FarAwayAndLongAgoAHistoryOfMyEarlyLife

ByW.H.Hudson

FarAwayandLongAgoAHistoryofMyEarlyLife

CHAPTERIEARLIESTMEMORIES

Preamble—The house where I was born—The singular Ombu tree—A treewithoutaname—Theplain—Theghostofamurderedslave—Ourplaymate,theoldsheep-dog—Afirst riding-lesson—Thecattle:aneveningscene—Mymother—CaptainScott—Thehermitandhisawfulpenance.

Itwasnevermyintentiontowriteanautobiography.SinceItooktowritinginmy middle years I have, from time to time, related some incident of myboyhood,andthesearecontainedinvariouschaptersinTheNaturalistinLaPlata,BirdsandMan,AdventuresamongBirds,andotherworks,alsointwoorthreemagazinearticles:allthismaterialwouldhavebeenkeptbackifIhadcontemplatedsuchabookasthis.WhenmyfriendshaveaskedmeinrecentyearswhyIdidnotwriteahistoryofmyearlylifeonthepampas,myanswerwas that I had already told all thatwasworth telling in these books.And Ireallybelieveditwasso;forwhenapersonendeavourstorecallhisearlylifein itsentiretyhefinds it isnotpossible:he is likeonewhoascendsahill to

surveytheprospectbeforehimonadayofheavycloudandshadow,whoseesat a distance, now here, now there, some feature in the landscape—hill orwood or tower or spire—touched and made conspicuous by a transitorysunbeamwhileallelseremainsinobscurity.Thescenes,people,eventsweareable by an effort to call up do not present themselves in order; there is noorder,nosequenceorregularprogression—nothing,infact,butisolatedspotsor patches, brightly illumined and vividly seen, in the midst of a wideshroudedmentallandscape.

It is easy to fall into the delusion that the few things thus distinctlyrememberedandvisualizedarepreciselythosewhichweremostimportantinourlife,andonthataccountweresavedbymemorywhilealltheresthasbeenpermanentlyblottedout.Thatisindeedhowourmemoryservesandfoolsus;foratsomeperiodofaman'slife—atalleventsofsomelives—insomerarestateofthemind,itisallatoncerevealedtohimasbyamiraclethatnothingiseverblottedout.

It was through falling into some such state as that, during which I had awonderfully clear and continuous vision of the past, that I was tempted—forced Imay say—towrite this account ofmy early years. Iwill relate theoccasion,asIimaginethatthereaderwhoisapsychologistwillfindasmuchtointeresthiminthisincidentasinanythingelsecontainedinthebook.

I was feeling weak and depressed when I came down from London oneNovembereveningtothesouthcoast:thesea,theclearsky,thebrightcoloursof the afterglow keptme too long on the front in an east wind in that lowcondition,withtheresultthatIwaslaidupforsixweekswithaveryseriousillness.Yetwhen itwas over I looked back on those sixweeks as a happytime! Never had I thought so little of physical pain. Never had I feltconfinementless—Iwhofeel,whenIamoutofsightofliving,growinggrass,andoutofsoundofbirds'voicesandallruralsounds,thatIamnotproperlyalive!

Ontheseconddayofmyillness,duringanintervalofcomparativeease,Ifellinto recollectionsofmychildhood, andatonce Ihad that far, that forgottenpastwithmeagainasIhadneverpreviouslyhadit.Itwasnotlikethatmentalcondition, known to most persons, when some sight or sound or, morefrequently,theperfumeofsomeflower,associatedwithourearlylife,restoresthe past suddenly and so vividly that it is almost an illusion. That is anintenselyemotionalconditionandvanishesasquicklyas it comes.Thiswasdifferent.Toreturntothesimileandmetaphorusedatthebeginning,itwasasifthecloudshadowsandhazehadpassedawayandtheentirewideprospectbeneath me made clearly visible. Over it all my eyes could range at will,choosingthisorthatpointtodwellon,toexamineitinallitsdetails;and,in

thecaseofsomepersonknowntomeasachild,tofollowhislifetillitendedor passed from sight; then to return to the same point again to repeat theprocesswithotherlivesandresumemyramblesintheoldfamiliarhaunts.

Whatahappinessitwouldbe,I thought, inspiteofdiscomfortandpainanddanger,ifthisvisionwouldcontinue!Itwasnottobeexpected;neverthelessitdidnotvanish,andontheseconddayIsetmyselftotryandsaveitfromtheoblivion which would presently cover it again. Propped up with pillows Ibeganwithpencil andwriting-pad toput itdown in somesortoforder, andwentonwith it at intervals during thewhole sixweeksofmyconfinement,andinthiswayproducedthefirstroughdraftofthebook.

AndallthistimeIneverceasedwonderingatmyownmentalstate;Ithoughtofitwhen,quicklytired,mytremblingfingersdroppedthepencil;orwhenIwokefromuneasysleeptofindthevisionstillbeforeme,inviting,insistentlycalling tome, to resumemychildish ramblesandadventuresof longago inthatstrangeworldwhereIfirstsawthelight.

Itwastomeamarvellousexperience;tobehere,proppedupwithpillowsinadimly-lighted room, thenight-nurse idlydosingby the fire; thesoundof theeverlasting wind in my ears, howling outside and dashing the rain likehailstonesagainst thewindow-panes; tobeawake toall this, feverishand illandsore,consciousofmydangertoo,andatthesametimetobethousandsofmiles away, out in the sun and wind, rejoicing in other sights and sounds,happyagainwiththatancientlong-lostandnowrecoveredhappiness!

DuringthethreeyearsthathavepassedsinceIhadthatstrangeexperience,Ihave fromtime to time,when in themood,goneback to thebookandhavehadtocutitdownagooddealandtoreshapeit,asinthefirstdraftitwouldhavemadetoolongandformlessahistory.

The housewhere Iwas born, on the SouthAmerican pampas,was quaintlynamed Los Veinte-cinco Ombues, which means "The Twenty-five OmbuTrees," there being just twenty-five of these indigenous trees— gigantic insize,andstandingwideapart ina rowabout400yards long.Theombu isaverysingulartreeindeed,andbeingtheonlyrepresentativeoftree-vegetation,natural to thesoil,on thosegreat levelplains,andhavingalsomanycurioussuperstitionsconnectedwithit,itisaromanceinitself.ItbelongstotherarePhytolacca family, and has an immense girth—forty or fifty feet in somecases;atthesametimethewoodissosoftandspongythatitcanbecutintowithaknife,andisutterlyunfitforfirewood,forwhencutupitrefusestodry,but simply rots away like a ripewater-melon. It also grows slowly, and itsleaves, which are large, glossy and deep green, like laurel leaves, arepoisonous;andbecauseofitsuselessnessitwillprobablybecomeextinct,like

thegracefulpampasgrassinthesameregion.Inthisexceedinglypracticalagemenquicklylaytheaxeattherootofthingswhich,intheirview,onlycumbertheground;butbeforeothertreeshadbeenplantedtheantiquatedandgrand-lookingombuhaditsuses;itservedasagiganticlandmarktothetravelleronthegreatmonotonousplains, and also afforded refreshing shade toman andhorseinsummer;whilethenativedoctororherbalistwouldsometimespluckaleaf for a patient requiring averyviolent remedy for his disorder.Our treeswereaboutacenturyoldandvery large,and,as theystoodonanelevation,theycouldbeeasily seenat adistanceof tenmiles.Atnoon in summer thecattleandsheep,ofwhichwehadalargenumber,usedtorestintheirshade;onelargetreealsoaffordeduschildrenasplendidplay-house,andweusedtocarryupanumberofplankstoconstructsafebridgesfrombranchtobranch,andat noon,whenour elderswere sleeping their siesta,wewouldhaveourarborealgamesunmolested.

