PART II. (continued 2)

My arm by this time had become less inflamed, and much less painful, so I thought it better to go on with the treatment for a few days longer than the "curandera" had suggested. When I saw the negro again next morning he told me he had slept well, and felt all the better for it. He told me he had passed through a rough time with General Lopez Jordan up in Paraguay during the war between that country and Brazil. Having drifted down into Uruguay, he found himself with hardly any money, and no friends. Had it not been time of revolution, he did not doubt but that he could easily have got work. He said his nerves had been completely shattered, and what he wanted was a feeling of security and a little rest. He asked me if I would allow him to stay on a bit at the Cerro, as he liked the look of the place, for you had a good view all round, and could see anyone who might be coming. He said if I would permit him to stay he would be glad to do anything he could to make himself useful. I thereupon asked him if he would act as cook. "Pero con mucho gusto," "But with great pleasure," he replied. When I next saw Don Frederico he said I had better arrange with the negro, whose name was Correo, to do the cooking, and such housework as had to be done. Vicente could then come back to him, as he needed him rather badly. He also told me I had better take a little boy about twelve years old, a grandson of the old Indian, Feliciano, to help to look after the southdowns, and to look up horses, as otherwise I should find myself short-handed. He was a funny little person, with a pair of sharp-looking black eyes. His father was said to have been killed in a quarrel during the war, and although, of course, a relative of Justiniano, he had every appearance of mixed blood. Correo seemed very pleased at the prospect of staying on at the Cerro, and settled down quite comfortably. He kept the rooms clean and tidy, and could cook anything that was required. For the next ten days or so we had sheep-working on hand, and I was kept pretty busy; and we had the regular para rodeo of the cattle on Saturday as usual, which was now quite easy to manage.

A few days later, I started to ride over to an estancia belonging to a Mr. Trafford, which lay beyond the town of Colla, well on towards Colonia. My object was to see some rams we needed for the Fine Flock, and which Don Frederico had heard were for sale there. I rode a dark chestnut horse, which had been left tired and almost done up by soldiers, but had now recovered. I preferred taking him to a horse of our own mark, as I thought it quite possible I might have to pass through the Blanco lines. Should this be so and they took the chestnut they would probably give me another in exchange which would do to bring me home. I was up early and in the saddle just after sunrise. It was a nice morning, and the chestnut was in good spirits, and went along smoothly and easily. When I reached Colla I found the place full of troops, so did not delay, but rode straight on and beyond, being asked as I passed the Police Station who I was, and where I was going. No one interfered with me. I stayed that night and over the next day with Mr. Trafford, who was very kind and hospitable. He had no one with him when I arrived, for his daughter, not yet grown up, was away at school in Buenos Aires. His house was comfortable, well-built, and well-arranged, with a very wide verandah on one side of it. He saw me ride up, and came forward to welcome me, a thin, tall man, with a somewhat serious expression, which made him look older than he really was. He kept up the English custom of having tea in the afternoon about four o'clock, with bread and butter, cakes, jam, etc., which to me were quite a luxury. After partaking of this, I had a look over the rams, which were then in a large paddock not far from the house. They were a nice lot, well cared for, and in good condition, and on hearing the price I came to the conclusion they would be just about what Don Frederico required. So I arranged provisionally to buy twenty of them, and to pick out the ones we would have in the morning; this arrangement being subject to Don Frederico's approval. I further proposed he should write to Mr. Trafford immediately after my return, and so complete the purchase, and then we could send over to fetch them, as might seem convenient. The following day I much enjoyed as we rode over the estancia, and inspected both the sheep and cattle, for, as a matter of fact, Mr. Trafford had, for that time, some exceptionally good stock. He took great interest in his garden, which appeared well-stocked with both flowers and vegetables, and his numerous fruit trees were evidently a source of great pleasure to him. Next morning, after coffee, I saddled up the chestnut and started for home. On my way back I passed close to a place where a Spaniard, who was really a "basco," was driving a good sized flock of sheep up towards his house. A nice-looking sheep-dog, which looked well bred, was helping him very efficiently. I pulled up for a while to give my horse a rest, and I took a great fancy to the dog, for I liked the way he went about his work. We were getting a bit short-handed, and I thought a dog like this one would be useful, so I made his owner a bid for him, just in case he might care to part with him. Rather to my surprise, the man said he would not mind selling him, but only because he contemplated leaving where he was to go and live in a town, where the dog would be no use to him. The only condition he made was that I would be kind to him and treat him well. He was black and light tan in colour, and the true sheep-dog breed, with a nice head and intelligent eyes. The only fault I could see in him was he had rather too heavy a coat for work in hot weather. His name was Ramonou. He did not at all like being taken away from his home by a stranger, and I was obliged to lead him with a thin thong of hide, fastened to his collar, which I held in my hand. Fortunately the chestnut was very quiet and tractable, but having the dog with me naturally delayed my progress, so that it was late when I reached home. However, there was a moon which shone brightly, so it did not much matter. "Napoleon," as usual, was glad to see me back. Nothing had happened during my absence, and Correo soon got me some supper, and seemed quite contented and happy. Next morning "Ramonou" seemed none the worse for his journey. I had tied him up for the night and given him some food, and I now let him loose in the courtyard, just to stretch his legs. "Napoleon" was not at all quarrelsome, and the two dogs happily took to each other, and soon became great friends. I had the bay horse caught up, and started down to La Concordia, as I wished to lose no time in letting Don Frederico know what I had arranged about the rams. He was perfectly satisfied, and said he would at once write to Mr. Trafford. He told me he had heard that old Robinson was lying very ill over at the stonemason's, from the effect of too much Caña, and he went so far as to say he was doubtful if he would recover. "You know we should not like him to die over there," he said; "after being so many years at the Cerro, we had come to look upon him as almost part of the place!" "Supposing I send Steff, the Swiss peon, with a light cart to be at Anjel's puesto, say at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. You might then send Juan and Justiniano to meet him there at that time, and they could all three go on together to the other side of the Pichinango. If there is plenty of 'paja' in the cart and he is well wrapped up, I do not see why he should not travel all right." So it was arranged; and I promised to see that the Indians were at the place appointed at the hour named. As a matter of fact, they both rather liked old Robinson, and would be sorry for him being so ill, and I felt sure they would do their best to bring him back with as little suffering as possible. I then rode back to the Cerro, round by Anjel's puesto.

