the mineral way. In the good old colony times the Viceroy of Spain and the Jesuits used to get a great deal of gold and silver—placer washings—from the interior of Uruguay, but during the long struggle for independence, and the sixty years of revolution that followed, the operation of the mines was suspended, and their localities forgotten or obliterated by the people, who were mercilessly robbed of the wealth they gathered in that way. They found it economical to do nothing, for as fast as they accumulated a few dollars they were robbed of it, and those who were suspected of knowing where the gold and silver came from were persecuted until they disclosed the secret, or else died with it concealed in their breasts.
No country ever suffered more from war than Uruguay, as for almost a hundred years a struggle of arms, under one excuse or another, has been going on within her borders, and until the present despotism—which makes only a mask of the nominal democracy it pretends—came into power, there was a change of government, or an attempt to secure one, under almost every new moon. Although Uruguay is as much of an absolute monarchy to-day as exists on the face of the earth, her people have peace and prosperity, her development is being hastened by large works of internal improvement, her population is increasing rapidly, her commerce is assuming immense proportions, and she is making more rapid strides towards greatness than any other country in South America, except her neighbor across the River Plate. With a republican form of government guaranteed by the constitution, with civil and religious freedom as the foundation-stone of the nation, the will of the President has been usually as absolute as was that of the ex-King Thebaw.
HARBOR OF MONTEVIDEO.
Maximo Santos, who was for many years to Uruguay what Guzman Blanco has been to Venezuela, and Rufino Barrios to Guatemala—its nominal President, but its de facto dictator—was a man of immense energy, broad views, and an ambition to lift his nation to the standard of modern civilization. Although an autocrat, to a certain degree he was a wise one, and as long as a citizen did not interfere with his management of the Government, nor criticise with too great freedom his disbursement of the public revenues, Santos gave him every encouragement and all reasonable concessions. His methods were rude, cruel, and arbitrary; his ministers were the instruments of his will, the Congress simply one of the fingers of his right hand, and the army his weapon of offence and defence, without regard to the Constitution, the laws, or the rights of the people, while the courts were puppets to perform at his pleasure. Occasionally he went through the form of holding an election, but the soldiers always had charge of the polls and counted the votes. No candidates but those favored of the President were ever elected in Uruguay, and whenever any public expression was called for by him the leaders of public opinion were always careful to discover his preferences and anticipate them. If a true and complete history of his administration, and his military career preceding his assumption of the Presidency, could be written, it would be as remarkable a document as the events of the nineteenth century in any land could justify.
Santos was what they call “a barrack dog.” That is, his father was a soldier, his mother a rabona—one of that class of homeless women who are encouraged by the Government to follow the army—and he was born in a barracks. From birth until he was able to bear arms he was kicked about without care or education, generally housed and fed in a military garrison or camp. He entered the army as a private when not more than fourteen or fifteen years of age, and within twenty years, by reason of his brains and force of character, became its commander-in-chief. It was a short step to a dictatorship, during one of the revolutions that were epidemic in Uruguay, and then after a form of an election
MAXIMO SANTOS.
(President of Uruguay from March 1, 1882, to November, 1886.)
he was declared “constitutional” President. When he came into power Uruguay was going backward, and had been for several years; the country was gradually becoming depopulated, property was greatly depreciated in value, everybody was living from hand to mouth, and there was no commerce of consequence. Although Santos was a brutal tyrant, the magnificent results of his progressive policy are to be seen on every hand, and he should be judged accordingly. The results he accomplished should be permitted to obscure his methods. It was in 1887 that Santos was finally overthrown, and to “let him down easy,” as the saying is, his successor in the Presidency gave him credentials as an Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to all the courts of Europe, where he has since remained. Twice he has attempted to return to Montevideo, and once got as far as the harbor, but was not permitted to land. After spending a few months in Buenos Ayres, he became convinced that his power was broken, and he returned to Europe to remain the rest of his days and draw a salary or pension that is paid him by the Government as the price of his absence.
The President of Uruguay in 1889 is Gen. Maximo Tajes, a man of education, culture, and liberal tendencies, but not so much of an autocrat as Santos.
The country is enjoying great prosperity and much-needed peace. Immigration is very large and increasing, the newcomers being mostly from Italy and the Basque provinces of Spain—a frugal, industrious, and law-abiding people. They bring a good deal of property with them; in fact, according to the statistics during the last ten years, only 1335 people were lodged and fed at the expense of the Government even for a day. There are some German, Swedish, and Swiss colonies which are small but immensely prosperous; but the Government has not encouraged the formation of colonies, preferring individual immigrants.
It is said that there is not an acre of unproductive land in all Uruguay, and that its area of seven thousand square leagues—a little more than that of England—is capable of sustaining as large a population as England, Scotland, and Wales together. The soil and climate are of such a character that any grain or fruit known in the list of the world’s product can be produced in abundance. Coffee will grow beside corn, and bananas and pineapples beside wheat; sugar and potatoes, apples and oranges, in fact all things that man requires for food or clothing, are capable of being raised within the boundaries of the republic at the minimum of
ONE OF THE OLD STREETS.
labor. There are medicinal plants, and forests of useful timber, plenty of grass of the most nutritious quality for cattle, and so abundant that ten times more can be fed upon the same area than in the Argentine Republic. There is plenty of water for mechanical purposes, and the geologists say that much of the surface of the northern provinces is underlaid by coal-beds. Nearly all sections of the republic may be reached by navigable rivers, and natural harbors are frequent along the coast. Besides coal and silver and gold, there are said to be many other rich mineral deposits, and the report of a Geological Commission, recently intrusted with an examination of these resources, reads like a fable of Eldorado. Even if these glowing recitals are exaggerated, there is no doubt of the agricultural and pastoral possibilities of the country, and all Uruguay needs is permanent peace to become a rich and powerful nation. Her population has doubled within the last few years, not only by immigration, but from natural causes, and her statistics show a larger birth-rate and a smaller mortality than any country on the globe. The vital tables show a net increase of births over deaths of eighteen in a thousand of population, the birth-rate averaging forty-five and the death-rate twenty-seven per thousand during the last five years.