Besidesthefamoustwenty-five,therewasoneothertreeofadifferentspecies,growingclosetothehouse,andthiswasknownallovertheneighbourhoodas"TheTree," thisproudnamehavingbeenbestowedon it because itwas theonlyoneofthekindknowninthatpartofthecountry;ournativeneighboursalwaysaffirmedthatitwastheonlyoneintheworld.Itwasafinelargeoldtree,withawhitebark,longsmoothwhitethorns,anddark-greenundeciduousfoliage. Its blossoming timewas inNovember—amonth about as hot as anEnglishJuly—anditwouldthenbecomecoveredwithtasselsofminutewax-like flowers,palestraw-colour,andofawonderful fragrance,which thesoftsummer wind would carry for miles on its wings. And in this way ourneighbourswoulddiscoverthatthefloweringseasonhadcometothetreetheysomuchadmired,andtheywouldcometobegforabranchtotakehomewiththemtoperfumetheirlowlyhouses.

Thepampasare,inmostplaces,levelasabilliard-table;justwherewelived,however, thecountryhappenedtobeundulating,andourhousestoodonthesummit of one of the highest elevations. Before the house stretched a greatgrassyplain,leveltothehorizon,whileatthebackitslopedabruptlydowntoabroad,deepstream,whichemptieditselfintheriverPlata,aboutsixmilestothe east.This stream,with its three ancient redwillow-treesgrowingon thebanks,was a source of endless pleasure to us.Wheneverwewent down toplay on the banks, the fresh penetrating scent of the moist earth had astrangelyexhilaratingeffect,makinguswildwithjoy.Iamablenowtorecallthesesensations,andbelievethatthesenseofsmell,whichseemstodiminishaswegrowolder,untilitbecomessomethingscarcelyworthyofbeingcalledasense,isnearlyaskeeninlittlechildrenasintheinferioranimals,and,whentheylivewithnature,contributesasmuchtotheirpleasureassightorhearing.I have often observed that small children, when brought on to low, moist

ground from a high level, give loose to a sudden spontaneous gladness,running, shouting, and rolling over the grass just like dogs, and I have nodoubtthatthefreshsmelloftheearthisthecauseoftheirjoyousexcitement.

Our house was a long low structure, built of brick, and, being very old,naturally had the reputation of being haunted. A former proprietor, half acenturybeforeIwasborn,oncehadamonghisslavesaveryhandsomeyoungnegro,who,onaccountofhisbeautyandamiability,wasaspecial favouritewithhismistress.Herpreferencefilledhispoorsillybrainswithdreamsandaspirations, and, deceived by her gracious manner, he one day ventured toapproachherintheabsenceofhismasterandtoldherhisfeelings.Shecouldnot forgiveso terriblean insult toherpride,andwhenherhusbandreturnedwent to him,whitewith indignation, and told himhow thismiserable slavehad abused their kindness.The husbandhad an implacable heart, and at hiscommandtheoffenderwassuspendedbythewriststoalow,horizontalbranchof"TheTree,"andthere,insightofhismasterandmistress,hewasscourgedto death by his fellow- slaves.His battered bodywas then taken down andburiedinadeephollowatsomelittledistancefromthelastofthelongrowofombutrees.Itwastheghostofthispoorblack,whosepunishmenthadbeensomuchheavierthanhisoffencedeserved,thatwassupposedtohaunttheplace.It was not, however, a conventional ghost, stalking about in a white sheet;thosewhohadseen itaverred that it invariably roseup fromthespotwherethebodyhadbeenburied,likeapale,luminousexhalationfromtheearth,and,assumingahumanshape,floatedslowlytowardsthehouse,androamedaboutthe great trees, or, seating itself on an old projecting root, would remainmotionlessforhoursinadejectedattitude.Ineversawit.

Ourconstantcompanionandplaymateinthosedayswasadog,whoseportraithas never faded from remembrance, for he was a dog with features and apersonalitywhichimpressedthemselvesdeeplyonthemind.Hecametousinarathermysteriousmanner.Onesummereveningtheshepherdwasgallopinground the flock, and trying by means of much shouting to induce the lazysheeptomovehomewards.Astrange-lookinglamedogsuddenlyappearedonthescene,as if ithaddroppedfromtheclouds,andlimpingbrisklyafter theastonishedandfrightenedsheep,drovethemstraighthomeandintothefold;and, after thus earning his supper and showing what stuff was in him, heestablishedhimselfatthehouse,wherehewaswellreceived.Hewasagood-sizedanimal,withaverylongbody,asmoothblackcoat,tanfeet,muzzle,and"spectacles,"andafaceofextraordinarylength,whichgavehimaprofoundly-wise baboon-like expression. One of his hind legs had been broken orotherwiseinjured,sothathelimpedandshuffledalonginapeculiarlopsidedfashion; he had no tail, and his ears had been cropped close to his head:altogether hewas like an old soldier returned from thewars,where he had

received many hard knocks, besides having had sundry portions of hisanatomyshotaway.

No name to fit this singular canine visitor could be found, although heresponded readily enough to the wordPechicho, which is used to call anyunnamed pup by, like pussy for a cat. So it came to pass that thiswordpechicho—equivalent to "doggie" in English—stuck to him for onlynameuntil theendofthechapter;andtheendwasthat,afterspendingsomeyearswithus,hemysteriouslydisappeared.

Heverysoonprovedtousthatheunderstoodchildrenaswellassheep;atallevents hewould allow them to tease andpull himaboutmost unmercifully,and actually appeared to enjoy it.Our first riding-lessonswere takenonhisback; but old Pechicho eventually made one mistake, after which he wasrelievedfromthelabourofcarryingus.WhenIwasaboutfouryearsold,mytwoelderbrothers,inthecharacterofriding-masters,setmeonhisback,and,in order to test my capacity for sticking on under difficulties, they rushedaway, calling him. The old dog, infected with the pretended excitement,boundedafterthem,andIwasthrownandhadmylegbroken,for,asthepoetsays—

Children,theyareverylittle,Andtheirbonesareverybrittle.

Luckilytheirlittlebrittlebonesquicklysolder,anditdidnottakemelongtorecoverfromtheeffectsofthismishap.

Nodoubtmycaninesteedwasasmuchtroubledasanyoneattheaccident.Iseemtoseethewiseoldfellownow,sittinginthatcuriousone-sidedfashionhe had acquired so as to rest his lame leg, his mouth opened to a kind ofimmensesmile,andhisbrownbenevolenteyesregardinguswithjustsuchanexpressionasoneseesinafaithfuloldnegressnursingaflockoftroublesomewhite children—so proud and happy to be in charge of the little ones of asuperiorrace!

AllthatIrememberofmyearlylifeatthisplacecomesbetweentheagesofthreeor fourand five;aperiodwhich, to theeyeofmemory,appears likeawideplainblurredoverwithalow-lyingmist,withhereandthereagroupoftrees,ahouse,ahill,orother largeobject, standingout in theclearairwithmarvellous distinctness. The picture thatmost often presents itself is of thecattlecominghomeintheevening;thegreenquietplainextendingawayfromthegatetothehorizon;thewesternskyflushedwithsunsethues,andtheherdof four or five hundred cattle trotting homewards with loud lowings andbellowings,raisingagreatcloudofdustwiththeirhoofs,whilebehindgallop

theherdsmenurgingthemonwithwildcries.Anotherpictureisofmymotheratthecloseoftheday,whenwechildren,afteroursupperofbreadandmilk,joininalastgrandfroliconthegreenbeforethehouse.Iseehersittingoutofdoorswatchingoursportwithasmile,herbooklyinginherlap,andthelastraysofthesettingsunshiningonherface.