When the cart arrived at the Cerro with the poor old man lying full length in it, I saw at once that he was very ill. We got him out of the cart and into the kitchen, where we laid him down in front of the fire and started rubbing his hands and feet, for he really seemed in all but a comatose condition. After a while he somewhat recovered, and I got him to swallow two or three spoonfuls of mutton broth made strong and quite plain. Towards evening he seemed better, and said he wished us to get him up into his bedroom above the kitchen. He could not speak above a whisper, but I understood him to say he felt cold, and would rather be in his own room above the kitchen stove than in one of the larger rooms on the ground floor. For two or three days he seemed to mend, and then one afternoon he sank into an unconscious state, and I knew it would not be long before all was over. He could take nothing whatever, but he lasted through the night, and passed peacefully away about eleven o'clock next morning. I sent down at once to tell Don Frederico, and he sent me word he would have a shell coffin sent up as soon as possible. During the afternoon we got the remains down from the bedroom and laid them on a "quatre," or wooden camp bedstead, in the last room but one at the far end of the house, which had a door in it, opening into the courtyard, covering the body over with a white sheet. Late in the evening the wooden shell arrived, and we reverently laid him in it. I put a couple of screws in half way down, just to hold on the lid for the time being. The Indians said they would light a candle and watch by the coffin, and Correo said he would like to take a turn also. It was a fine clear night, calm and still, with the moon now in its second quarter, and about nine o'clock I went to bed. I was awakened some three hours later by a loud knocking at my door. I jumped up, hastily putting on some clothes, and took up my revolver, which was lying by my bedside. When I opened my door, leading into the covered archway, there was Correo, his face an ashy grey colour, gesticulating violently outside, and begging me to come at once to the room where we had placed the coffin. He said the Indians who had been on guard were terribly frightened, because while they were on watch the ghost of the "finado," or dead man, had appeared, and was then to be seen passing like a shadow up and down the room. As I went out into the courtyard "Napoleon" came and put his cold nose in my hand, and the rosillo who was shut in there for the night, gave a little neigh. I went to the door, opened it, and entered the room, followed by the negro, who was almost in tears. Of course, there was nothing, and I showed him the two screws half way down in the lid, exactly as we had left them. Meanwhile the Indians had fled and hid themselves in the galpon; the candle they had left lighted was flickering down in its socket, and the room was in semi-darkness. I with difficulty persuaded Correo to go to his bed and have a sleep, for he was much upset, and trembling all over, but at last I succeeded. I thereupon locked the door of the room, taking the key with me, and returned to my bed for the rest of the night, which passed without further disturbance of any kind. The next morning, but one, Steff drove up in his cart with the coffin, into which we silently placed the remains, and he started at once to convey it to the cemetery in the Swiss Colony. At the same time I rode down to La Concordia to advise Don Frederico that it was on its way to its last resting place. When I got there I unsaddled my horse and tied him up under the euremada before going inside the house. A little later I was sitting in the dining room talking to Jennings, when Don Frederico came hurriedly in. "Good gracious!" he said, "there is Steff crossing the rincon towards the Pass of the Rosario standing up in the cart and trotting ever so fast. Do go down and stop him, and tell him only to go at a foot pace." A "moro rosillo" (blue roan horse) was standing ready saddled outside. I jumped up on him and went down the high bank behind the house somewhat faster than he liked. He started bucking as he got nearly to the bottom, and what with being taken unprepared and only having my right hand on the reins, I narrowly escaped what might have been a nasty fall; but I was able to stop the cart before it crossed the pass. I returned to the house, and shortly afterwards Don Frederico started to go to the cemetery in the Swiss Colony, in order to attend the funeral, while I rode up to the Cerro, as some sheep-working was going on there I wanted to see after. Ramonou came and helped, and soon proved himself useful in getting the sheep through the yards. We were now in the first week of October, and as work of this kind would be pretty constant throughout the month it seemed as if he had arrived on the scene just about the right time. One morning I was busy superintending this work; the weather was becoming hot, and progress somewhat slow. Before going to breakfast, I went to my room to wash my hands; my arm had now got much better, the inflammation and swelling having gone. I had turned up my shirt sleeve, and was rubbing the soap gently between my hands, when a thistle thorn half an inch long suddenly popped out of my arm, somewhat in the same way as a cork flies out of a bottle, and fell into the soapy water. By its appearance it should have been a larger thorn, so that part must have broken off when it entered the arm. Anyway, I was only too glad to be rid of it, for it might easily have caused me more trouble than it had done, and I felt thankful to the "curandera" for the advice she had given me. The thorns of the big thistle are very sharp and strong, so much so that when riding through them I have known a thorn pierce right through a long leather riding boot.

The spring had so far been a dry one, and we were looking forward to soon beginning the shearing, partly because the season was an early one, and also on account of the difficulty of getting shearers. Soldiers were everywhere more or less on the move, and on an estancia this is always a hindrance to work of every kind. Saturday came round again with its "para rodeo" of the cattle, and on Monday morning, between ten and eleven o'clock, thirty soldiers arrived asking for food and horses. They were travelling north to join the main army. I had a sheep killed for them, as they said they were hungry, and gave them some farinha and yerba, and I ordered our horses to be got up into the corral; it was, in fact, the only thing to do. They ended by taking thirteen horses, six of our own mark, including the brown colt we had tamed, and seven which had been left with us by soldiers, among them the chestnut I had ridden over to Mr. Trafford's estancia. They left us five, apparently tired out, and weary, and all in poor condition.

I had the rosillo saddled; indeed, I now had him up very constantly, letting him out to feed at night. Our own horses were gradually disappearing, and I saw it would not be long before we ran short of them. We were now busy getting ready for shearing, and I had to go round to all the native neighbours and find out how many and when they would be likely to come. This year, owing to the scarcity of outside people, it seemed probable that more of our own people would have to shear than usual. Meanwhile, Don Frederico was doing all he could in the Swiss Colony, although as a rule the colonists were not great shearers, for at that particular time their own farms often needed attention. I had the stone walls of the sheepyards attended to, and saw to the gates, and also that the doors and belongings of the galpon were all in proper order. I also had an ample supply of wood brought up from the Monte, the necessary provisions had to be got ready as well as numerous other articles, all of which were sure to be wanted at such a busy time. On November 1st a small gang of nine shearers arrived. They had been previously engaged, and commenced work on the following day. Meantime, Jennings duly turned up at the Cerro to take charge inside the galpon, while I looked after matters outside, and also helped him in my spare time. It was not long before we found out how useful Ramonou could make himself. He helped to get the sheep through the yards, and also to hurry a flock from one of the puestos, which otherwise would have come too slowly, and so kept the shearers waiting for sheep. The weather favoured us—for the month proved warm and exceptionally dry, so work got on faster than it could otherwise have done. Soldiers called up half a dozen at a time, but no large number came to trouble us, for which we were very thankful. Pedrito now kept an eye on the southdowns, and also got up the horses, for both old Juan and Justiniano took a turn at shearing, although neither of them were very efficient.

Work progressed as the days passed, and time went on, so that by the end of the first week in December, we made a finish, and the gang of shearers having received their money, at length took their departure. No sooner was shearing over than we had to see about marking the calves. This should have been done earlier, but perhaps owing to the same causes which had produced the epidemia the cattle this spring had been in rather poor condition, and the calves generally both younger and weaker than usual. The third week in December began on a Wednesday, and Don Frederico fixed that day for the marking. I went round to let our native neighbours know, and asked them all to come and help. Fortunately, the morning was fine, and we were all on the move at the Cerro even earlier than usual. I rode a black horse with a white star and two white hind feet. Pedrito was quite proud of himself, mounted on a small bay which had been left tired by soldiers, but had now recovered. He was a good rider, inherited no doubt from his Indian ancestry, and he never pulled his horse's mouth about more than was necessary. As it happened, although we were fewer horsemen than usual, the cattle came up well, and we left them to go round and round on the rodeo while Don Frederico and Jennings came up to the Cerro to have some coffee which Correo had ready for us. I let go the black horse and saddled up the rosillo, and on returning to the rodeo was pleased to find that several of our native neighbours had arrived. With the aid of a point of tame cattle to lead them, we got the herd shut up in the manga, and I felt relieved to think that my responsibility was now over. Two large fires were lit, and the brands heated, and then two of our native neighbours rode in among the cattle to lasso and bring out the calves. And so the work progressed, until about eleven o'clock a halt was made for breakfast. Seeing we depended so much upon the help of our native neighbours, Don Frederico said we had better regale them with what was known as "Carne con cuiro," or beef roasted in the hide. So a young cow had been killed and cut up in a much shorter time than the uninitiated would deem possible, and two big roasts with the hide on them were already cooking before the fires. This above everything is a delicacy the South American native dearly loves, and Pedrito's face was a picture when he learnt what was going to happen. Caña, farinha, salt, and yerba were served out, and the company were all enjoying their repast when a horseman appeared approaching, perhaps two hundred and fifty yards away. As he got nearer I saw he was riding a colt, known as a "redamon," i.e., only about half tamed, with a piece of hide tied round its lower jaw, instead of a bit, and as he rode on towards us the animal, a beautiful "rosillo," answering the slightest touch of the rider's hand on the rein, he was indeed a sight to see. His long black hair well oiled and curling beneath a worn and battered old felt hat, fell almost down to his shoulders. Over a shirt anything but clean was a dilapidated old summer "poncho," with a rag of a white handkerchief tied loosely round his neck. An old worn coloured "cheripa," over a pair of cotton drawers, covered his waist and the upper part of his legs, and below were a pair of potro boots, made of the skin of a wild mare, from which the hair had been removed; mounted with a pair of large iron spurs, completed his footgear. As he rode among the crowd, he raised his hat above his head with a "Buen dia Señores" (Good-day, gentlemen) as he sat on his horse like a statue waiting to be invited to dismount. Then came a cry from the assembled company, "Cypriano caramba! Cypriano!" but the tribute was certainly not to his wealth, nor indeed, to his character, for he was a well-known horse stealer, as well as a famous "domador," or horse-tamer, but rather a spontaneous and unpremeditated recognition of his wonderful horsemanship. This touched the hearts of the "Gauchos" as nothing else could have done. In spite of his rags and his dirt and his poverty, he was to them a true aristocrat, rising for the moment head and shoulders above his fellows; for such, indeed, at that time, was the way and custom and manner of the "Pampas."