It is quite remarkable, and the facts deserve the study of scientists, that the excess of males born in Uruguay is so great, the statistics showing that of every 1000 births 561 are males and only 439 are females. In the United States the ratio is 506 males to 494 females; in England, 485 to 515; and on the Continent of Europe, 402 to 508. Another remarkable fact, which is attributed to the climate, is that there is less insanity in Uruguay than in any other country, the ratio of insane being only 95 per 100,000 of population, while in the United States it is 329, in Great Britain 322, in France 248, and in other countries equally large in comparison.
It is said, too, that living is cheaper in Uruguay than anywhere else. Beef is three to five cents a pound, mutton and other meats about the same price, fish five cents a pound, partridges and similar birds ten cents each, chickens and ducks fifteen cents each, and vegetables are sold at proportionate prices. Labor is scarce and wages are high, consequently the public wealth is increasing very rapidly, being estimated in 1884 at $580 per capita of population. Taking the foreign commerce of Montevideo alone, the statistics show a ratio of $240 for each citizen, and the increase is very rapid. But a still greater increase is shown in the agricultural and pastoral development of the country. With a population of 500,000 Uruguay produces 5,000,000 bushels of grain annually, or an average of ten bushels per inhabitant, and this with only 540,000 acres of ground under cultivation, including vegetable gardens as well as wheat and corn fields. It is claimed there that no other country can show so high an average.
The increase in cattle, sheep, and horses is astonishing, there being now 7,000,000 cattle, 700,000 horses, and 11,000,000 sheep in Uruguay, valued at $86,000,000. This valuation is very small when considered by the side of the estimate placed upon such stock in the United States, being less than five dollars per head for sheep, horses, and cattle, all taken together. The horses alone, if estimated at the average value of $100, would be worth $70,000,000, and if the cattle were valued at only twelve dollars each, which is a low estimate in the United States, the 7,000,000 head owned in Uruguay would be worth alone the amount at which the whole livestock interest of the country is valued.
A large proportion of the wealth of Uruguay is in the hands of foreigners. The aborigines are totally exterminated. It is the only country in South America where “civilization” has been thorough and complete in this respect, and it might be searched from end to end without discovering a single representative of the Indian race which originally occupied the land. The descendants of the Spanish Conquistadors are called natives, or Orientals, while foreigners are those who were not born in the country. Of the 500,000 population, 166,000 are said to be of foreign nativity, and most of them have come in within the last ten years. This class holds about $237,000,000 of property, or $1440 per capita.
The interior of Uruguay is being rapidly developed by the construction of railways under the control of the Government, and representing an investment of about $12,000,000. Besides the lines already in operation, extensions are in progress which, when completed, will give the country a system of about 1500 miles of road, at a cost of something like $50,000,000! Railroad building is cheap in Uruguay, as grades are light and easy, and ties are plenty and accessible. The commerce of the country now amounts to $58,000,000 annually, with $29,500,000 of imports and $28,500,000 of exports. The imports are unusually large of late years, because of the vast amount of railway supplies and other merchandise used by the Government. The bulk of the trade is with England and France, the United States having but a very small share, which consists chiefly of lumber, kerosene-oil, and agricultural implements. Uruguay ships to Europe annually about $4,300,000 worth of hides, $7,000,000 in wool, and $6,000,000 in beef. There are twenty-one lines of steamers connecting Uruguay with Europe, and sending from forty to sixty vessels each way every month, while there is no direct communication with the United States except by occasional sailing-vessels.
The foreign commerce of the country is increasing with great rapidity. In 1875 it was $25,000,000; in 1878, $33,000,000; in 1880, $39,000,000; in 1881, $38,000,000; in 1882, $40,000,000; in 1883, $45,000,000; in 1884, $51,000,000; in 1885, $52,000,000; in 1886, $55,000,000; and in 1887, $58,000,000, having increased $33,000,000 in thirteen years, during which time the exports have run up from $12,000,000 to $28,500,000, and the imports from $12,000,000 to 29,500,000.
The great wealth of Uruguay is at present in cattle and sheep, and its chief exports are wool and beef, but the agricultural resources of the country will be the basis of its future greatness, and it will enter into competition with the United States in supplying the world with breadstuffs and provisions. When a total population of only five hundred thousand, including men, women, and children, carries on a foreign commerce of nearly sixty million dollars annually, it can be inferred that there is energy and industry at work, and a productive field for it to engage in. It is claimed that Uruguay has greater natural resources than any other South American country, and it is probably true. It is also claimed that the profits on labor and capital are greater there than elsewhere on the continent, which the statistics demonstrate.