When I think of her I remember with gratitude that our parents seldom ornever punished us, and never, unless we went too far in our domesticdissensionsortricks,evenchidedus.This,Iamconvinced,istherightattitudeforparentstoobserve,modestlytoadmitthatnatureiswiserthantheyare,andtolettheirlittleonesfollow,asfaraspossible,thebentoftheirownminds,orwhateveritistheyhaveinplaceofminds.Itistheattitudeofthesensiblehentowards her ducklings, when she has had frequent experience of theirincongruousways,andissatisfiedthattheyknowbestwhatisgoodforthem;though,ofcourse,theirwaysseempeculiartoher,andshecanneverentirelysympathizewith their fancy forgoing intowater. Ineednotbe told that thehenisafterallonlystep-mothertoherducklings,sinceIamcontendingthatthecivilizedwoman—theartificialproductofourself-imposedconditions—cannothavethesamerelationtoheroffspringastheuncivilizedwomanreallyhastohers.Thecomparison,therefore,holdsgood,themotherwithusbeingpracticallystep-mothertochildrenofanotherrace;andifsheissensible,andamenable to nature's teaching, she will attribute their seemingly unsuitablewaysandappetites to therightcause,andnot toahypotheticalperversityorinherentdepravityofheart,aboutwhichmanyauthorswillhavespokentoherinmanybooks:

ButthoughtheywroteitallbyroteTheydidnotwriteitright.

Of all thepeopleoutsideof thedomestic circleknown tome in thosedays,two individualsonlyaredistinctly remembered.Theywerecertainlypaintedbymemory inverystrongunfadingcolours, so thatnow theyseem tostandlikelivingmeninacompanyofpalephantomforms.Thisisprobablyduetothe circumstance that theywere considerablymore grotesque in appearancethan the others, like old Pechicho among our dogs—all now forgotten savehim.

One was an Englishman named Captain Scott, who used to visit usoccasionally for aweek's shootingor fishing, for hewas a great sportsman.Wewereallextremelyfondofhim,forhewasoneofthosesimplementhatloveandsympathizewithchildren;besides that,heused tocometousfromsome distant wonderful place where sugar-plums were made, and to ourhealthy appetites, unaccustomed to sweets of any description, these thingstasted like an angelic kind of food. Hewas an immenseman, with a great

round face of a purplish-red colour, like the sun setting in glory, andsurroundedwithafringeofsilvery-whitehairandwhiskers,standingoutlikethe petals round the disc of a sunflower. It was always a great time whenCaptainScottarrived,andwhilehealightedfromhishorsewewouldsurroundhimwithlouddemonstrationsofwelcome,eagerforthetreasureswhichmadehis pockets bulge out on all sides. When he went out gunning he alwaysremembered to shoot a hawk or some strangely-painted bird for us; it wasevenbetterwhenhewentfishing,forthenhetookuswithhim,andwhilehestoodmotionlesson thebank, rod inhand, looking, in the light-blue suit healways wore, like a vast blue pillar crowned with that broad red face, weromped on the sward, and revelled in the dank fragrance of the earth andrushes.

IhavenotthefaintestnotionofwhoCaptainScottwas,orofwhathewasevercaptain,orwhetherresidenceinawarmclimateorharddrinkinghaddyedhisbroad countenance with that deep magenta red, nor of how and when hefinishedhis earthly career; forwhenwemoved away the hugepurple-facedstrange-lookingmandropped for everoutofour lives;yet inmymindhowbeautifulhisgiganticimagelooks!AndtothisdayIblesshismemoryforallthe sweets he gave me, in a land where sweets were scarce, and for hisfriendlinesstomewhenIwasaverysmallboy.

Thesecondwell-rememberedindividualwasalsoonlyanoccasionalvisitoratourhouse,andwasknownalloverthesurroundingcountryastheHermit,forhisnamewasneverdiscovered.Hewasperpetuallyon themove,visiting inturneveryhousewithinaradiusoffortyorfiftymiles;andonceabouteverysevenoreightweekshecalledonustoreceiveafewarticlesoffood—enoughfortheday'sconsumption.Moneyhealwaysrefusedwithgesturesofintensedisgust,andhewouldalsodeclinecookedmeatandbrokenbread.Whenhardbiscuits were given him, hewould carefully examine them, and if onewasfoundchippedorcrackedhewouldreturnit,pointingoutthedefect,andaskforasoundoneinreturn.Hehadasmall,sun-parchedface,andsilverylonghair;buthisfeatureswerefine,his teethwhiteandeven,hiseyescleargreyand keen as a falcon's. There was always a set expression of deep mentalanguishonhisface,intensifiedwithperhapsatouchofinsanity,whichmadeitpainfultolookathim.Asheneveracceptedmoneyoranythingbutfood,heofcoursemadehisowngarments—andwhatgarmentstheywere!Manyyearsago I used to see, strolling about St. James's Park, a huge hairy gentleman,withabludgeoninhishand,andclothedwithabear'sskintowhichtheheadandpawswereattached.Itmaybethatthiseccentricindividualisrememberedbysomeofmyreaders,butIassurethemthathewasquiteaSt.James'sParkdandy comparedwithmyhermit.Hewore a pair of gigantic shoes, about afootbroadatthetoes,madeoutofthickcow-hidewiththehairon;andonhis

headwasa tall rimlesscow-hidehat shaped likean inverted flower-pot.Hisbodily coveringwas, however, themost extraordinary: the outer garment, ifgarment it canbe called, resembled avery largemattress in size and shape,withthetickingmadeofinnumerablepiecesofrawhidesewntogether.Itwasabouta foot in thicknessandstuffedwithsticks, stones,hard lumpsofclay,rams' horns, bleached bones, and other hard heavy objects; it was fastenedroundhimwithstrapsofhide,andreachednearlytotheground.Thefigurehemade in this covering was most horribly uncouth and grotesque, and hisperiodicalvisitsusedtothrowusintoagreatstateofexcitement.Andasifthisawful burden with which he had saddled himself—enough to have crusheddownanytwoordinarymen—wasnotsufficient,hehadweighted theheavystickused to supporthis stepswithagreatball at theend,alsowitha largecircularbell-shapedobjectsurroundingthemiddle.Onarrivingatthehouse,wherethedogswouldbecomefranticwithterrorandrageatsightofhim,hewould stand resting himself for eight or ten minutes; then in a strangelanguage,whichmighthavebeenHebreworSanscrit,fortherewasnopersonlearnedenoughinthecountrytounderstandit,hewouldmakealongspeechorprayer inaclear ringingvoice, intoninghiswords inamonotonoussing-song.Hisspeechdone,hewouldbeg,inbrokenSpanish,fortheusualcharity;and,afterreceivingit,hewouldcommenceanotheraddress,possiblyinvokingblessingsofallkindsonthedonor,andlastinganunconscionabletime.Then,biddingaceremoniousfarewell,hewouldtakehisdeparture.

From the sound of certain oft-recurring expressions in his recitations wechildren called him "Con-stairLo-vair"; perhaps some clever punditwill beable to tell me what these words mean—the only fragment saved of thehermit'smysterious language. Itwas commonly reported that he had at oneperiod of his life committed some terrible crime, and that, pursued by thephantomsofremorse,hehadfledtothisdistantregion,wherehewouldneverbemetanddenouncedbyanyformercompanion,andhadadoptedhissingularmode of life byway of penance. This was, of course,mere conjecture, fornothingcouldbe extracted fromhim.Whencloselyquestionedorotherwiseinterfered with, then old Con-stair Lo-vair would show that his long cruelpenancehadnotyetbanishedthedevilfromhisheart.Aterriblewrathwoulddisfigurehiscountenanceandkindlehiseyeswithdemoniacfire;andinsharpringing tones, that wounded like strokes, he would pour forth a torrent ofwordsinhisunknownlanguage,doubtlessinvokingeveryimaginablecurseonhistormentor.