Breakfast being finished, work was resumed. By three o'clock the marking was over, and the herd of cattle let go, when, owing to the times through which we were living, the company at once dispersed. The weather continued hot and dry right into the New Year, when I found the water in the alhibi, or reservoir in the courtyard was becoming exhausted. As I have previously stated, all our water came from collecting the rainfall on the roof, whence it passed through pipes into the "alhibi." Usually the supply was sufficient, but probably the water had been used in excess and wasted during the shearing, and as no rain had fallen now for some weeks, it was easy to account for the shortage I wished to preserve what there was for the house, and indoor use; so we caught up an old petiso called Waddle, and Justiniano mounted him and made fast his lasso to the forked branch of a tree with a barrel fixed on its top, and started for the Cañada Grande to fetch water. He did not go very fast, for Waddle had seen much of life, and had an enlarged knee; but he had done the job before, and he did not mind. I daresay, too, he knew by experience it was not likely to last very long. So with the daily barrel brought up each morning, we managed to get along quite comfortably. As to the stock, they always had plenty of water, with the river Rosario on one side and the river Pichinango on the other, not to speak of the Cañada Grande, which was hardly ever dry; nor, indeed, had they to go any distance to drink. Of course the "seca" had its effect on the pasture, and the grass everywhere got very dry. Where, however, the camp was not overstocked, and there was good water, the animals could pass through time of drought without coming to any harm. One morning Pedrito, who had been out on an old horse looking after the southdowns, came back and said he had seen an ostrich nest with several eggs in it, which he thought were still quite good; so I sent Juan with him to fetch them. There were seven, and they turned out to be but recently laid. The female bird will lay her eggs out in the open, choosing a place where the grass is long and dry, and well exposed to the sun. The yolk is somewhat rich, both in taste and colour; but when fried in a frying pan or made into an omelette is excellent eating. One of his other pastimes was going after partridges also on horseback, holding a long stick in his hand, at the end of which was fastened a thin running noose. When he saw a bird lying in the grass, which they were fond of doing during hot and dry weather, he would ride round and round in a circle, gradually getting nearer and nearer, until he could drop the noose over the head of the bird as it lay still, as it often would do for some time. Correo could cook both the ostrich eggs and partridge very well, and I found them a pleasant change after a prolonged course of mutton roast and boiled. During hot weather he often wore a beautiful suit of white cotton; he had two of these with him, and when he brought in my meal to the dining room he would occasionally stand behind my chair, in a solemn manner while I was eating, which certainly looked imposing, for his black skin shone like ebony, but was at the same time quite unnecessary. He did not much like talking about his experiences during the war in Paraguay, which I always realised had given him a pretty severe shock, for he told me he had passed through villages where not a single man had been left alive, and where a stranger entering them would find himself surrounded by only women and children, all of whom were in a state of semi-starvation, and of abject terror and misery. All the crops and animals had been destroyed by the troops as they passed, and there was nothing suitable in the way of food anywhere within reach. I liked the old man, whom I always found very willing and obliging, and I was glad to see his health improve, as it certainly did, doubtless owing to the rest, and quiet, and to freedom for the time being from any care or anxiety as to where or how he could get a living.

The New Year came in exceptionally hot; day after day brought continual sunshine from a blue sky, in which scarcely a cloud could be seen. Towards mid-day the rays of heat poured down so fiercely, they seemed as if they would scorch the very tussock grass itself. The rocks behind the house fairly glistened and shimmered in the noon-tide glare, and the large lizards were very happy, constantly running in and out of their holes, and indeed had a glorious time. Out in the camp, the ground itself got warm, and everything dried up. The cattle could be seen here and there in groups; by this formation they seemed to think they might escape the burning rays of the sun, and it was in the night and early morning, as well as late afternoon, that they were able to feed in comfort. They went gladly enough to the rivers to drink, but they could not stay long by the woods on account of the number of flies which were ever ready to pester and torment them, until they hardly knew how to bear. The sheep, also, could be seen clumping themselves together, each trying, as it were, to get shade by standing in each other's shadow.

If the pasturage on the estancia was hard and dry, there was yet plenty of it, and as there was abundant water I had no fear of anything like starvation for the stock. During the great heat the "siesta" in the middle of the day had to be longer than usual, and practically all work was suspended, except during the early morning and late afternoon. The rooms, however, were very comfortable during hot weather, for being so high, and opening one into another, there was always plenty of air, even when the heavily-barred windows were, according to the Spanish custom, kept shut during the middle of the day in order to keep out the heat. We had no garden to suffer, and were thankful for the grateful shade of the "ombu," and also of the figtrees in the courtyard, so that, except for the want of water, we had little to complain of during the period of the "seca." Curiously enough, during the great heat we had no thunderstorm, the atmosphere remaining perfectly clear and dry. This, however, was quite unusual.

One morning, not long after sunrise, two Blanco officers, and about eighty soldiers rode up to the Cerro. They said they were en route for Colonia, and had been travelling the greater part of the night, taking advantage of a nearly full moon. I invited the two officers into the house to have some coffee, but before accepting, they said what they wanted were horses, for many of those they had with them were tired, and it was important they should get on with as little delay as possible. I asked if the soldiers wanted food, but all they were allowed to do was to make a couple of fires and suck some Matè, before proceeding on their journey. As to the horses, there was nothing for it but to get all our horses up into the corral—they had not long been let go—and let the soldiers take what they wanted. There were now but few of our own mark to choose from; the others being horses previously left with us. However, they took seventeen and left us twelve tired ones, poor in condition, and not one of them looking as if he was much account. As it happened, the bay colt we had tamed was with his mother and the wall-eyed horse I often rode, and old Waddle some distance further away. So these did not come up with the others, thus the bay colt once more escaped attention. I had the rosillo tied up and saddled, and Pedrito was riding the little "mala kara," so he got off, but a very light bay horse, called an "andador," or pacer, which Justiniano was fond of riding, was one of the first chosen by the soldiers. The officers told me they were going to join a large division of the Blanco army, now in the province of Colonia, which was thought likely to be moving in our direction, and it was supposed General Aparicio himself was coming down shortly just to see how things were going. The officers were quite civil, but when they were gone, and I had time to think matters over, I realised that this hardly compensated for the fact that we had now hardly any horses of our own mark left to us. Such, indeed, was so often the fortune of those whose business it was in "the old days" to try and carry on an estancia during time of revolution.