The largest export of Uruguay is wool, 20,000,000 sheep making a clip worth over $10,000,000 for exportation. The increase in sheep has been 310 per cent. in ten years. The next article of export is beef, valued at about $6,000,000, being the product of about 8,000,000 cattle, which are also rapidly increasing. The third export in value is hides, of which $5,000,000 worth are annually shipped. Then come about $4,500,000 worth of wheat, $1,000,000 worth of corn, and $2,500,000 worth of other agricultural products. All of these have more than doubled within the last ten years, and are now increasing like compound interest.
We are accustomed to regard Uruguay as an obscure and insignificant country, worth not even a thought, but the commercial strides she is making show that she means competition with the United States in the near future. Chili has taken the flour market of the west coast of South America away from California, and Uruguay and the Argentine Republic are soon to meet our Dakota, Illinois, and Kansas wheat in the markets of Europe, while they threaten an even greater danger to our cattle interests. With 100,000,000 sheep in the Argentine Republic, and 20,000,000 sheep in Uruguay; with 30,000,000 cattle in one country and 8,000,000 in the other, and only about 4,000,000 people to furnish domestic consumers between them, it is easy to see what the supply of beef and wool and mutton will soon be for exportation. There is more cause for alarm in the ranches of Uruguay and the Argentine Republic than in the manufactures of England and Germany. We can compete with foreign industries in the quality and price of mechanical products, but we cannot compete with ranchmen who can put beef cattle into the market at ten and twelve dollars per head.
One of the greatest advantages the cattle producers of Uruguay and the Argentine Republic will always have over those of the United States is the nearness of their ranges to the sea. The present supply of beef in both these countries for the export market comes from within a radius of one hundred miles from an ocean harbor in which can be found the steamers of every maritime nation on earth except our own. Ocean vessels can go two thousand miles up the River Plate and five hundred miles up the Uruguay River into the heart of the cattle country, and almost tie up to the trees on the ranches, while our cattle have to be carried fifteen hundred to four thousand miles on the cars. The geographical and navigable conditions of these countries are such that ours would only equal them if ocean steamers could visit Denver and Fort Dodge. Any man of business can calculate the difference in the value of the product and the difference in profits. It is claimed that the cattle companies of the countries of which I have been speaking can sell marketable steers at ten and twelve dollars a head, and declare thirty per cent. dividends. We will not have the native Spanish population to compete with, but Englishmen, Irishmen, and Scotchmen, who are going in large numbers and with an immense amount of capital into the River Plate countries to establish ranches and raise beef for the European market.
Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay, lies upon a tongue of land which stretches out into the River Plate, nearly the shape of Manhattan Island, on which New York City stands, except that it has the Atlantic Ocean on one side and a river sixty-five miles wide on the other. This strip is of limestone formation, with very little soil on the surface, and rises in the centre to an apex like a whale’s back or the roof of a house, so that the streets running northward and southward are like a series of terraces rising one above the other, not only affording perfect natural drainage, but giving almost every house in town a vista of the river or the sea from the upper windows. As you approach Montevideo the city seems much larger than it really is, and Yankee Doodle could not complain of it as he did of Boston when he said he could not see the town because there were so many houses.
MONTEVIDEO—THE OCEAN SIDE.
There is no city more delightfully situated than the capital of Uruguay, and viewed from any direction the prospect of Montevideo is a lovely one. Were it not for those dreadful pamperos, which during the winter season sweep the whole southern half of the continent from the Andes to the sea, searching every nook and crevice for dust to cast into the faces of the people, and parching the skin, this place might be made an earthly type of Paradise. But nothing can afford shelter from these searching winds, and even strawberries the year round are no compensation.
The old Spaniards had a queer way of naming places. When the catalogue of saints was exhausted and duplicated and triplicated, and all the holy fasts and feasts had served to christen colonies and towns, they “dropped into poetry,” as it were, and gave their imaginations a chance at nomenclature. For example, the Rio de la Plata means the “silver river,” so called, I suppose, because its waters have not the slightest resemblance to silver, but are of the color of weak chocolate, like our own Missouri. Then, again, the Argentine Republic means the “land of silver,” and was so called, not because mines were found there, but to attract colonists in the expectation of finding wealth.
The real name of Montevideo is San Felipe de Montevideo, which does not sound quite so poetical when translated into English, for it means “I see the hill of St. Philip.” The name of the saint has been dropped, and now the place is known as “I see the Hill.” The hill which the discoverer saw used to be called after the Apostle, but now is called the “Cerro.” It has a picturesque old fortress on its crest, which is innocently supposed to afford protection to the capital and the harbor. If the place were ever attacked, the guns of the fort would furnish no more protection than so many pop-guns, as it stands back so far behind the city that half of the balls would fall on the roofs of the houses, and an assaulting force be landed under the shelter they would give. As the location of a light-house the Cerro does very well, and the fortress is useful now only as an arsenal and prison. The old city formerly surrounded the fortress, and it was closely besieged for nine years, from 1842 to 1851. In those hard years a new city sprung up around the besieging encampments, with shops and stores and churches and factories. After the coming of peace the intermediate space was laid out by French engineers, and the two cities rapidly grew into one, on the best ground and after the most approved models of modern times. This space is now the most beautiful and desirable part of the consolidated city.