ForupwardsoftwentyyearsafterIasasmallchildmadehisacquaintancehecontinued faithfully pursuinghis dreary rounds, exposed to cold and rain inwinterandtothemoretryingheatsofsummer;untilatlasthewasdiscoveredlyingdeadontheplain,wastedbyoldageandfaminetoamereskeleton,and

evenindeathstillcrusheddownwiththatawfulburdenhehadcarriedforsomany years. Thus, consistent to the end, and with his secret untold to anysympathetichumansoul,perishedpooroldCon-stairLo-vair,thestrangestofallstrangebeingsIhavemetwithinmyjourneythroughlife.

CHAPTERII

MYNEWHOME

Wequit our oldhome—Awinter day journey—Aspect of the country—Ournewhome—Aprisonerinthebarn—Theplantation—Aparadiseofrats—Aneveningscene—Thepeopleofthehouse—Abeggaronhorseback—Mr.Triggour schoolmaster—His double nature—Impersonates an old woman—ReadingDickens—Mr.Triggdegenerates—Oncemore ahomelesswandereronthegreatplain.

The incidents and impressions recorded in the preceding chapter relate, as Ihavesaid, to the lastyearor twoofmyfiveyearsof life in theplaceofmybirth.Furtherbackmymemoryrefuses to takeme.Somewonderfulpersonsgobacktotheirsecondoreventheirfirstyear;Ican't,andcouldonlytellfromhearsaywhatIwasanddiduptotheageofthree.Accordingtoallaccounts,thecloudsofgloryIbroughtintotheworld—ahabitofsmilingateverythingIlookedatandateverypersonthatapproachedme—ceasedtobevisiblytrailedataboutthatage;Ionlyremembermyselfasacommonlittleboy—justalittlewildanimalrunningaboutonitshindlegs,amazinglyinterestedintheworldinwhichitfounditself.

Here, then, Ibegin, aged five, at anearlyhouronabright, coldmorning inJune—midwinter in that southern country of great plains or pampas;impatiently waiting for the loading and harnessing to be finished; then thebeing lifted to the topwith theother littleones—at that timewewere five;finally, the grandmoment when the start was actuallymadewith cries andmuch noise of stamping and snorting of horses and rattling of chains. Irememberagooddealofthatlongjourney,whichbeganatsunriseandendedbetweenthelightssometimeaftersunset;foritwasmyveryfirst,andIwasgoingoutintotheunknown.Irememberhow,atthefootoftheslopeatthetopofwhich theoldhomestood,weplungedinto theriver,and therewasmorenoise and shouting and excitement until the straining animals brought ussafelyoutontheotherside.Gazingback,thelowroofofthehousewaslosttoview before long, but the trees—the row of twenty- five giant ombu-trees

which gave the place its name—were visible, blue in the distance, untilweweremanymilesonourway.

Theundulatingcountryhadbeenleftbehind;beforeusandonbothsidestheland, far as one could see, was absolutely flat, everywhere green with thewintergrass,butflowerlessatthatseason,andwiththegleamofwater,overthewholeexpanse. Ithadbeenaseasonofgreat rains,andmuchof the flatcountry had been turned into shallow lakes. That was all there was to see,except the herds of cattle and horses and an occasional horseman gallopingovertheplain,andthesightatlongdistancesofagroveorsmallplantationoftrees,marking the siteofanestancia,or sheepandcattle farm, thesegrovesappearinglikeislandsonthesea-likeflatcountry.Atlengththismonotonouslandscape faded and vanished quite away, and the lowing of cattle andtremulousbleatingofsheepdiedoutofhearing,sothatthelastleagueswereablank tome,and Ionlycameback tomysenseswhen itwasdarkand theyliftedmedown,sostiffwithcoldanddrowsythatIcouldhardlystandonmyfeet.

Nextmorning I foundmyself inanewand strangeworld.Thehouse tomychildisheyesappearedofvastsize: itconsistedofa longrangeofroomsontheground,builtofbrick,withbrickfloorsandroofthatchedwithrushes.Theroomsatoneend, fronting theroad, formedastore,where thepeopleof thesurroundingcountrycametobuyandsell,andwhattheybroughttosellwas"the produce of the country"— hides and wool and tallow in bladders,horsehairinsacks,andnativecheeses.Inreturntheycouldpurchaseanythingthey wanted-knives, spurs, rings for horse-gear, clothing, yerba mate andsugar; tobacco, castor-oil, salt and pepper, and oil and vinegar, and suchfurniture as they required—iron pots, spits for roasting, cane-chairs, andcoffins.Alittledistancefromthehousewerethekitchen,bakery,dairy,hugebarnsforstoring theproduce,andwood-pilesbigashouses, thewoodbeingnothingbut stalks of the cardoon thistle orwild artichoke,whichburns likepaper,sothatimmensequantitieshadtobecollectedtosupplyfuelforalargeestablishment.

Twoofthesmallestofuswerehandedovertothecareofasharplittlenativeboy,agedaboutnineortenyears,whowastoldtotakeusoutofthewayandkeepusamused.Thefirstplacehetookustowasthegreatbarn,thedoorofwhichstoodopen;itwasnearlyemptyjustthen,andwasthebiggestinteriorIhadeverseen;howbigitreallywasIdon'tknow,butitseemedtomeaboutasbigasOlympiaortheAgriculturalHall,ortheCrystalPalacewouldbetoanyordinarylittleLondonboy.Nosoonerwereweinthisvastplacethanwesawastrangeandstartlingthing—aman,sittingorcrouchingonthefloor,hishandsbeforehim,thewriststiedtogether,hisbodyboundwiththongsofrawhideto

abigpostwhichstoodinthecentreofthefloorandsupportedthebeamoftheloft above.Hewas ayoungman, notmore than twentyperhaps,withblackhairandasmooth,pale,sallowface.Hiseyeswerecastdown,andhepaidnoattentiontous,standingtherestaringathim,andheappearedtobesufferingorill.AfterafewmomentsIshrankawaytothedoorandaskedourconductorin a frightenedwhisperwhy hewas tied up to a post there.Our native boyseemedtobequitepleasedattheeffectonus,andansweredcheerfullythathewas a murderer—he had committed a murder somewhere, and had beencaught last evening, but as itwas too late to take him to the lock-up at thevillage,whichwas a long distance away, they had brought him here as themost convenient place, and tied him in the barn to keep him safe. Later ontheywouldcomeandtakehimaway.

Murderwasacommonwordinthosedays,butIhadnotatthattimegraspeditsmeaning;Ihadseennomurderdone,noranypersonkilledinafight;Ionlyknewthatitmustbesomethingwickedandhorrible.Nevertheless,theshockIhadreceivedpassedawayinthecourseofthatfirstmorninginanewworld;butwhatIhadseeninthebarnwasnotforgotten:theimageofthatyoungmantiedtothepost,hisbentheadanddownwardgaze,andghastlyfaceshadedbylankblackhair,isasplaintomenowasifIhadseenhimbutyesterday.

Alittlebackfromthebuildingsweregardensandseveralacresofplantation—both shade and fruit trees. Viewed from the outside, it all looked like animmensepoplargrove,onaccountofthedoublerowsoftallLombardypoplartrees at the borders. The whole ground, including the buildings, wassurroundedbyanimmenseditchormoat.

UptillnowIhadlivedwithouttrees,withtheexceptionofthosetwenty-fiveIhave spokenof,which formeda landmark for all the country round; so thatthis great number—hundreds and thousands—of trees was a marvel anddelight.But theplantation andwhat itwas tomewill form the subject of achapterbyitself.Itwasaparadiseofrats,asIverysoondiscovered.Ourlittlenativeguideandinstructorwasfullofthesubject,andpromisedtoletusseetheratswithourowneyesassoonasthesunwentdown;thatwouldfinishthedayofstrangesightswiththestrangestofall.