On January the twentieth, we had three or four very short and slight showers, and on the day following, heavy rain fell and continued without intermission for twenty-four hours. The "seca" had now broken up, the "alhibi" was more than half full, and we had no further trouble in regard to water. Soon after two o'clock on the last afternoon in the month, a party of soldiers rode up, and one of them, who appeared to be their leader, told me I was to go with them to where a division of the Blanco army was encamped, some two and a half leagues to the south-east of the Cerro. As they seemed to attach importance to the request, I did not care to quite refuse or indeed argue the point as to whether I should go or not. Moreover, I thought it would be an experience, and possibly somewhat of an adventure. As it happened, I had caught up the rosillo a short time before, intending to take a turn round the camp. I told them I would be ready in a quarter of an hour, saddled him up, strapped the belt of my revolver round my waist, slipped a light summer poncho over my head, and we made a start forthwith. Meanwhile, the Indians had hid themselves in the galpon, and I bid adieu to Correo, who looked greatly perturbed when he saw me depart. We travelled rapidly along, for something over an hour, and then, as I looked ahead, I saw an interesting scene spread out before me. In a large "rincon," at the back of which was a stream, lightly bordered by trees, were quite a large number of soldiers. Horses were either feeding loose or tethered everywhere. The men were scattered about in every sort of attitude and position, mostly resting and smoking, and some enjoying a game of cards, while others were chatting and talking together, and apparently enjoying themselves. Meanwhile, fires had been lighted in front of which large joints of meat were already roasting. A little to the right, half a dozen "Gauchos" were busy giving some colts they had got hold of a gallop, which, from their appearance, had only been recently caught up. Behind all these, on slightly rising ground, a group of officers were gathered. One of these was seated on some rugs and saddle gear, which had been piled up for the purpose, and he was at the time occupied in sucking Matè through a silver "bombilla," or tube. He was a remarkable looking man, somewhat above middle height, with rather broad shoulders, over which his long hair hung down in a slight curl at the back, swarthy in complexion, with a very keen-looking pair of black eyes. I realised at once that I was in the presence of no less a personage than General Aparicio himself. Meanwhile, he invited me to dismount, and asked me who I was, and where I had come from, and what had brought me there. When I told him, he said, "This ought not to have happened! There must have been some mistake!" Then he continued, "Siente sé Señor," "Sit down, Sir." "Vamos à tomar un matecito," "Let us drink a little Matè." In the meantime, a soldier was holding my horse, and behind where we were sitting, two lances were stuck in the ground, from which the white banner was flying. The General's sharp eyes caught my horse. "That little rosillo seems made of some good stuff," he said. "You had better take good care of him." I told him he had the mark of the Estancia Pichinango, and was about the only one we had left. "Pero que quiere mi amigo? Es tiempo de guerra." ("But what could you wish, my friend? It is time of war,") he replied, with a laugh. The General then told me that a good many matreros (deserters from the army) and bad characters, were said to be hiding in the woods our way, and that he would send a couple of soldiers with me when I went back, who could also stay at the Cerro for a time, in case I should find myself in any trouble. Thereupon I thanked him, and about half an hour later made my adieux. As I left the camp the two soldiers rode in front of me, each carrying his lance, with the white banner flying, while I followed immediately behind. Upon reaching the Cerro, which we did just after sundown, I got quite a reception from Correo and the Indians, in which "Napoleon" and "Ramonou," also "Brag" and "Bully," took part, in fact, they all appeared quite relieved, and very pleased to see me back again. On the next morning, I rode down to La Concordia to see Don Frederico. He was greatly amused when I told him of my little expedition, and at once asked me if I thought the Blancos were likely to be coming our way. I told him I thought not, as from what I had gathered their intention was to make straight for Colonia across country, as it were, without touching the town of Colla, in which case they would not be likely to come near the Pichinango. He further said the two soldiers who had come back with me would be a help rather than a hindrance, for he had been wondering how we could manage to get the horses all gathered up into the "manga" this year, and the foals marked, seeing there was hardly any outside person available. He said that now I had the two soldiers, who doubtless understood camp work, at disposal, he would arrange a day to gather up the horses, with as little delay as possible, and let me know. I could then inform our native neighbours, and possibly succeed in getting a certain amount of help. I rode back by Marmasola's puesto, and told him if he knew of anyone likely to be of any use, to be sure and let me know. That same evening, a little before sundown, a young Englishman, Mr. Frank Turnor, arrived, with three horses and a peon. He was "Major Domo" on a large English estancia up the country, and he asked if we could put him up for the night. This I was delighted to do, and we had the horses collared and sent out to feed. He was a fine-looking young man, with broad shoulders, and a tall, upright figure. We were sitting smoking after dinner, when the conversation turned upon "matreros," men wanted by the police, hiding in the woods, whereupon he told me the following story. He said where he was living they had large woods bordering the river, in which "matreros" would come and stay for a time, living on the estancia cattle, and then move off again to other secure places, where the police could not catch them. They were a desperate lot, and murdered one of the shepherds of the place because he mended up the fence after they had cut the wires, so as to pass backwards and forwards, which was a cause of annoyance to them. He said it was his business, together with two men, to search the woods every Saturday to see if they were there, as they always left some trace or other, such as the remains of food or tracks of horses. Both he and his men always carried rifles, but he was never very keen about finding the thieves, as they were known to be very dangerous characters. A new Chief of Police had come, whose ambition was to catch these men. Knowing the outlaws were in the woods, he thereupon notified him, and the police officer appeared early one Sunday morning with ten men, all fully armed, when he at once went with him to show more or less where the matreros were to be found. On the way they met a half Indian man called the Negro Largo, who in peace time was allowed three sheep a week to keep him from stealing, and in time of revolution forty dollars a month to save the horses; as the Indian then had some thirty men under his command. He went on to say that as he and the Negro Largo knew the woods, they were asked to go quietly ahead, so as to try and find the encampment, the police following.

At last some horses were seen tied out near some little "talditos," or coverings made of branches, but all was quiet; it was very hot, and the thieves were sleeping. He and the Negro Largo then returned to the police, without disturbing the sleepers. Turnor wanted the "comisario" to charge right up on horseback, but being an infantry officer, he preferred to do so on foot. So after approaching a little nearer he ordered his men to dismount and form line, and himself heading them with drawn sword, charged up to the place where the horses were tied. Owing, however, to the noise caused by dismounting, etc., the outlaws, hearing what was going on, made a bolt into the thick wood, so that only the horses, saddles, etc., were captured. He further mentioned that he and the Negro Largo were not in the charge, but behind a tree watching.

The police officer was intensely proud of his achievement, and at once ordered one of the best looking horses to be saddled up for him. When he mounted, however, the horse reared, and coming over backwards, gave him a bad fall, much to the general amusement.

Turnor said that this was his only encounter with the "matreros," but that some time after two of the men with rifles who were revising the woods as usual came right upon the outlaws over a bank, with their horses saddled. Instead of trying to escape they at once mounted and attacked them, firing their pistols, when they on their part being taken by surprise, made a bolt of it, and being better mounted succeeded in getting safely away. Eventually all the outlaws were captured and put in prison.

It was getting late when we turned in, but as Turnor wished to make an early start on the morrow, I had already told Correo to get some coffee the first thing. Fortunately, he was always an early riser. The morning was fine, and the sun had but lately risen, when my visitor and his man mounted their horses and started on their way, the latter leading the spare horse, so that either could change to it as they went along.

During the afternoon Margarito arrived with a note to say that we were to have a "para rodeo" of the cattle on Saturday as usual, and a general gathering up of the horses on the Wednesday following. I therefore lost no time in advising our native neighbours, and getting them to come and help us. To make this doubly sure I rode next morning to pay a visit to two or three of the principal ones in person. Both the soldiers accompanied me with their lances, and the Blanco device on their hats and the white banner flying. When I arrived at the first native house I saw at once that I was about to make an impression. I thought the dogs barked if anything louder than usual as we sat on our horses calling out "Ave Maria," the usual form of salutation. For the moment no one appeared, but I saw signs of first one and then another woman or child peeping out through a window and so on. Then the front door was opened, and the master of the house appeared bare-headed, and with a bow desiring me to dismount. Whereupon I did so, and went into the house, the two soldiers meanwhile holding my horse outside. I delivered my message, and we discussed the war, and I was invited to have some refreshment, which I declined. When I thought sufficient time had elapsed I got up to leave, being accompanied outside by apparently the whole family. I then walked solemnly to my horse, mounted and signed to the two soldiers to move on, and altogether I flattered myself that I made a very dignified departure. The same mode of procedure took place at two other houses, each with the same satisfactory result. The fact was, we were getting very short of horses in our neighbourhood, and as hardly any of these people, friendly as they might appear on the surface, would have at all objected to coming inside our camp and picking up and carrying off any stray horse which, having been left there, would otherwise have proved useful to us, I thought it a good opportunity to let them know that, up at the Cerro I was in a position of some authority, and therefore not to be trifled with. On the Saturday the two soldiers went with us to the "para rodeo" of the cattle; "Napoleon" enjoyed himself greatly, and all went well.

Wednesday morning was fine, and we were all early on the move. I rode the rosillo, who was in excellent form, while the two soldiers and the Indians were mounted on horses which had been left by passing soldiers. As we got the troop up towards the "rodeo" a portion of them tried their utmost to break back, but the rosillo was quite equal to the occasion; he was indeed a good little horse, and his speed and energy soon succeeded in rounding them up and forcing them to rejoin the others, so that we managed to get them all shut up in the stone "manga" with less difficulty than I had expected. Our native neighbours duly turned up, fires were lighted, and we were able to mark quite a fair number of foals. We also picked out about a dozen stray riding horses from among the troop, which had probably been left by soldiers as they passed along. These we divided between the Cerro and La Concordia, attaching them to the tropillas, in order that so long as they remained to us they might be made useful, and earn their living for the time being. Don Frederico was mounted on his rosillo allazan (chestnut roan), otherwise known as his war-horse; but Jennings no longer rode his usual dark grey, for it had been taken by soldiers about a month previously, so he was compelled to bestride a rather ancient-looking bay horse, which was also in but poor condition, instead.

