CHAPTER VII.

A RIDE ACROSS THE PAMPAS.

OUR first station was Al Puente de Marquez, a high-sounding name, appropriated by a miserable hut, at which we changed horses, and took some dinner-a dish of meat and another of pumpkin, maté being of course the vanguard of the whole. I knew immediately that my blistered lips would not be healed till I reached Mendoza.

This was the first guacho hut I had entered, and though I thought at the time that it was a wretched hovel, the walls being of mud, and covered with reeds, I found afterwards that it deserved to be considered a palace, furnished even with taste and luxury. In fact, it contained a table, and several chairs, with seats made of stretched hide, and we were even supplied with a table-cloth, though it was rather the worse for several weeks' use, and forks—every one of course is expected to carry his own knife. These were articles I then

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thought by no means superfluous. At dinner we all ate the meat out of one large dish, standing in the middle of the table. Several children dined with us, and one who sat next me, a rosy-faced, dark-eyed friendly little fellow-with long silken fringes to his eyes, and beautiful curly brown hair, would really have interested me, if he had not kept his long spoon so active, and so very close under his nose.

Dinner did not last long. Fresh horses were brought, and in an incredibly short time, packed and saddled, and away we went towards the next station, where we intended to stop all night.

The correo is the regular and only post that goes from Buenos Ayres to the interior, and keeps up tolerably regular communication with Chili, San Jago, and Valparaiso. The correo from San Jago brings the mail across the Cordilleras, in summer at stated times, and in winter whenever the snow permits; and at Mendoza he meets the correo from Buenos Ayres, with whom he exchanges mails. The post starts every month from Buenos Ayres, and two correos proceed with it alternately.

The house at which we were to pass the night, was six leagues farther on, and was called the Cañada de Escobar. It was as dirty as the previous one, the denizens were as squalid, and the maté-tubes as hot. At the same time the hut lay dull and lonesome in the wide and open plain, no field, no

garden at hand, not even an enclosure for horses or cattle, only a few posts, the rough trunks of some willow-trees, were driven into the ground round the hovel, and encircled a space of about twenty paces in diameter.

I can stand a great deal of discomfort, and never complain of a hard bed or a frugal meal, but the abominable filth which I met everywhere here, the dirty spoons, and forks and dishes, and, above all, the slatternly habits and squalor of the women, spoiled my appetite at the outset of my journey. I had not yet got used to it-and I hoped that I never should-but I did not then know the worst.

The next morning I was, however, compensated for all my sufferings, real and imaginary. The air was fresh and bracing; the clear blue sky stretched pleasantly over the verdant plain, and the sight of peaceful herds, grazing everywhere on the soft and luxuriant turf, made me forget all the miseries of the hut-fleas included. Our horses were soon ready, and away we went, scampering over the plain, while on every side we beheld troops of wild horses, playing and chasing each other in the sunny light, and continually came on solitary little ponds, teeming with wild ducks and surrounded by plovers, storks and cranes.

High overhead flew long chains of wild geese and swans, and on the ground large and comfort

able-looking water-turkeys strutted about, or broke through the low reeds on the margin of the ponds, and cackled to each other incessantly. Little screech-owls sat before their holes, easily distinguished by the heap of yellow earth thrown up around. On the rich clover and grass reposed herds of wellfed cattle, or young lambs frisked round their bleating mothers; and wild steeds neighing aloud, were answered by our panting horses, as they threw back their manes, and snuffed the pure and balmy air.

That night I was as hungry as a wolf, having had nothing to eat for four-and-twenty hours, but my landlady did not seem any advance on her precursors. The meat was served up in an old wooden bowl, which had not seen warm water or a dish-cloth for at least a fortnight. I thought to have an alleviation of the fare in one thing, and was resolved to make some honest green tea, instead of the stuff they call maté. Boiling water being procured, tea was soon made, and I was just preparing to enjoy it in the usual and natural way, when, bless me! such an uproar arose in the hut : "He's going to drink it," cried the hostess, slapping her hands together in astonishment. Of course I was, but up started the old man-and how the knave grinned as he did so!-and presented me with a bombilla-the same that the old hag had used five minutes before for sucking her maté and I actually had to take my tea through this

horrible blow-pipe, for every time I tried to get rid of it, and to drink my tea in a Christian-like manner, I raised such a storm of derision, that at last I gave up the point in despair.

At this place I first saw an Argentine corn-crib, or barn, and a most singular concern it was. Their barns, like everything else, are made of raw hide. An ox is stripped of its hide in such a way as to split only the back, leaving every other part of the hide entire; the feet are then sown up, and after the natural apertures have all been closed, the whole is swung on four posts, about seven feet high, when it is filled with wheat, and the slit above covered by another piece of raw hide, completing the crib.

The third day we reached the small town or village of Arrecifes, on a creek of the same name. Here I found an American, in the service of the republic, who had married a young native lady and lived very comfortable, as he said, in the midst of a population entirely Spanish. We made but a short halt at Arrecifes-just long enough to change horses, and give the correo a chance of getting a supply of aqua-ardiente for his drinking horns, of which he had a couple swinging across his saddle; but I passed a very pleasant half-hour at the house of the American, and felt very sorry to leave him so soon.

In our way onward I saw how cruelly the