Accordingly,when the time came he led us to a spot beyond the barns andwood-piles, where all the offal of slaughtered animals, bones, andunconsumedmeatsfromthekitchen,andrubbishfromawasteful,disorderlyestablishment,werecastouteachday.Hereweallsatdowninarowonalogamongthedeadweedsontheborderoftheevil-smellingplace,andhetoldustobevery still and speaknoword; for, saidhe, unlesswemoveormake asoundtheratswillnotheedus;theywillregardusassomanywoodenimages.Andsoitproved,forverysoonafterthesunhadgonedownwebegantosee

ratsstealingoutof thewoodpileandfromthedeadweedsoneveryside,allconverging to thatonespotwhereagenerous tablewasspreadfor themandforthebrowncarrionhawksthatcamebyday.Big,old,greyratswithlong,scalytails,otherssmaller,andsmallerstill, theleastofallbeinglittlebiggerthanmice, until thewhole place swarmedwith them, all busily hunting forfood,feeding,squealing,fighting,andbiting.IhadnotknownthatthewholeworldcontainedsomanyratsasInowsawcongregatedbeforeme.

Suddenlyourguidejumpedupandloudlyclappedhishands,whichproducedacuriouseffect—ashort,sharplittleshriekofterrorfromthebusymultitude,followed by absolute stillness, every rat frozen to stone, which lasted for asecondortwo;thenaswiftscuttlingawayinalldirections,vanishingwitharustlingsoundthroughthedeadgrassandwood.

It had been a fine spectacle, and we enjoyed it amazingly; it raisedMusdecumanus to abeast of immense importance inmymind.Soonhebecameevenmore important in an unpleasantwaywhen itwas discovered that ratswereabundantindoorsaswellasout.Thevariousnoisestheymadeatnightwereterrifying;theywouldrunoverourbedsandsometimeswewouldwakeuptofindthatonehadgotinbetweenthesheetsandwastryingfranticallytogetout.Thenwewouldyell,andhalfthehousewouldberousedandimaginesome dreadful thing. But when they found out the cause, they would onlylaughatandrebukeusforbeingsuchpoorlittlecowards.

But what an astonishing place was this to which we had come! The greathouse and many buildings and the people in it, the foss, the trees thatenchantedme, thedirtanddisorder,vileratsandfleasandpestsofallsorts!TheplacehadbeenforsomeyearsinthehandsofaSpanishornativefamily—indolent, careless, happy-go-lucky people. The husband and wife wereneverinharmonyoragreementaboutanythingforfiveminutestogether,andbyandbyhewouldgoawaytothecapital"onbusiness,"whichwouldkeephimfromhomeforweeks,andevenmonths,atastretch.Andshe,withthreelight-headed,grown-updaughters,wouldbelefttoruntheestablishmentwithhalf-a-dozenhiredmenandwomentoassisther.Irememberherwell,asshestayedonafewdaysinordertohandovertheplacetous—anexcessivelyfat,inactivewoman,whosatmostofthedayinaneasy-chair,surroundedbyherpets—lap-dogs,Amazonparrots,andseveralshriekingparakeets.

Beforemany days she left,with all her noisy crowd of dogs and birds anddaughters, and of the events of the succeeding days and weeks nothingremains inmemoryexceptoneexceedinglyvivid impression—myfirstsightof a beggar on horseback. Itwas by nomeans an uncommon sight in thosedayswhen,asthegauchoswereaccustomedtosay,amanwithoutahorsewasamanwithoutlegs;butitwasnewtomewhenonemorningIsawatallman

onatallhorserideuptoourgate,accompaniedbyaboyofnineortenonapony.Iwasstruckwiththeman'ssingularappearance,sittinguprightandstiffinhissaddle,staringstraightbeforehim.Hehadlonggreyhairandbeard,andworeatallstrawhatshapedlikeaninvertedflower-pot,withanarrowbrim—aformofhatwhichhadlatelygoneoutoffashionamongthenativesbutwasstillusedbyafew.Overhisclothesheworearedcloakorponcho,andheavyiron spurs on his feet, which were cased in the botas de potro, or longstockingsmadeofacolt'suntannedhide.

Arrived at the gate he shouted Ave Maria purissima in a loud voice, thenproceededtogiveanaccountofhimself,informingusthathewasablindmanandobligedtosubsistonthecharityofhisneighbours.Theyintheirturn,hesaid, in providing him with all he required were only doing good tothemselves, seeing that those who showed the greatest compassion towardstheir afflicted fellow-creatures were regarded with special favour by thePowersabove.

Afterdeliveringhimselfofall thisandmuchmoreasifpreachingasermon,hewas assisted from his horse and led by the hand to the front door, afterwhich the boy drew back and folding his arms across his breast staredhaughtily at us children and the others who had congregated at the spot.Evidently he was proud of his position as page or squire or groom of theimportantpersoninthetallstrawhat,redcloak,andironspurs,whogallopedaboutthelandcollectingtributefromthepeopleandtalkingloftilyaboutthePowersabove.

Askedwhatherequiredatourhandsthebeggarrepliedthathewantedyerbamate, sugar, bread, and some hard biscuits, also cut tobacco and paper forcigarettes and some leaf tobacco for cigars.When all these things had beengivenhim,hewasasked(not ironically) if therewasanythingelsewecouldsupplyhimwith,andhe replied,Yes,hewasstill inwantof rice, flour,andfarina,anonionortwo,aheadortwoofgarlic,alsosalt,pepper,andpimento,orredpepper.Andwhenhehadreceivedall thesecomestiblesandfelt themsafely packed in his saddle-bags, he returned thanks, bade good-bye in themostdignifiedmanner,andwasledbackbythehaughtylittleboytohistallhorse.

Wehadbeensettledsomemonthsinournewhome,andIwasjustabouthalfwaythroughmysixthyear,whenonemorningatbreakfastwechildrenwereinformed to our utter dismay that we could no longer be permitted to runabsolutelywild;thataschoolmasterhadbeenengagedwhowouldliveinthehouseandwouldhaveusintheschoolroomduringthemorningandpartoftheafternoon.

Ourheartswereheavyinusthatday,whilewewaitedapprehensivelyfortheappearanceofthemanwhowouldexercisesuchatremendouspoweroverusandwouldstandbetweenusandourparents,especiallyourmother,whohadeverbeenourshieldandrefugefromallpainsandtroubles.Uptillnowtheyhadactedontheprinciplethatchildrenwerebest left tothemselves, that themore liberty theyhad thebetter itwas for them.Now it almost lookedas iftheywereturningagainstus;butweknewthatitcouldnotbeso—weknewthateveryslightestpainorgriefthattoucheduswasfeltmorekeenlybyourmotherthanbyourselves,andwewerecompelledtobelieveherwhenshetoldus that she, too, lamented the restraint thatwouldbeputuponus,butknewthatitwouldbeforourultimategood.

And on that very afternoon the fearedman arrived,Mr. Trigg by name, anEnglishman, a short, stoutish, almost fat little man, with grey hair, clean-shavedsunburntface,acrookednosewhichhadbeenbrokenorwasbornso,clevermobilemouth,andblue-greyeyeswithahumoroustwinkleinthemandcrow's-feetatthecorners.Onlytousyoungsters,aswesoondiscovered,thathumorousfaceandthetwinklingeyeswerecapableofaterriblesternness.Hewas loved, I think, by adults generally, and regarded with feelings of anopposite nature by children. For he was a schoolmaster who hated anddespised teaching as much as children in the wild hated to be taught. Hefollowed teaching because allworkwas excessively irksome to him, yet hehadtodosomethingforaliving,andthiswastheeasiestthinghecouldfindtodo. How such aman ever came to be so far from home in a half-civilizedcountrywasamystery,but therehewas,abachelorandhomelessmanaftertwentyorthirtyyearsonthepampas,withlittleornomoneyinhispocket,andnobelongingsexcepthishorse—heneverownedmore thanoneata time—and its cumbrous native saddle, and the saddle-bags in which he kept hiswardrobe andwhatever he possessed besides. He didn't own a box. On hishorse, with his saddle- bags behind him, he would journey about the land,visiting all the English, Scotch, and Irish settlers, who were mostly sheep-farmers,butreligiouslyavoidingthehousesofthenatives.Withthenativeshecouldnotaffiliate,andnotproperlyknowingandincapableofunderstandingthemhe regarded themwith secretdislike and suspicion.Andbyandbyhewould findahousewhere therewerechildrenoldenough tobe taught theirletters, and Mr. Trigg would be hired by the month, like a shepherd orcowherd,toteachthem,livingwiththefamily.Hewouldgoonverywellforatime,hisfailingsbeingcondonedforthesakeofthelittleones;butbyandbytherewouldbeafalling-out,andMr.Triggwouldsaddlehishorse,buckleonthe saddle-bags, and ride forthover thewideplain inquest of anewhome.Withushemade anunusually long stay; he likedgood living and comfortsgenerally, and at the same timehewas interested in the thingsof themind,whichhadnoplaceinthelivesoftheBritishsettlersofthatperiod;andnow