At the beginning of March the two soldiers were recalled to Colla. When they bid us adieu they both thanked me for the pleasant time at the Cerro, and when they departed took with them our good wishes. Towards the end of the month, Charles Bent turned up quite unexpectedly. His relatives outside had been unfortunate, and had lost a lot of stock, both sheep and cattle, during the war, and his idea was to make his way to Monte Video later on, for he seemed to have a hope that the war would soon be over. He had lost his race-horse not very long after the disastrous affair at the Cerro, now getting on for a year and a half ago, and he rode up on an old "Bayo Negro," or dark cream, with a black mane and tail, which had been left by soldiers, and seemed to be of very little account. I was glad to see him again, for I always liked him. Moreover, he did not look very well; he was never really strong, so I asked him to stay on a bit at the Cerro, as we had ample room, and I knew he would be glad to help in any work which had to be done. With the exception of the rosillo, we were entirely dependent upon what I might call outside horses, for we had now scarcely one of our own mark left. The bay colt old Juan had tamed, was still with us, but he had managed to sprain his shoulder rather badly, so was for the time being of no use.

We had a room at the Cerro with a strong brick floor, which had at one time been used for stores, and I had this arranged for the rosillo, so that in case of necessity he could be shut up there at night. Generally, when the weather was fine, I could have him tied up in the courtyard, but when the nights got cold and he was unable to feed there, I knew it would be difficult to keep him in good condition. As it turned out, I found that the shelter from wind and rain, together with a small but regular allowance of maize, greatly contributed to his welfare. When I next saw Don Frederico I spoke to him about Charles Bent, and he said he should be very glad for him to stay on at the Cerro for he knew he would always willingly lend a hand at any work which might be going. He said he thought he would be much better there than if he were to go into Monte Video at present, as it was generally believed by those who knew, that before very long the Blancos intended to try and besiege the city, and if they should do so would probably succeed. During the next three weeks we had a good deal of sheep-working on hand, as the flocks from the puestos were being passed through the sheepyards, both at the Cerro and at La Concordia. Ramonou was really a great help; he was obedient and good at his work, and gave satisfaction all round. Bent had left his sheep dog, "Bob," with his relations. He told me it was some time since he had heard of Royd, but he believed he had sustained many losses with his stock at his friend's place near San Josè, and that he either had sailed or was about to sail for England. At this I was not surprised, for he never seemed to me well suited to camp life. He was naturally somewhat despondent, and there was no denying he had been very hard hit at the Sierras de Mal Abrigo.

Correo seemed now to have recovered his health and spirits, and to enjoy preparing our simple menu. He was always willing and attentive; indeed, since his arrival at the Cerro, everything inside the house had gone on quite comfortably.

Some three weeks passed and nothing happened except the ordinary routine of estancia work. During this time either Bent or I had been accustomed to go up on to the flat (azotea) roof once or twice daily with the glass, so as to have a good look round. The Cerro stood high, so that from its roof we could overlook the greater part of the estancia. This was a distinct advantage in times like the present, for it not only let us know anything that might be going on among the stock, but also allowed us time to prepare beforehand for any soldiers who might ride up to the house with the intention of causing us trouble. One afternoon Bent and I were up on the "azotea" together, having a look round with the glass. It was just about two-thirty when suddenly we saw some twenty soldiers coming our way from the East, at an angle which would make them pass to the front of the Cerro, about half a mile distant. We could, moreover, see they were Colorados, for the red banner was clearly flying from their lances. At the same time a troop of Blancos appeared, coming up from the Pass of the Pichinango, so that the two parties came into collision just about the place where Tio Benigno's deserted puesto still stood. We could see it all perfectly. They galloped furiously one toward the other two or three times, but seemed always to manage to avoid close contact. They fired their guns and revolvers, some of the shots at any rate being hurriedly let off into the air. Then the Reds made a bolt, and thereupon the Blancos, seeing this, galloped furiously after them, with their lances. One of the Reds was wounded by a shot, for we saw his arm hang useless by his side as he rode away. Another got a lance wound in his back, which was apparently more serious, as he fell from his horse after the Reds got a little further away, and had to be picked up by his comrades. So the Blancos remained masters of the situation, and after the Colorados had disappeared, they passed the Cerro at a gallop, about a quarter of a mile distant, following a northerly direction, as if they were making for Guaycoru, and we were all very glad to see both lots clear out. Some ten days later we were both up on the "azotea," about an hour before sundown. After taking a look round, I said to Bent, "Do you see that point of cattle feeding almost at the same place where the Blancos and Colorados met? And can you see a dark lump on the ground, a little way removed, just on the far side of them? If I am not mistaken that is a matrero, out 'bombiando.' You know what that means, 'looking for and marking down a young heifer, so that he and his companions can come and kill it at night,' and there will be a moon to-night up to twelve o'clock, you know!" "I believe you are right," replied Bent. "Have a look through the glass. I fancy you will find that animal standing alone a little further away to be a horse saddled, and he is probably hobbled as well." Taking the telescope, I soon saw this to be the case. "I will give that fellow a bit of a fright," I said, at once going down into the courtyard, where I had the rosillo ready saddled. It took but a moment to lead him out through the small door, jump on his back, and gallop off. I had not got more than half way, when the matrero, who must have seen me coming, ran to his horse, mounted, and made off towards the woods of the Pichinango as quickly as he could. The rosillo was going strong, and I should certainly have overtaken him, when an unfortunate thing happened. The ground was very rough and uneven, with numerous pieces of pointed rock rising up above it in every direction. The horse unluckily caught his off fore foot on one of these, and as he was going fast, it tripped him up, and he came down a regular cropper, rolling right over. I, of course, came down with him, having my revolver tightly held in my right hand, fully loaded, the trigger at half cock. When I fell it somehow got jammed between me and the hard ground, with the end of the barrel against my chest, slightly bruising the flesh. Fortunately, it did not explode! It was a Colt's muzzle loader, and I felt grateful to them for its reliability and their excellent workmanship. I remounted, and continued the chase, but the delay gave the man too much of a lead, and I only arrived in time to see him enter the woods and disappear. Bent seemed quite glad to see me return without any further mishap, and when I explained to him how I came to have the tumble, which he had been able to see with the telescope from the house, he remarked, "That revolver of yours is indeed worth more than anything it may have cost, old man!" This pleased me, for as a matter of fact, I had bought it second-hand, when I was at the Sierras de Mal Abrigo, upon its eminent firm of maker's reputation, knowing otherwise but little about it. Bent and I then got up the "tamberos" to their rodeo. They were now well in hand, and went up easily. As we returned, Justiniano was bringing up the southdowns, to shut them in for the night; I looked them over, and saw them safely inside their yard. Correo was always pretty punctual with supper when we were at home, for he was glad when work was over and he could retire to rest. Afterwards we had a quiet talk and a smoke, and both went early to bed.

A week later we were both on the "azotea" about four o'clock in the afternoon. A Mr. Fenton, who had formerly stayed a good deal at the Cerro, had left his "moro," or blue-grey horse behind him when he went away, attached to one of the tropillas. The horse was not there when I came, having detached himself, and joined up with the "saino manada," or troop of mares and foals. We had not been looking round long when I noticed a horse coming at pretty nearly full speed in the direction of the Cerro, with two soldiers in full pursuit. "I believe it is Fenton's 'moro,'" I said to Bent, "and what is more those two fellows are going to have him." Just then the "moro" passed, some three hundred yards distant, in front of the house. One soldier flung his "boleadores," but as it happened they fell short. The second thereupon immediately increased his speed, and flung his with such accuracy that they twisted themselves round the "moro's" hind legs, and soon brought him to a standstill. The soldiers then slipped a halter over his head, loosed the "boleadores" from his hind legs, and led him off with them, riding in the direction of the Pichinango Pass.