It is claimed that Montevideo is the most healthy city in the world, and there is no reason why it should not be, as the natural drainage is perfect, and the climate is about like that of Tennessee, the cold weather of winter being moderated by the Gulf Stream from the ocean, and the heat of summer by the sea-breeze that seldom fails to perform its grateful service. When it is not June in Uruguay, it is October—never too hot and never too cold. There is not such a thing as a stove in the whole country, but some of the foreigners have fireplaces in their houses, to temper the winds for the tender feet. What Montevideo most needs, like Buenos Ayres, is a harbor, for during a pampero the ships at anchor in the river are without protection, and at all times the landing and the shipping of merchandise are conducted with great difficulty in lighters, as at the latter place. A contract has been made with a French company to construct two breakwaters or piers in triangular form, and the work, already commenced, is expected to be completed in 1890.
Around the curve of the bay, fronting the water, are a series of beautiful villas, or “quintas,” as they are called (pronounced kintas), the suburban residences of wealthy men, built in the ancient Italian style, with all the luxury and lavish display of modern extravagance, and reminding one of the Pompeian palaces, or the Roman villas in the golden age which Horace pictured in his Odes. These residences are of the most picturesque architecture, and would be attractive anywhere, but here they are surrounded by a perpetual garden, and by thousands of flowers which preserve their color and their fragrance winter and summer, and give the place an appearance of everlasting spring.
One of these beautiful retreats belongs to a Philadelphian, Mr. W. D. Evans, who has a romantic history, and is the friend of every naval officer and every skipper that enters the port. Thirty years ago Mr. Evans shipped as mate on a sailing-vessel bound for Uruguay. She was wrecked off the coast by one of the ill winds which seamen meet, and he was cast ashore, penniless and friendless. All the property he had in the world were an ordinary ship’s boat, which he had saved from the wreck, and the clothing which he wore. But he had a strong reserve in the form of muscle, courage, and manliness, and with his boat he commenced life as a cargador—that is, a longshoreman—and offered his services to the public to convey passengers and baggage to and from the ships in the harbor. About a week after he had entered his new employment he was caught in a gale outside the harbor. His boat was capsized, and he floated around for four hours clinging to her keel, until rescued by the crew of a steamer which happened to be coming in. He thanked his saviors graciously, but declined their invitation to go on board the steamer, only asking assistance to right his boat, in order that he might sail back to town. He was jeered at, and advised to let the old tub drift, as it was worthless; but he told the sailors that while it was not much of a boat, it was all the property he owned in the world, and he intended to make a fortune out of it yet. They liked the spirit of the man, and helped him put his boat in sailing trim, wishing him goodluck as he started back to Montevideo.
In the centre of the finest private park in the River Plate country is a handsome bronze fountain which must have cost several thousand dollars. In its basin, casting a shadow over myriads of gold-fish and speckled trout, floats Mr. Evans’s old boat, the most precious piece of property he owns, and he is said to be worth millions. He never allows a day to pass without visiting the fountain, and no guest ever comes to the Evans quinta who is not brought to bow to the idol. There is something pathetic in the affection and reverence which the millionaire shows for the rotten old tub. “She has saved my life twice,” says Mr. Evans to everybody, “and when I was flat broke she was my only friend. You gentlemen may not notice anything pretty about her, but she is the most beautiful thing I ever saw.”
There never comes to Montevideo a distressed seaman of any race, worthy or unworthy, who does not find a snug harbor through Mr. Evans’s bountiful generosity, and there is not a man in all the valley of the River Plate who does not feel a pleasure in grasping his hand.
There are many beautiful residences and fine stores in Montevideo, and everything that can be bought in Paris can be found there. There are three theatres and an Italian opera, a race-course and any number of clubs, a university, a public library, a museum, and all the etceteras of modern civilization. The ladies dress in the most stylish of Paris fashions, and among the aristocracy the social life is very gay. The people are highly educated, are making money quickly, and spend it like princes. The Hotel Oriental is the best in South America, being built of Italian marble, and luxuriously furnished. There are hospitals, asylums, and other benevolent institutions supported by public and private charity; two Protestant churches, Protestant schools, fifty-five miles of street railways, carrying nine million passengers a year—which is a remarkably high average for a city of one hundred and twenty thousand population—boulevards and parks, gas and electric lights, telephones without number, and only now and then does something occur to remind a tourist that he is not in one of the most modern cities of Europe.
The vestibules of the tenement-houses, and the patios, or courts, in the centre of each, which invariably furnish a cool loafing-place, are commonly paved with the knuckle-bones of sheep, arranged in fantastic designs like mosaic-work. They always attract the attention of strangers, and it is a standing joke to tell the gullible that they are the knuckle-bones of human beings who were killed during the many revolutions which occurred in that country.
The ladies of Uruguay are considered to rank next to their sisters of Peru in beauty, and there is something about the atmosphere which gives their complexion a purity and clearness that is not found among ladies of any other country. But, like all Spanish ladies, when they reach maturity they lose their grace and symmetry of form, and usually become very stout. This is undoubtedly owing in a great degree to their lack of exercise; for they never walk, but spend their entire lives in a carriage or a rocking-chair. Native ladies who have married foreigners, and gone abroad to France or England, and there adopted the custom of those countries, preserve their beauty much longer than their sisters who live indolent lives at home.
SCENE IN MONTEVIDEO.
The Government offices occupy a rather plain and insignificant structure, which does not compare in architectural beauty with the private residences and business blocks. Most of the merchants reside in the upper floors of their business houses, so that there are but few exclusively residence streets. The best houses are three and four stories high, and are quite ornamental in their exterior decorations, resembling those of Italy, and naturally, as most of the architects and builders are Italians.