hefoundhimselfinaverycomfortablehouse,wheretherewerebookstoreadand people to converse with who were not quite like the rude sheep- andcattle- farmers he had been accustomed to live with. He was on his bestbehaviour,andnodoubtstrovehardandnotunsuccessfullytogetthebetterofhisweaknesses.Hewaslookedonasagreatacquisition,andmademuchof;intheschool-roomhewasatyrant,andhavingbeenforbiddentopunishusbystriking,herestrainedhimselfwhentothrashuswouldhavebeenanimmenserelieftohim.Butpinchingwasnotstriking,andhewouldpinchourearsuntiltheyalmostbled.Itwasapoorpunishmentandgavehimlittlesatisfaction,butithadtoserve.Outofschoolhistemperwouldchangeasbymagic.Hewasthen the life of the house, a delightful talker with an inexhaustible fund ofgoodstories,agoodreader,mimic,andactoraswell.

OneafternoonwehadacallfromaquaintoldScotchdame,inaqueerdress,sunbonnet, and spectacles, who introduced herself as the wife of SandyMaclachlan,asheep-farmerwholivedabouttwenty-fivemilesaway.Itwasn'tright,shesaid,thatsuchnearneighboursshouldnotknowoneanother,soshehadriddenthosefewleaguestofindoutwhatwewerelike.Establishedatthetea-table, she poured out a torrent of talk in broadest Scotch, in her high-pitchedcrackedold-woman'svoice,andgaveusanintimatedomestichistoryof all the British residents of the district. It was all about what delightfulpeople they were, and how even their little weaknesses—their love of thebottle, theirmeannesses, their greed and lowcunning—only served tomakethemmore charming.Neverwas there such a funny old dame or onemoregiven to gossip and scandal-mongering! Then she took herself off, andpresentlywe children, still under her spell, stole out towatch her departurefromthegate.Butshewasnotthere—shehadvanishedunaccountably;andbyandbywhatwasourastonishmentanddisgusttohearthattheoldScotchbodywas none other than our own Mr. Trigg! That our needle-sharp eyes,concentratedforanhouronherface,hadfailedtodetectthemasterwhowassopainfullyfamiliartousseemedlikeamiracle.

Mr.Triggconfessedthatplay-actingwasoneofthethingshehaddonebeforequittinghiscountry;butitwasonlyoneofadozenortwentyvocationswhichhehadtakenupatvarioustimes,onlytodropthemagainassoonashemadethe discovery that they one and all entailedmonths and even years of hardworkifhewasevertofulfilhisambitiousdesireofdoingandbeingsomethinggreat in the world. As a reader he certainly was great, and every evening,when the evenings were long, he would give a two hours' reading to thehousehold. Dickens was then the most popular writer in the world, and heusuallyreadDickens,tothedelightofhislisteners.Herehecoulddisplayhishistrionicqualities to the full.He impersonated every character in thebook,endowing him with voice, gestures, manner, and expression that fitted him

perfectly.Itwasmorelikeaplaythanareading.

"WhatshouldwedowithoutMr.Trigg?"ourelderswereaccustomedtosay;but we little ones, remembering that it would not be the beneficentcountenanceofMr.Pickwickthatwouldlookonusintheschoolroomonthefollowingmorning,onlywishedthatMr.Triggwasfar,faraway.

Perhaps theymade toomuch of him: at all events he fell into the habit ofgoing away every Saturday morning and not returning until the followingMonday.Hisweek-endvisitwasalwaystosomeEnglishorScotchneighbour,asheep-farmer,tenorfifteenortwentymilesdistant,wherethebottleordemi-johnofwhiteBrazilianrumwasalwaysonthetable.ItwastheBritishexile'sonlysubstituteforhisdearlostwhiskyinthatfarcountry.Athometherewasonlyteaandcoffeetodrink.FromtheseoutingshewouldreturnonMondaymorning, quite sober and almost too dignified inmanner, butwith inflamedeyesand(intheschoolroom)thetemperofadevil.Ononeoftheseoccasions,something—our stupidity perhaps, or an exceptionally bad headache—triedhimbeyondendurance, and takingdownhis revenque, or native horse-whipmade of raw hide, from the wall, he began laying about him with suchextraordinaryfurythattheroomwasquicklyinanuproar.Thenallatoncemymotherappearedonthescene,andthetempestwasstilled,thoughthemaster,with the whip in his uplifted hand, still stood, glaringwith rage at us. Shestoodsilentamomentortwo,herfaceverywhite,thenspoke:"Children,youmaygoandplaynow.Schoolisover;"then,lestthefullpurportofherwordsshouldnotbeunderstood,sheadded,"Yourschoolmasterisgoingtoleaveus."

Itwasanunspeakablerelief,ajoyfulmoment;yetonthatveryday,andonthenextbeforeherodeaway,I,evenIwhohadbeenunjustlyandcruellystruckwithahorsewhip,feltmylittleheartheavyinmewhenIsawthechangeinhisface—thedark,still,broodinglook,andknewthatthethoughtofhisfallandthe loss of his home was exceedingly bitter to him. Doubtless my mothernoticed it, too, and shed a few compassionate tears for the poorman, oncemorehomelesson thegreatplain.Buthecouldnotbekeptafter that insaneoutbreak.Tostriketheirchildrenwastomyparentsacrime;itchangedtheirnatureanddegradedthem,andMr.Triggcouldnotbeforgiven.

Mr. Trigg, as I have said before, was a long time with us, and the happydeliveranceIhaverelateddidnotoccuruntilIwasneartheendofmyeighthyear.AtthepresentstageofmystoryIamnotyetsix,andtheincidentrelatedin the following chapter, in whichMr. Trigg figures, occurred when I waswithinacoupleofmonthsofcompletingmysixthyear.

CHAPTERIII

DEATHOFANOLDDOG

TheolddogCaesar—Hispowerfulpersonality—Lastdaysandend—Theolddog's burial—The fact of death is brought home to me—A child's mentalanguish—Mymothercomfortsme—Limitationsofthechild'smind—Fearofdeath—Witnessingtheslaughterofcattle—Amaninthemoat—Margarita,thenurserymaid—Her beauty and lovableness—Her death—I refuse to see herdead.

When recalling the impressions and experiences of thatmost eventful sixthyear,theoneincidentwhichlooksbiggestinmemory,atalleventsinthelasthalf of that year, is the death of Caesar. There is nothing in the past I canremembersowell:itwasindeedthemostimportanteventofmychildhood—thefirstthinginayounglifewhichbroughttheeternalnoteofsadnessin.

It was in the early spring, about the middle of August, and I can evenremember that it waswindyweather and bitterly cold for the time of year,whentheolddogwasapproachinghisend.