The "boleadores," or "bolas," as they are often called, are a very effective weapon in the hands of a skilled horseman who is well mounted. They are chiefly used to capture horses and wild mares in the open camp, and are a very important part of a "Gaucho's" equipment. They are made of twisted strands of raw horse-hide. There are three thongs united together at a common centre, each about a yard in length. At the other end of each thong is a leaden ball, covered with hide. The horseman holds one ball in his right hand while he swings the two others quickly round his head. He then lets go the ball he had in his hand, so that the three go whirling swiftly forward in a circle, and their weight and impetus causes the thongs to twist themselves round the hind legs of any horse at which they may be aimed, which, chiefly owing to the speed at which it is moving, soon finds itself with its hind legs tied up together, and so falls helpless to the ground.

Much smaller balls fastened together in the same manner, with quite thin thongs, are used by the natives to capture the wild ostrich.

Indeed, I have always been given to understand that the "boleadores" were in use among the Indians of the Pampas from quite remote times. A few days passed, and nothing happened, and then one morning just after ten o'clock a Blanco officer and between seventy and eighty soldiers arrived, who asked for food and horses. Accordingly I had two sheep killed, and gave them what else they required, and told them to make a couple of fires outside, over which to roast their meat and boil their kettles. As to horses, I told them we had none left, only a few more or less useless ones, which had been left by soldiers. As, however, they said they had four tired ones which could go no further, I sent Pedrito to bring up what we had into the corral, so that they could suit themselves, for under the circumstances it was the only thing to do. Finally, they took five and left their broken-down ones in their place. So we were not much worse off after all. The rosillo I had saddled, and regarding him they gave me no trouble whatever, so I really had cause to be thankful, for I particularly did not wish to lose him. We invited the officer to come in and have breakfast. He was a good-looking man, not more than thirty years of age. He told us they had come from the north, and were going to join their division near Colonia. He said the main White army was now very strong indeed, and it was their intention before long to push right through the province of San Josè, where they expected to easily drive the Colorados before them, and then to besiege Monte Video, thus stopping all supplies coming in from the interior. Should they succeed in carrying out their intention, which he fully believed they would do, we might have reason to hope the war would soon be over. In due course, the soldiers having refreshed themselves, took their departure, proceeding at a "trotte-cito," or jog-trot, towards the Pass of the Pichinango, the officer riding in solitary grandeur behind. One afternoon in the middle of the week following, Bent and I were up on the azotea taking a look round. We had not been there long when we saw something which looked like a man on horseback going slowly, leaning forward in the saddle, with his arms resting upon the horse's neck. He seemed to sit more or less helpless, and the horse, which was three-quarters of a mile distant, appeared to be making his own way, having come from the East, behind the Cerro, towards the road which led from it to La Concordia. I sent Justiniano, who had a horse saddled, to see if anything was amiss, and if so, told him to bring the horse and rider back with him. This he did, and the latter turned out to be a Swiss, weak and faint from loss of blood. We got him off his horse, and carried him into the galpon, where we laid him on a "quatre," or light wooden bedstead, and I then managed to pour a little Caña and water down his throat, for, as we lifted him from his horse, he had suddenly fainted. After a few moments he came round, and told us he was coming in from outside with a considerable sum of money on him. Suddenly three men appeared, whom he took to be "matreros," or deserters, for they had no device on their hats, although all were armed. They compelled him to hand over all the money, his poncho, spurs, and silver-handled whip, even to a large gold ring which he wore on the fourth finger of his right hand. They threatened to cut his throat if he made any resistance, and as it was he had a deep wound from a stab with a knife, just about the middle of the forearm, inside and below the elbow of the bridle hand. This had evidently bled profusely, and was even then bleeding, and it was clear the poor man had lost a good deal of blood. He thought the wound must have been made when one of them was taking the ring from his finger. However, Bent and I managed to improvise a small tourniquet, and so get pressure to bear, which easily controlled the bleeding. We then bound up the arm with a cold water bandage, and made the man as comfortable as we could. Correo made him some "bouillon," and when he had taken this he soon sank off into a doze. About an hour and a half later he woke up, feeling better, whereupon we readjusted the bandage and enquired his name and address, and where his home was situate in the Swiss Colony. I told him to make himself as comfortable as he could during the night, and early in the morning I would send a messenger to advise his friends what had happened, so that they could bring a light cart to fetch him, for he was too weak to ride. I told Justiniano to tie up a horse and start as soon after daylight as he could, taking at the same time a note I wrote to Don Frederico, telling him what had happened. This Justiniano could leave at La Concordia as he passed, without really going out of his way. Meanwhile, old Juan said he would keep an eye on the man during the early part of the night, and advise me if anything went wrong. Bent and I then turned in, feeling pretty sure that if the Swiss could get some sleep he would probably be better in the morning. Fortunately, this turned out to be the case, although the patient was still very weak. About ten o'clock a friend and a relation arrived in a light covered cart, with a straw mattress and suitable coverings. We carried the Swiss, and placed him carefully in the cart, it was evident he had received altogether a great shock. I gave his relative a written statement of what we saw; how we had found him; and what we had done, so that if necessary it could be shewn to the police, and I said I was prepared and willing to answer any further enquiries. They soon made a start, and this little excitement was over. May was now well advanced, and sheep-working among the flocks, which had been pretty constant, was drawing to its close. One morning, towards the end of the month, Bent and I rode down early to La Concordia, where the fine flock was to be passed through the yards. The work made good progress, so that we were both back again at the Cerro a little before twelve o'clock. When I saw Correo he told me a Swiss baker had called during our absence, on his way outside with bread, and that he had bought three loaves from him. We were glad of this, as being a pleasant change from the "galleta," or hard camp biscuit. According to our usual custom, we were both again up on the "azotea" about four o'clock in the afternoon.

Everything seemed quiet, but we had not been there long before our attention was arrested by what looked like a covered cart slowly crossing the camp, about a mile and a half away, in the direction of the Cañada Grande, opposite to Laborde's puesto. Every now and again it seemed to stop, and the two horses, which we could see were drawing it, appeared to be grazing. Altogether, it gave us the impression that either there was no driver in the cart, or that if one was there, he was either drunk or incapable. I then decided to send Justiniano to see what was the matter. He had the bay colt his uncle had tamed saddled, whose shoulder was even yet not quite sound. I told him if he found anything wrong to make his lasso fast to the horses, and so bring them cart and all, up to the Cerro. By this time, from Correo's description, we had identified the cart as belonging to the Swiss baker, who had passed in the morning. Of course, it was possible that he had somehow got separated from his cart, which was now moving towards home without him. Meanwhile, we watched Justiniano reach the cart, get off his horse, and go round to the back to look in behind. He then came round and made fast his lasso to the horses' heads, remounted, and made start with the cart in tow in the direction of the Cerro. All this we could see quite clearly through the telescope. When he arrived, I went down to meet him, and Correo and Pedrito and uncle Juan were all in attendance. I saw at once from Justiniano's countenance, that something serious had happened. Our consternation may be imagined when he told us that the body of the baker was lying inside the cart, and that he was quite dead, with his throat cut from ear to ear. How he had come to his death we were unable to form any idea. We could only suppose that two or three "matreros" had come across him in the open camp, far from any dwelling, and that they had done the dastardly deed from sheer devilry. The poor man apparently had no revolver or weapon with him in the cart; if he had one it had been taken away, neither was there any sign of shots having been fired at him; nor was either of the horses in any way maimed or injured. In fact the whole thing was a complete mystery. Correo and the Indians seemed greatly impressed. Naturally, the former could identify the body and the cart as being that of the man from whom he had bought the three loaves of bread in the morning, but beyond that there was nothing whatever to point as to how the tragedy had come about. Inside the cart was indeed a sickening sight. The loaves that remained, and the floor of the cart, were covered with blood. I took a note of all the gruesome details, and then we got the body out of the cart, and laid it on a heap of sheepskins inside the galpon, and covered it over with a white sheet. When I first saw it the body was quite cold, and probably the poor man had already been dead for more than two or three hours, for already the arms and legs had begun to get slightly stiff. By the time all this was done, it was getting dusk. The sun had already set, so I postponed sending down to the Swiss Colony to convey the sad news until early the following morning.