In the centre of the city are two large public squares. One, the Plaza Constitution, is a military parade-ground, and upon it fronts the Government building and military barracks. The other is the Plaza Washington, named in honor of the Father of American Liberty. Crossing Calle de Washington, and going north a block, one comes to “Calle Veinte y Cinco de Mayo” (the Twenty-fifth of May Street). This seems odd at first, but it is sanctified in the minds of the Uruguayans by the story of their valor and patriotism. It commemorates the national independence. Turning west on this street towards the point of the promontory on which the city is built, the traveller stands before one of the best buildings in the city—the Hospital de Caridad (Charity Hospital). It is three stories high and three hundred feet long. It covers an acre of ground, and has accommodations, or beds, for three hundred patients. Of course the Sisters of Charity are supreme in these wards, and large numbers of patients are treated here every year.
The Hospital de Caridad has become popular by the manner in which the money is raised for its maintenance. It is supported by a public lottery. This finds favor everywhere. One meets many men, women, and boys on the streets of South American cities selling lottery tickets, as he would see newsboys selling papers in North American cities. Not far from Charity Hospital is the British Hospital. It is a fine, substantial building, and worthy of the people who built it. It cost nearly forty thousand dollars, and can accommodate sixty patients.
The cemetery is a long way off, around on the south side of the city, and is a place of beauty. The entrance is tasteful, and much more elaborate and expensive than any cemetery entrance in the United States. The chapel down the walk in front of the entrance, with its ornamental dome and marble floors and ornaments, is worth seeing. The ground is occupied with private or family vaults much more elaborate and expensive than those one sees in North America. There are individual tombs in North American cemeteries far more elegant than any in Uruguay; but, taken as a whole, this city of the dead is of a higher order. The streets are too narrow, and the surface is nearly all utilized. It is common to have glass doors back of the iron gates, so one can look into the little rooms above the vaults. The walls of these are covered with pictures and curious wire and bead work ornaments. There are crucifixes and candles everywhere. In one tomb is to be seen a picture of Mary seated on an island or floating raft, pulling souls out of the flames of purgatory. The poor things are stretching up their hands pleading for help, and Mary is watching the prayers on earth and choosing accordingly. Back of these tombs, and forming a high wall twenty or twenty-five feet high, is a long series of vaults one above another, each with an opening large enough to receive a casket shoved in endwise. These vaults are either owned, or rented for a term of years, or as long as the friends pay the rent. In case of default, the remains are taken out and dropped into deep pits, and the vaults rented to the next comer.
The standing army of Uruguay consists of five thousand men, mostly concentrated at the capital. Their uniform, with the exception of that of the President’s bodyguard—a battalion of three or four hundred men, dressed in a novel and striking costume of leopard-skins—is of the zouave pattern. There are connected with the army several fine bands, which on alternate evenings give concerts in the plazas. These concerts are attended by all classes of people, and furnish good opportunities for flirtation.
Everybody rides; no one thinks of walking. Each family has its carriage, saddle, and other horses, and even the beggars go about the streets on horseback. It is a common thing for a person to be stopped on the street by a horseman and asked for a centavo, which is worth two and a half cents of our money. These incidents are somewhat alarming at first, and suggest highway robbery; but the appeal is made in such a humble, pitiful tone that the feeling of alarm soon vanishes. “For the love of Jesus, señor, give a poor sick man a centavo. I’ve had no bread or coffee to-day;” and receiving the pittance, the beggar will gallop off like a cow-boy to the nearest drinking-place.
The national drink is called caña, and is made of the fermented juice of the sugar-cane. It contains about ninety per cent. of alcohol, and is sold at two cents a goblet; so that a spree in Uruguay is within the reach of the poorest man. But there is very little intemperance in comparison with that in our own country. On ordinary days drunken men are seldom seen on the streets, but on the evening of a religious feast-day the common people usually engage in a glorious carousal.
The policemen in Montevideo are detailed from the army, and carry sabres instead of clubs, which they use with telling effect upon offenders who resist arrest. A few years ago there was no safety for people who were out late at night either in the city or country; robberies and murders were of frequent occurrence, and yet the prisons were empty. But President Santos rules with an iron hand, and after a few highwaymen and murderers were hanged, there was a noticeable change in the condition of affairs, and now a woman or a child is as safe upon the streets or highways of the country as in their own homes.
One of the curious customs of Uruguay is the method of making butter. The dairy-man pours the milk, warm from the cow, into an inflated pig or goat skin, hitches it to his saddle by a long lasso, and gallops five or six miles into town with the milk-sack pounding along on the road behind him. When he reaches the city his churning is over, the butter is made, and he peddles it from door to door, dipping out with a long wooden spoon the quantity desired by each family. Though all sorts of modern agricultural machinery are used on the farms of Uruguay, the natives cannot be induced to adopt the wooden churn. Some of the foreigners use it, but the butter is said to be not so good as that made in the curious primitive fashion. Fresh milk is sold by driving cows from door to door along the principal streets, and milking them into the jars of the customers.
During the last year religious and political circles have been in a state of the greatest agitation, owing to the resistance of the priests to the arbitrary policy of the Government. For several years the Church has seen itself stripped of its ancient prerogatives, and its occupation and income gradually restricted by the enactment of laws conferring upon the civil magistrates duties which were formerly within the jurisdiction of the priests alone. Under the constitution, the established religion of the country is the Roman Catholic, and the archbishop was formerly a greater man than the President, being the final authority in matters political as well as spiritual.