Caesarwasanoldvalueddog,althoughofnosuperiorbreed:hewasjustanordinarydogofthecountry,short-haired,withlonglegsandabluntmuzzle.Theordinarydogornativecurwasabout thesizeofaScotchcollie;Caesarwasquiteathirdlarger,anditwassaidofhimthathewasasmuchaboveallotherdogsof thehouse,numberingabout twelveor fourteen, in intelligenceandcourageas insize.Naturally,hewas the leaderandmasterof thewholepack,andwhenhegotupwithanawfulgrowl,baringhisbigteeth,andhurledhimself on the others to chastise them for quarrelling or any otherinfringementofdoglaw,theytookitlyingdown.Hewasablackdog,nowinhis old age sprinkled with white hairs all over his body, the face and legshavinggonequitegrey.Caesarinarage,oronguardatnight,orwhendrivingcattle infromtheplains,wasa terriblebeing;withuschildrenhewasmild-temperedandpatient,allowingus to rideonhisback, just likeoldPechichothe sheep-dog, described in the first chapter. Now, in his decline, he grewirritableandsurly,andceasedtobeourplaymate.Thelasttwoorthreemonthsofhislifewereverysad,andwhenittroubledustoseehimsogaunt,withhisbig ribs protruding from his sides, to watch his twitchings when he dozed,groaningandwheezingthewhile,andmarked,too,howpainfullyhestruggledtogetuponhisfeet,wewantedtoknowwhyitwasso—whywecouldnotgivehimsomethingtomakehimwell?Foranswertheywouldopenhisgreatmouthtoshowushisteeth—thebigbluntcaninesandoldmolarsworndowntostumps.Oldagewaswhatailedhim—hewas thirteenyearsold, and that

didverilyseemtomeagreatage,forIwasnothalfthat,yetitseemedtomethatIhadbeenavery,verylongtimeintheworld.

Noonedreamedofsuchathingasputtinganendtohim—nohintofsuchathingwaseverspoken.Itwasnot thecustominthatcountrytoshootanolddog because hewas pastwork. I remember his last day, and how oftenwecametolookathimandtriedtocomforthimwithwarmrugsandtheofferoffoodanddrinkwherehewaslyinginashelteredplace,nolongerabletostandup.Andthatnighthedied:weknewitassoonaswewereupinthemorning.Then,afterbreakfast,duringwhichwehadbeenverysolemnandquiet,ourschoolmaster said: "Wemustburyhim today—at twelveo'clock,when Iamfree,willbethebesttime;theboyscancomewithme,andoldJohncanbringhisspade."Thisannouncementgreatlyexcitedus,forwehadneverseenadogburied,andhadneverevenheardofsuchathinghavingeverbeendone.

About noon that day old Caesar, dead and stiff, was taken by one of theworkmentoagreenopenspotamongtheoldpeachtrees,wherehisgravehadalreadybeendug.Wefollowedourschoolmasterandwatchedwhilethebodywasloweredandtheredearthshovelledin.Thegravewasdeep,andMr.Triggassistedinfillingit,puffingverymuchoverthetaskandstoppingatintervalstomophisfacewithhiscolouredcottonhandkerchief.

Then,whenallwasdone,whilewewerestillstandingsilentlyaround,itcameinto Mr. Trigg's mind to improve the occasion. Assuming his schoolroomexpression he looked round at us and said solemnly: "That's the end.Everydoghashisdayandsohaseveryman;andtheendisthesameforboth.WedielikeoldCaesar,andareputintothegroundandhavetheearthshovelledoverus."

Nowthesesimple,commonwordsaffectedmemore thananyotherwords Ihaveheard inmy life.Theypiercedme to theheart. I hadheard somethingterrible—tooterribletothinkof,incredible—andyet—andyetifitwasnotso,whyhadhesaidit?Wasitbecausehehatedus,justbecausewewerechildrenandhehadtoteachusourlessons,andwantedtotortureus?Alas!no,Icouldnot believe that!Was this, then, the horrible fate that awaited us all? I hadheardofdeath—Iknewtherewassuchathing;Iknewthatallanimalshadtodie,alsothatsomemendied.Forhowcouldanyone,evenachildinitssixthyear, overlook such a fact, especially in the country ofmy birth—a land ofbattle,murder,andsuddendeath?Ihadnotforgottentheyoungmantiedtothepostinthebarnwhohadkilledsomeone,andwouldperhaps,Ihadbeentold,bekilledhimselfasapunishment.Iknew,infact,thattherewasgoodandevilin theworld, good andbadmen, and thebadmen—murderers, thieves, andliars—wouldallhavetodie,justlikeanimals;butthattherewasanylifeafterdeath I did not know. All the others, myself andmy own people included,

weregoodandwouldnevertastedeath.HowitcameaboutthatIhadgotnofurtherinmysystemorphilosophyoflifeIcannotsay;Icanonlysupposethatmy mother had not yet begun to give me instruction in such matters onaccount of my tender years, or else that she had done so and that I hadunderstood it inmyownway.Yet, as Idiscovered later, shewasa religiouswoman, and from infancy I had been taught to kneel and say a little prayereachevening:"NowIlaymedowntosleep,IpraytheLordmysoultokeep";butwhotheLordwasorwhatmysoulwasIhadnoidea.ItwasjustaprettylittlewayofsayinginrhymethatIwasgoingtobed.Myworldwasapurelymaterialone,andamostwonderfulworlditwas,buthowIcametobeinitIdidn't know; Ionlyknew (or imagined) that Iwouldbe in it always, seeingnewandstrangethingseveryday,andnever,nevergettiredofit.Inliteratureit is only inVaughan,Traherne, and othermystics, that I find any adequateexpressionofthatperpetualrapturousdelightinnatureandmyownexistencewhichIexperiencedatthatperiod.

Andnowthesenever-to-be-forgottenwordsspokenoverthegraveofourolddoghadcometoawakenmefromthatbeautifuldreamofperpetualjoy!

When I recall this event I am less astonished at my ignorance than at theintensity of the feeling I experienced, the terrible darkness it brought on soyoungamind.Thechild'smindwethink,andinfactknow,islikethatoftheloweranimals;orifhigherthantheanimalmind,itisnotsohighasthatofthesimplestsavage.Hecannotconcentratehisthought—hecannotthinkatall;hisconsciousness is in its dawn; he revels in colours, in odours, is thrilled bytouchandtasteandsound,andislikeawell-nourishedpuporkittenatplayonagreen turf in thesunshine.Thisbeingso,onewouldhave thought that thepainof the revelation Ihad receivedwouldhavequicklyvanished—that thevividimpressionsofexternalthingswouldhaveblotteditoutandrestoredtheharmony.But itwasnotso; thepaincontinuedandincreaseduntil itwasnolongertobeborne;thenIsoughtmymother,firstwatchinguntilshewasaloneinherroom.YetwhenwithherIfearedtospeaklestwithawordsheshouldconfirmthedreadfultidings.Lookingdown,sheallatoncebecamealarmedatthesightofmyface,andbegantoquestionme.Then,strugglingagainstmytears, I toldherof thewordswhichhadbeenspokenat theolddog'sburial,andaskedherifitwastrue,ifI—ifshe—ifallofushadtodieandbeburiedin theground?She replied that itwasnotwholly true; itwasonly true inaway, since our bodies had to die and be buried in the earth, butwe had animmortal part which could not die. It was true that old Caesar had been agood,faithfuldog,andfeltandunderstoodthingsalmostlikeahumanbeing,andmostpersonsbelieved thatwhenadogdiedhediedwhollyandhadnoafter-life.We could not know that; some very great, goodmen had thoughtdifferently;theybelievedthattheanimals,likeus,wouldliveagain.Thatwas

alsoherbelief—herstronghope;butwecouldnotknowforcertain,becauseithadbeenhiddenfromus.Forourselves,weknewthatwecouldnotreallydie,becauseGodHimself,whomade us and all things, had told us so, andHispromiseofeternallifehadbeenhandeddowntousinHisBook—intheBible.