Soon after sunrise Justiniano started, and I told him to call at La Concordia on his way back, and tell Don Frederico what had happened. About ten o'clock two men arrived, who took away the cart and the remains. I made out a written statement of the whole affair, so far as we knew about it, and were concerned in it. This I signed and dated, and got Bent to witness. I then gave it to one of the two men, who turned out to be a relation of the "finado," or deceased. In the afternoon I rode down to Marmasola's puesto. He had just returned from Solarez's pulperia on the other side of the pass. He told me he had heard that a large division of the Colorado army, with infantry and artillery, was coming up to turn the Blancos out of the province of Colonia, and that there was pretty sure to be a battle very shortly. Hearing this, I rode on to La Concordia to acquaint Don Frederico, who said it was just about what he expected, and we had better be on the alert, and keep a sharp look-out. I then went back to the Cerro, and we got the "tamberos" up on to their "rodeo," and I saw the southdowns safely shut in, and by the time I had unsaddled and put the "rosillo" into the stable, it was already sundown. Next morning we were all early on the move. We carefully shut all the doors and entrances to the galpon, and so far as we could made all fast. We looked to our firearms, and had our long ladder which reached to the roof of the house, carefully concealed in the galpon, so that no one could get up there from outside; in fact, we prepared everything to make as good a defence as we could in the event of our being attacked.

Next morning, after all our preparations, everything appeared quiet, but about three o'clock in the afternoon we heard the constant firing of big guns out towards Colla, although, by their sound, we were able to tell they must have been a good long distance away. The firing continued intermittently until sundown. We spent the afternoon on the roof, which we could reach with the small ladder inside the house. Nothing happened during the night, but half an hour after sunrise the first signs of the battle which had taken place began to show themselves. First a small party of Blanco soldiers were seen crossing the estancia at a gallop from the Pass of the Pichinango, shaping their course straight for the Sierras de Mal Abrigo. These were followed by others and by single soldiers, galloping for all they were worth. Then, later on, came the main body of the Blancos in full flight. Stretching in a long uneven, but continuous line, they passed about two hundred yards in front of the Cerro, the wounded in carts without springs, drawn by horses, and what looked in some cases like half-tamed mares, were continually passing, to which any amount of whip was forthcoming to make them move. Early in the day none of the soldiers came up to the Cerro, but about three o'clock a light cart, with a canvas covering, drove up to the house, with three horses attached to it. A negro, who sat in front with a whip, which he evidently had made good use of, was driving. In attendance were two soldiers, with their lances, and fully armed. They told us that a wounded colonel lay inside, who was in great pain, so much so that he could with difficulty bear the jolting of the vehicle, which had no springs. They asked if we could do anything to help him in his plight. I proposed that we should get him out of the cart and lay him on a "quatre" in the covered way which led from the galpon into the court, where he would get plenty of air, and we could then see if anything could be done for him. This we did, and then Bent and I attended to him. He had a severe lance wound in the right side, just above the hip bone. It was only very roughly bound up with some dirty calico, and he had evidently lost a good deal of blood. We first gave him a little Caña and water, and I told Correo to bring him a cup of bouillon, made of mutton, with rice in it, which he happened to have cooking on the kitchen stove. We undid the bandage, sponging the wound with warm water, so as to get it clean so far as we could. I then put on three pads made of linen soaked in cold water, fresh from the "alhibi," covered them with a piece of oil-silk I happened to have, and over these a broad linen bandage, to do which I remember I tore up the last remaining dress shirt I possessed. Above all this, we firmly fastened a broad strip of blanket, so that it would not easily move. Meanwhile, Correo and the Indians roughly fixed up three small bags filled with the dead leaf of the maize plant, and some old wool we had in the galpon; one for him to lie upon, with the other two on either side, in order, so far as possible, to deaden the jolting of the cart. By this time he seemed to have somewhat recovered, and although we could not persuade him to eat anything solid he took some more "bouillon," with a little biscuit broken into it. He seemed a very nice man, about forty years of age, and he told us his name was Antonio Martinez, and gave me an address which would always find him. He was very grateful for the little we had been able to do for him, and told me if at any time he could be of any service to us I was to be sure to let him know. We then carried him carefully to the cart, where we made him as comfortable as might be. The soldiers and the negro had meanwhile got something to eat, and sucked some Matè in the galpon, so they were quite refreshed, and we watched them make a start, with the sincere hope that the wounded colonel might safely reach his journey's end. The passing of the soldiers went on during the day; it did not finish until about half an hour before sunset. Bent and I watched it to the end from the "azotea," and it was indeed a wonderful sight. The excitement and the desire to get on was intense, and it was quite clear the Blancos had been defeated, and were now making a pretty good run of it, and that the whole division, of which we had from time to time seen portions, and heard so much, was hastening to join their main army, lest the victorious Colorados should again come up with them. We also remained watchful and alert, and continued to have everything made fast for the next two or three days, so that should they happen to come our way they would not catch us unprepared. The dogs, however, did not at all approve of it, because they could not run in and out of the galpon at will, but "Napoleon" and "Ramonou" managed to take exercise in the courtyard, and "Brag" and "Bully" did very much the same. However, a week went by and we heard nothing of the Colorados after the battle; all we knew was that none of them seemed to come our way, and for this we were thankful. One afternoon, a few days later, about half an hour before sunset, a captain in the Blanco army rode up to the Cerro, attended by a soldier, carrying his lance and wearing the white device on his hat. They had a led horse with them in addition to the two they rode, and all three were in first-rate condition. The captain asked me if we could put them up for the night. So soon as they had unsaddled, I had one of the tropillas brought up, and we collared their horses for them. Correo soon made up a bed, and it was not long before Bent and I and the captain sat down to supper, the soldier, meanwhile, making himself quite happy with the Indians in the galpon. After it was over we sat and smoked and talked in the gun-room, where Correo had lit a small fire in the stove, so that we were warm and comfortable. Our guest told us his name was Eduardo Suares; he was very polite, and appeared to be well educated; and he looked certainly not more than thirty years of age. He told us the battle of Colonia would have no influence whatever upon the movements of the main Blanco army, which he expected would now very shortly be moving forward, and that it would not be long before Monte Video would be besieged. He did not think for a moment that the Colorados would be able to make any firm stand outside the capital. All this being so, he considered that early in July the revolution might probably be at an end, and the Colorados would be compelled to resign office. Captain Suarez also said he had passed a great part of his life in the province of Entre Rios, where his relations had an estancia, but that he himself was a native of the republic of Uruguay. He gave us the following interesting account of the great Urguiza, Governour and despot of the province of Entre Rios, who was one of the strongest, ablest and most savage lieutenants of the famous Dictator Rosas. He ruled his province with the dagger and the bullet; himself shut up in a strong castle in the midst of the "Pampa." Eventually he succeeded to supreme power after the fall of Rosas, and his first important administrative act was to assemble all the provincial governours and to ratify the Fundamental Agreement of January, 1831, as the basis of the Constitution of the Argentine Confederation. He further told us that he himself was present at the death of Urguiza, when he was assassinated in 1870. He said that when Urguiza's body lay dead an Indian chief who was present exclaimed "Impossibile! El General Urguiza nunca muere!" "Impossible! The General Urguiza never dies!" It was during Urguiza's governorship of Entre Rios that it was said you could hang up a pair of silver stirrups upon a tree in the Monte, on the bank of the river, where there was much traffic, and go and find them there in a month's time. But this state of things was certainly not the case in the Republic of Uruguay during La Guerra de Aparicio, from the year 1870 to the year 1872. We both enjoyed listening to our guest's descriptive and animated conversation, and having bid each other "Buena noche" (good-night), retired to rest, as the captain wished to start early next morning. The horses were up in the corral by sunrise, when the soldier caught up and saddled his own and the captain's horse, and after partaking of coffee the latter bid us "Adios" with many thanks for the very slight hospitality I had been able to afford them. Exactly three weeks from the day when the wounded colonel Antonio Martinez drove up to the Cerro, a negro rode up about twelve o'clock. I happened to be just returning from a ride round the camp in the opposite direction. He appeared to be well mounted on a good-looking "bayo," or cream horse, with a black mane and tail, and he was leading a "saino," or brown, with a white star on his forehead. He saluted me, and asked if I was in charge of the Cerro. I said "Yes," whereupon he handed me a letter from Colonel Martinez, saying that after leaving us he had suffered very much less on his journey, that he had reached a hospital, and was now almost convalescent, for his wound had gone on well. It was a nice letter, couched in very friendly terms, thanking me for what we had done, which was really very little, and begging that I would accept the "saino" horse as a slight memento of what had happened. I told the negro to unsaddle and tie up the two horses and go into the galpon to get some breakfast, which he seemed very pleased to do. I then just had a look over the "saino." He was at first sight rather a long low-looking horse, with good shoulders and long sweeping quarters, and it was this length of body which made him appear, until you got close up to him, a smaller horse in height than he really was. He gave me the impression of being between six and seven years old. Bent had ridden down to the Swiss Colony, hoping to find some letters he was expecting, so I had to await his return before giving me his opinion regarding him. I wrote a letter to Colonel Martinez, thanking him for the horse, and for his kind thought about us, and gave it to the negro, who promised to deliver it, and after he was sufficiently refreshed he mounted his "bayo," to whom we had given a feed of maize, and departed. I then had the "tropilla" brought in, and collared the "saino" to the bay mare. Her colt, which old Juan had tamed, still suffered at times from his shoulder; hard ground seemed to affect him the most, for after rain he could then be ridden. A little before sundown Bent returned quite cheerful, having received his letters. There were several people at Quincke's pulperia, and the place seemed full of conversation and news. It was said that the advance on Monte Video by the Blanco army had already begun, and that the Colorados were now retiring before them. Those who had taken part in the battle of Colonia had already returned to the province of San Josè by a route which led them nearer to the estuary of La Plata, and I could not help fearing lest in their passing they might have gone to Monsieur Emile Gunther's, and so have taken "Carnival." However, I comforted myself by the certainty that if I had kept him on at the Cerro I must have lost him. When the horses came up in the morning, I saddled the "saino" and rode him down to La Concordia. Bent was not much impressed by his appearance, but when I saw Don Frederico, he said he thought him a good honest horse, likely to prove a good servant, and that I had better do all I could to look after him. We had now reached the second week in June, and winter had already come. However, we had plenty of grass, and both sheep and cattle had done very well since the New Year began. About eleven o'clock Marmasola sent me up a message by one of his boys to say that a battle on a somewhat large scale had taken place inside the province of San Josè; that the Blancos had been victorious, and that the Colorados were now completely disorganised, and fleeing before them. Further, it was supposed the main Blanco army would now move forward and besiege Monte Video. This was indeed great news, and we now felt we should soon see the end of the revolution, and peace would be declared at last. Two days later, about four o'clock, a Blanco officer rode up to the Cerro, carrying dispatches. He said his horse was tired, for he had travelled fast and far, and he begged me to lend him a really good horse, which would carry him along for five leagues (15 miles), without loss of time, at the end of which he felt certain of obtaining fresh horses and all he wanted. What was I to do? He said the dispatches were urgent, and he had been directed to make all possible haste. I thought it over a couple of minutes, and then told him I would lend him my rosillo, provided he would faithfully promise to let him go at the end of the five leagues, and this he promised to do. The moon was nearly at the full, and would be shining during the greater part of the night, which looked as if it would be fine and clear. The rosillo was in excellent form; he had not been ridden for nearly a week, and I knew he would carry him swiftly and well, and that if all went right, when let loose he would do his best to make his own way back to the Cerro with the moon. While he was being got ready, the officer, who looked as if his word could be relied on, told me that the news Marmasola had sent to me was correct, and that it was more than probable that the siege of the capital had already commenced. It was with a sore heart that I said, "Hasta la vista," "until we see each other again," to the rosillo, and saw the officer mount him and ride away. For it was the first and only time that a soldier had put a leg across him during the revolution. So I wished the officer "un buen viaje" (a good journey); the rosillo tossed up his head and set off at a gallop; he had the heart of a lion, and very soon both were out of sight.