The Romish Church, like the Spanish kings, ruled very unwisely in the South American dominions, and instead of keeping pace with the progress of the people, endeavored to enforce fifteenth century dogmas and practices in the nineteenth. The result is the same everywhere. The Liberal element, representing the progressive and educated, have denied the authority of the Church, and defied its mandates. The Liberals have been growing stronger and the Church growing weaker each year, until the former are in power everywhere except in Ecuador, and have given the priests repeated and bitter doses of their own medicine. Santos, the President of Uruguay, cares no more for the curse of Rome than for the bleating of the sheep upon his estancia, and has been arbitrary and merciless, carrying on a war in which the Clerical party has been driven to the wall, the parish schools closed, the monks and nuns expelled, and the pulpits silenced. The first step was to take the education of the children out of the hands of the Church by establishing free schools and a compulsory education law, under which the parish schools were not recognized in the national system of education. The money which formerly had been given to the Church is devoted to the school fund. Then the registration of births and deaths was taken from the parish clergy and placed in the hands of the civil officials. Formerly the legitimacy of a child could not be established without a certificate from the priest in whose parish it was born; and the cemeteries were closed to heretics. The next thing was the passage of the civil marriage law, similar to that of France, which required every couple to be married by a magistrate, in order that the legitimacy of their offspring might be established. This was a serious blow at the revenues of the Church, as its income from marriage fees was very large. It formerly cost twenty-five dollars to get married, and very few of the peons, or laboring classes, could afford the luxury. Now it costs but one dollar. The Church submitted to all assaults upon it until the marriage law was passed, and then it openly defied the civil authorities, and threatened to excommunicate all members who obeyed the statute.
President Santos is not a man to quietly endure defiance of his authority. He ordered the police to arrest and imprison every priest who preached such doctrine. Three or four arrests were made, when the archbishop addressed a letter to the President declaring that the Church could not and would not recognize marriages formed without its benediction, and that the police authorities had no right to determine what subjects should be discussed in the pulpit. The President took no notice of the protest, further than to direct the police to carry out their previous orders. The Papal Nuncio, legate from the Holy See, interfered and entered his remonstrance, whereupon he was given forty-eight hours to leave the country. The archbishop then instructed the priests not to preach any sermons whatever, but to confine their spiritual offices to the celebration of the mass. Then a law was passed abolishing all houses of religious seclusion, and forbidding secret religious orders within the territory of Uruguay. The excuse for this was that the monasteries were the hot-beds of political conspiracy, which was probably true. An edict was issued expelling all monks and nuns from Uruguay, and many of them at once left the monasteries, some taking refuge in private families, others going into hospitals and almshouses, but more left the country.
On the first of August, 1885, all the convents, except one, were closed. This one had for its Mother Superior a sister of President Santa Maria, of Chili. She was a woman of pluck, and determined to defy the law. When the first of August arrived, the inspectors of police went to her place, called “The House of the Good Shepherd,” and being denied admittance, burst in the doors. The Mother Superior was found alone, and when asked what had become of the Sisters, refused to answer the question. A search was made, and forty-five terror-stricken women were discovered concealed in the loft of the chapel and under the altar. They cried pitifully, and falling before the cross of Christ, begged for His protection; but the police dragged them out and gave them orders to leave the country at once. Some of them took refuge in private houses, and the Mother Superior, who, it was supposed, would be imprisoned, found an asylum in the house of an Irish Roman Catholic named Jackson, who raised the English flag over his roof. They soon after disappeared, however, and quietly left the country.
This ended the supremacy of the Roman Catholic Church in Uruguay. The next movement of Santos towards its extermination will undoubtedly be the confiscation of its property; but as yet no steps have been taken in that direction. Except among the women, there is very little sympathy for the priests. Men are seldom seen in a church except on notable feast-days, but the women go to mass every morning, and perform the duties of their religion with ardent devotion. Protestantism is making considerable progress in Uruguay under the direction of the Rev. Thomas Wood, formerly of Indiana, who has been superintendent of Methodist missions in the River Plate valley for many years. There are in Montevideo two Protestant churches, and several schools for ordinary as well as religious instruction. One of the churches is under the care of the Established Church of England, and is the fashionable place of worship for foreigners. No mission work is done by it, but it has a Sabbath-school, and there is regular preaching on Sundays. The success of Mr. Wood’s labors is very marked, particularly among the natives. He receives encouragement, but no financial aid, from the Government. His work is supported by the Missionary Board of the Methodist Church of New York, and all he asks of the Government is its non-interference. This it agrees to, and gives him full protection besides. Mr. Wood is an active, energetic, and enthusiastic man, and the Methodists could not have placed their work under a better superintendent.
Standing on the Plaza Constitution, one sees towering up, one hundred and thirty-three feet above, the great cathedral, a large, plain, and somewhat imposing structure. It was dedicated eighty-two years ago, but time and the fortunes of war have dealt kindly with it. On entering this building, at first the visitor wonders at its tawdriness; next he feels its coldness, and then he is impressed by the dominating importance given to the Virgin Mother, and the inferior position assigned to the Son. This is so in all the Catholic churches of South America. Over the great altars always may be seen some huge and coarse representation of Mary. She is dressed after the modern style, in some rich material and an abundance of lace. The stiff wax form and awkward wax hands would make a sad appearance in a collection of wax-figures like the moral show of Artemus Ward. The form of the Saviour is pushed away off to one side in some obscure alcove. The supremacy of Mary in these papal lands is wrought into all the life of the people. She has every sort of name. Every conceivable relation in the Virgin’s life is named, and that name bestowed upon men and women alike. There is “Maria Remedia”—that is, Mary of Remedies; “Maria Dolores,” Mary of Griefs; “Maria Angustos,” Mary of Anguish; “Maria Concepcion,” Mary of the Conception; “Maria Mercedes,” Mary of Mercy; “Maria Anunciacion,” Mary of Annunciation; “Maria Presentacion,” Mary of the Presentation; “Maria Carmen,” Mary of Blood; “Maria Purificacion,” Mary of Purification; “Maria Trinidad,” Mary of the Trinity; “Maria Asuncion,” Mary taken from earth; “Maria Transitu,” Mary going into heaven—and so on indefinitely. In the Montevideo cathedral, and in many others, stands a statue of a black saint—St. Baltazar—among many classes of people, one of the important saints of the catalogue.
Montevideo, with a population of one hundred and twenty-five thousand, has twenty-three daily papers—more, in proportion to its population, than any other city in the world; three times as many as London, and nearly twice as many as New York. Buenos Ayres has twenty-one daily papers for a population of four hundred thousand. Other cities in South America are equally blessed; but in those of the republics of Ecuador, Bolivia, and Paraguay no daily papers are issued. The South American papers are not published so much for the dissemination of news as for the propagation of ideas. They give about six columns of editorial to one of intelligence, and publish all sorts of communications on political subjects, furnish a story in each issue, and often run histories and biographies as serials. One frequently takes up a daily paper and finds in it everything but the news, so that last week’s issue is just as good reading as yesterday’s.
The principal reason and necessity for having so many newspapers is that every public man requires an organ in order to get his views before the people. The editors are ordinarily politicians or publicists, who devote their entire time to the discussion of political questions, and expect the party or faction to which they belong to furnish them with the means of living while they are so employed. Each of the papers has a director, who holds the relation of editor-in-chief, and a sub-editor, who is a man-of-all-work, edits copy, looks after the news, reads proof, and stays around the place to see that the printers are kept busy. There is never a staff of editors or reporters as in the United States, and seldom more than two men in an office. The director usually has some other occupation. He may be a lawyer, or a judge, or a member of Congress, and he expects his political sympathizers to assist him in furnishing editorials.
At the capital of each of the republics in Central and South America there are usually one or more publications supported by the Government for the promulgation of decrees, decisions of the courts, laws of Congress, and official reports; and usually the paper which sustains the Administration that happens to be in power expects and receives financial assistance, or a “subvention,” as it is called, from the Government. This comes in the form of sinecures to the editors, who receive generous salaries from the public treasury for their political and professional services. Every president or cabinet minister, every political leader, every governor of a province, every jefe politico (mayor of a city), and often a collector of customs, has his organ, and, if he is not the editor himself, sees that whoever acts in that capacity is paid by the tax-payers.
Except in Montevideo, Buenos Ayres, Santiago, Valparaiso, Rio de Janeiro, and other of the larger and more enterprising cities, there are no regular hours of publication; but papers are issued at any time, from eight o’clock in the morning until ten at night, whenever they happen to be ready to go to press. It seems odd to have yesterday’s paper delivered to you in the afternoon of to-day, but it often occurs. As soon as enough matter to fill the forms is in type, the edition goes to press. In the cities mentioned and some others there is a good deal of journalistic enterprise and ability; news is gathered by the editors—there is no reporter in all Spanish America. Telegraphic despatches are received and published, including cablegrams from Europe furnished by the Havas News Agency; news correspondence regarding current events comes from the interior towns and cities; meetings are reported, fights and frolics are written up in graphic style, and even interviews have been introduced to a limited extent. The newspapers of Valparaiso and Buenos Ayres are the most enterprising and ably conducted, El Comercio, of the former city, and La Nacion, of the latter, ranking well beside the provincial papers of Europe.
The editors of papers in the tropics are seldom called upon to report fires, as they are of rare occurrence. The houses are practically fire-proof, being built of adobe, and roofed with tiles. No stoves are used, and as there are no chimneys such a thing as a defective flue is unknown. All the cooking is done upon an arrangement like a blacksmith’s forge, and charcoal is the only fuel used. The delight of the South American editor is a street fight, and although an account of it may not appear for several days after the occurrence, the writer gives his whole soul to its description. It is always recorded in the most elaborate and flamboyant manner. The following is a literal translation of the opening of one of these articles:
“A personal encounter of the most transcendent and painful interest occurred day before yesterday in the street of the Twenty-fifth of May, near the palatial residence of the most excellent and illustrious Señor Don Comana, member of the Chamber of Deputies, and was witnessed by a grand concourse of people, whose excitement and demonstrations it is impossible to adequately describe.”
A dog-fight or any other event of interest would be treated in the same manner. Everything is “transcendent,” everything is “surpassing.” The grandiloquent style of writing, which appears everywhere, is not confined to newspapers, nor to orations, but you find it in the most unsuspected places. For example, in a bath-room at a hotel I once found an aviso which, literally translated, read as follows:
“In consequence of the grand concourse of distinguished guests who entreat a bath in the morning, and with the profound consideration for the convenience of all, it is humbly and respectfully requested by the management that the gentlemen will be so courteous and urbane as to occupy the shortest possible time for their ablutions, and that they will be so condescending as to pull out the plug while they are resuming their garments.”