The first news I heard next morning was from Pedrito. He said he was bringing up the tropillas not long after sunrise, when he heard a neigh behind him, and looking back there was the rosillo, coming at a trot to join his troop, just as if nothing had happened. He looked none the worse for his journey, and a drink of water from the "alhibi" and a feed of maize pleased him greatly. "Napoleon," too, showed pleasure at his safe return, for they were great friends, and had passed many a night together when the rosillo was tied up in the court, and even when in his stable the dog would lie as close to it as he could. June passed away and nothing happened, except that the news of Monte Video being closely besieged by the Blancos was fully confirmed; and then early in July peace was declared. The revolution was over, and what had been known as "La Guerra de Aparicio" was at length a thing of the past. Thereupon the Blancos took over the government, and assumed power, and the whole country quickly settled down, as was the custom of a South American republic under similar circumstances.

Charles Bent at once began to prepare to go into Monte Video, and left by the diligence from Quincke's pulperia the middle of the following week. His life in Uruguay had not been a very successful one, nor was he really fond of camp life; indeed, he was already looking forward with pleasure to the many conveniences and comparative comfort of life in a town. During the latter half of the month I too was turning over in my mind whether I would not take a journey out towards the Rio Negro, where I knew a man who had a large estancia. I had rather a fancy to go up country, for not only should I be able to see all that was to be seen, but also obtain a little more experience of estancia life, probably under somewhat different conditions and surroundings. However, while I was thinking it all over, I received a letter from Mr. James Jardine, who was living at his estancia La Esperanza, situate some six leagues from the town of San Josè in the direction of the river Plate, inviting me to come and stay with him there for a time. He said he had heard from a mutual friend in Monte Video that it was not unlikely I might be leaving the Cerro now the war was over, so he wrote at once lest I should be making any different plans. I rode down to La Concordia and showed the letter to Don Frederico, who advised me to take advantage of the opportunity offered. He said, however, that he was arranging to go away himself very shortly for about three weeks, and he hoped I should be able to stay on at the Cerro during his absence, and so look after things until his return. Accordingly, I dispatched a letter to Mr. Jardine, thanking him for what he so kindly said in his letter, and informing him how matters stood, and saying that I hoped to arrive at La Esperanza during the last week in August. I found myself fully occupied during Don Frederico's absence, and I kept the weekly "para rodeo" of the cattle going on regularly. On one of these occasions, I was riding the "saino," we were rather short-handed, and a big point of cattle made an attempt to break back. I had to put the "saino," therefore, into a full gallop, and was rather surprised to find that he seemed to me to have, when stretching himself out, quite a superior turn of speed. With a little care and rest he had considerably improved, both in looks and condition. One beautiful day, with a frosty air and a blue sky, I rode him down to Monsieur Emile Gunther's, to ask after "Carnival." I found him at home, and he kindly invited me to join them at breakfast. Although it was the end of winter, the Swiss Colony looked attractive as I rode through it, and this was doubtless due to the fact that the numerous and large clumps of "eucalypti" never lost their summer foliage. Monsieur Emile told me "Carnival" had kept well and safe from soldiers. Moreover, when from time to time he had been good enough to use him, as I had especially asked him to do, he had always found him a very pleasant horse to ride. I sincerely thanked him for his kindness, and, when I left, saddled up "Carnival," leading the "saino," who led very well, and I arrived home with my two horses feeling that I had greatly enjoyed my ride, and I am sure that "Napoleon" was glad to see his friend again. One afternoon during Don Frederico's absence I had been round the puestos, returning but a few minutes before sundown. The southdowns were shut up inside their sheepyard, and in it was a man in the act of catching hold of one of them. He was brandishing a large knife, and loudly gesticulating, and he looked to me as if he had been drinking too much Caña. It seems he had ridden up shortly before and asked the Indians to give him some mutton to eat, as he said he had been riding in the woods of the Pichinango, and that he was hungry, and wanted food. This they offered to do, but when he saw the southdowns in their yard he said he would have one of them, and when they remonstrated and told him I should be very angry, merely remarked "that he did not care for any Englishmen, whether he liked it or not. It did not matter the least to him." As it happened, I just rode up at the critical moment, when I at once jumped off my horse, went into the yard, and told the man to come out of it, and leave the sheep alone. He made a step or two forward, towards me, knife in hand, but I whipped out my Colts revolver, and covered him with the barrel, warning him that if he came a step forward I should fire. This calmed him down, and he put back his knife into its sheath and began to walk out of the yard. I told him to mount his horse at once, and clear out, and that if I found him again interfering with any of the stock upon the estancia, it would be the worse for him. So he rode away, looking very much subdued. I could only suppose him to be one of the matreros who were still said to be hovering about the woods in our neighbourhood.