Papers often quote from one another. They select their news as ship-builders select their timber—when it is old and tough. Compositors are not paid by the thousand ems, as in the United States, but receive weekly wages, which are seldom more than eight or ten dollars. Six or seven compositors are a sufficient force for the largest office, as the type used is seldom smaller than brevier, and more often long primer. The printers are mostly natives, although a few Germans are to be found. There are no typographical unions or trade organizations in South America. The laborers and mechanics are called peons, and are in a state of bondage, although not so recognized by law. In the larger cities the papers are delivered by carriers, and sold by newsboys on the streets; but in the smaller towns they are sent to the correo, or post-office, to be called for, like other mail, by the subscribers. The price of subscription is inordinately large, being seldom less than twelve dollars per year, and often double that amount; and single copies cost ten cents in native money, which will average about seven and a half cents in American gold. The paper which has the largest circulation in South America is La Nacion, of Buenos Ayres, which is said to circulate thirty thousand copies; but twelve or fifteen hundred copies is considered a fair circulation for the ordinary daily.
Most of the offices are very cheaply fitted up. A dress of type lasts many years, and stereotyping is almost unknown. The presses used are the old-fashioned elbow-joint kind, such as were in vogue in the United States forty years ago. In Chili and the Argentine Republic there are some cylinder presses run by steam; but the people generally through the continent are very far behind the times in the typographic art. Modern equipments might be introduced very easily, but the printers down there know nothing about them, and when a perfecting press that cuts and folds is described to them, they are apt to accept the story as a North American exaggeration.
The advertising patronage is very good nearly everywhere, particularly that of the Government organs; but small rates are paid, and the rural system of “trading out” is practised to a considerable extent. The same patent medicine “ads.” that are familiar to the readers of the newspapers in the United States appear in the South American journals, and are eagerly scanned by homesick travellers, although they look very odd in Spanish, and usually can only be recognized by trademarks and other well-known signs. Most of the advertising in South America is done through the newspapers. Very few posters or dodgers or almanacs are used, and the patent medicine fiend has not used his brush so extensively upon the fences and dead walls as in the United States. Not long ago the manufacturers of a popular specific sent their agent in Peru a box of handsomely illuminated advertising cards. The custom officers seized them, and the druggist to whom they were consigned was obliged to pay a heavy penalty for trying to smuggle in works of art.
The South American editor is not allowed the same liberty to criticise public men that is enjoyed by his contemporary in the United States. He speaks with moderation during political excitement, and uses great precaution in his comments upon public affairs. Last winter the Secretary of the Treasury of one of the Spanish-American republics absconded with every dollar in the vaults at the expiration of his term of office. The Administration organs contained no allusion to the event, while the Opposition paper announced it in this innocent language: “The Treasury on Saturday last was the scene of a violent raid on the part of Minister Pena, of the Treasury Department. He entered the cashier’s office late in the afternoon, and demanded all the money that was in the vaults. In spite of the protest of the cashier, he carried away what is said to have amounted to nine thousand dollars. It was the last act of the retiring Minister of Finance. The motives that prompted the procedure are unknown, and the disposition of the money has not been explained.”
In some of the republics there is a censor of the press, to whom a copy of each edition is submitted before it is published. This causes some inconvenience and delay at times, for if the censor happens to be out of town, or at a dinner-party, or otherwise engaged, the issue is withheld until his august signature and rubric are placed upon each page of the copy submitted to him. This copy is filed away for the protection of the editor, in case any article creates trouble. In 1885 the editor of El Campeon, of Lima, Peru, published an attack upon the Congress of that republic, which was very mild compared with articles that are frequently directed at our law-makers; but it was considered a sufficient reason for his imprisonment for six months, and the confiscation of his machinery, type, etc., which were sold for the benefit of the Government.
The most popular names for the newspapers in South America are La Revista (The Review), La Nacion (The Nation), La Republica (The Republic), La Tribuna (The Tribune), La Libertad (The Liberty), La Voce (The Voice), La Union (The Union), El Tempo (The Times), El Diario (The Diary), El Eco (The Echo), El Correo (The Post), El Puebla (The People), La Verdad (The Truth). There is a habit of naming streets and parks and towns in honor of great events, and this sometimes includes newspapers. For example, there is a daily in Montevideo called The Twenty-fifth of May, which corresponds to our Fourth of July—the Independence-day of that republic. There are only three dailies printed in the English language in all Central and South America. Two of them are published in Buenos Ayres—The Herald and The Standard—the other at Panama—The Star and Herald. There is a weekly printed in English at Valparaiso, and there was formerly one at Callao, Peru, but it was suspended during the war and its publication has not been resumed.
It is not generally known that “Liebig’s Extract of Beef,” which, like quinine, is a standard tonic throughout the world, and is used by every physician, in every hospital, on every ship, and in every army, is a product of Uruguay. The cans in which it comes are labelled as if their contents were manufactured at Antwerp, where the original extract was invented by Professor Liebig, the famous German chemist, and the preparation was formerly made there; but in 1866, the patent having passed into the control of an English company, the works were removed to Uruguay, where cattle are cheaper than elsewhere, and the entire supply is now produced at a place called Fray Bentos, about one hundred and seventy miles above Montevideo, on the Uruguay River, whence it is shipped in bulk to London and Antwerp, where it is packed in small tins for the market. An attempt was made to do the packing in Uruguay, but the Government of that republic imposed so high a tariff upon the tins that the scheme was abandoned. The chemical process by which the juice of the beef is extracted and mixed with the blood of the animal is supposed to be a secret, but as the patent has long since expired, it could be easily discovered, and thus the manufacture of an almost necessary article would become general.