To all this andmuchmore I listened trembling, with a fearful interest, andwhenIhadoncegraspedtheideathatdeathwhenitcametome,as itmust,would leave me alive after all—that, as she explained, the part of me thatreallymattered, themyself, the I am I, which knew and considered things,wouldneverperish,Iexperiencedasuddenimmenserelief.WhenIwentoutfromhersideagainIwantedtorunandjumpforjoyandcleavetheairlikeabird.ForIhadbeeninprisonandhadsufferedtorture,andwasnowfreeagain—deathwouldnotdestroyme!

Therewas another result ofmyhaving unburdenedmyheart tomymother.She had been startled at the poignancy of the feeling I had displayed, and,greatlyblamingherselfforhavingleftmetoolonginthatignorantstate,begantogivemereligious instruction.Itwas tooearly,sinceat thatage itwasnotpossibleformetorisetotheconceptionofanimmaterialworld.Thatpower,Iimagine, comes later to thenormal child at theageof tenor twelve.To tellhimwhenheisfiveorsixorseventhatGodisinallplacesatonceandseesall things,onlyproduces the ideaofawonderfullyactiveandquick-sightedperson,witheyeslikeabird's,abletoseewhatisgoingonallround.Ashorttime ago I read an anecdoteof a little girlwho, onbeingput tobedbyhermother, was told not to be afraid in the dark, sinceGodwould be there towatchandguardherwhilesheslept.Then,takingthecandle,themotherwentdownstairs;butpresentlyherlittlegirlcamedowntoo,inhernightdress,and,whenquestioned,replied,"I'mgoingtostaydownhereinthelight,mummy,andyoucangouptomyroomandsitwithGod."MyownideaofGodatthattime was no higher. I would lie awake thinking of him there in the room,puzzling over the question as to how he could attend to all his numerousaffairsandspendsomuchtimelookingafterme.Lyingwithmyeyesopen,Icouldseenothingin thedark;still, Iknewhewas there,becauseIhadbeentoldso,and this troubledme.ButnosoonerwouldIclosemyeyes thanhisimagewouldappearstandingatadistanceofthreeorfourfeetfromtheheadofthebed,intheformofacolumnfivefeethighorsoandaboutfourfeetincircumference. The colour was blue, but varied in depth and intensity; onsome nights it was sky-blue, but usually of a deeper shade, a pure, soft,beautifulbluelikethatofthemorning-gloryorwildgeranium.

Itwouldnotsurpriseme to find thatmanypersonshavesomesuchmaterialimageorpresentmentof thespiritualentities theyare taught tobelieve inattootenderanage.Recently,incomparingchildishmemorieswithafriend,he

toldmethathetooalwayssawGodasablueobject,butofnodefiniteshape.

Thatbluecolumnhauntedmeatnightformanymonths;Idon'tthinkitquitevanished,ceasingtobeanythingbutamemory,untilIwasseven—adatefaraheadofwherewearenow.

Toreturntothatsecondblissfulrevelationwhichcametomefrommymother.Happyasitmademetoknowthatdeathwouldnotputanendtomyexistence,mystateafterthefirstjoyfulreliefwasnotoneofperfecthappiness.Allshesaidtocomfortandmakemebravehadproduceditseffect—IknewnowthatdeathwasbutachangetoanevengreaterblissthanIcouldhaveinthislife.HowcouldI,notyetsix,thinkotherwisethanasshehadtoldmetothink,orhaveadoubt?Amotherismoretoherchildthananyotherbeing,humanordivine,caneverbetohiminhissubsequentlife.Heisasdependentonherasanyfledglinginthenestonitsparent—evenmore,sinceshewarmshiscallowmindorsoulaswellasbody.

Notwithstandingall this, the fearofdeathcameback tome ina littlewhile,and for a long time disquieted me, especially when the fact of death wasbroughtsharplybeforeme.Thesereminderswereonlytoofrequent;therewasseldomadayonwhichIdidnotseesomethingkilled.Whenthekillingwasinstantaneous,aswhenabirdwasshotanddroppeddeadlikeastone,Iwasnot disturbed; it was nothing but a strange, exciting spectacle, but failed tobring the fact of death home to me. It was chiefly when cattle wereslaughteredthattheterrorreturnedinitsfullforce.Andnowonder!Thenativemanner of killing a cow or bullock at that time was peculiarly painful.Occasionally itwouldbe slaughteredout of sight on theplain, and thehideandfleshbroughtinbythemen,but,asarule,thebeastwouldbedrivenupclose to the house to save trouble. One of the two or three mounted menengagedintheoperationwouldthrowhislassooverthehorns,and,gallopingoff, pull the rope taut; a secondman would then drop from his horse, andrunning up to the animal behind, pluck out his big knife and with twolightning-quickblowsseverthetendonsofbothhindlegs.Instantlythebeastwouldgodownonhishaunches,andthesameman,knifeinhand,wouldflitround to its frontor side, and,watchinghisopportunity,presently thrust thelong blade into its throat just above the chest, driving it in to the hilt andworkingitround;thenwhenitwaswithdrawnagreattorrentofbloodwouldpouroutfromthetorturedbeast,stillstandingonhisfore-legs,bellowingallthetimewithagony.Atthispointtheslaughtererwouldoftenleaplightlyontoitsback,stickhisspursinitssides,and,usingtheflatofhislongknifeasawhip, pretend to be riding a race, yellingwith fiendish glee.The bellowingwouldsubsideintodeep,awful,sob-likesoundsandchokings;thentherider,seeingtheanimalabouttocollapse,wouldflinghimselfnimblyoff.Thebeast

down,theywouldallruntoit,andthrowingthemselvesonitsquiveringsideasonacouch,beginmakingandlightingtheircigarettes.

Slaughtering a cow was grand sport for them, and the more active anddangerous the animal, themore prolonged the fight, the better they liked it;theywereas joyfullyexcitedasatafightwithknivesoranostrichhunt.Tomeitwasanawfulobject-lesson,andheldmefascinatedwithhorror.Forthiswasdeath!The crimson torrents of blood, thedeep, human-like cries,madethe beast appear like some huge, powerfulman caught in a snare by small,weak,butcunningadversaries,whotorturedhimfortheirdelightandmockedhiminhisagony.

Therewereotheroccurrencesaboutthattimetokeepthethoughtsandfearofdeath alive. One day a traveller came to the gate, and, after unsaddling hishorse,wentaboutsixtyorseventyyardsaway toashadyspot,wherehesatdownonthegreenslopeofthefosstocoolhimself.Hehadbeenridingmanyhoursinaburningsun,andwantedcooling.Heattractedeverybody'sattentionon his arrival by his appearance:middle-aged,with good features and curlybrownhairandbeard,buthuge—oneofthebiggestmenIhadeverseen;hisweightcouldnothavebeenunderaboutseventeenstone.Sittingorrecliningonthegrass,hefellasleep,androllingdowntheslopefellwithatremendoussplashintothewater,whichwasaboutsixfeetdeep.Soloudwasthesplashthatitwasheardbysomeofthemenatworkinthebarn,andrunningouttoascertain the cause, they found outwhat had happened. Theman had goneunderanddidnotrise;withagooddealoftroublehewasraisedupanddrawnwithropestothetopofthebank.

Igazedonhimlyingmotionless,toallappearancesstonedead—thehuge,ox-likemanIhadseenlessthananhourago,whenhehadexcitedourwonderathisgreatsizeandstrength,andnowstill indeath—deadasoldCaesarunderthe groundwith the grass growing over him!Meanwhile themenwho hadhauledhimoutwerebusywithhim, turninghimoverandrubbinghisbody,and after about twelve or fifteen minutes there was a gasp and signs ofreturning life, and by and by he opened his eyes. The deadmanwas aliveagain;yet theshocktomewasjustasgreatandtheeffectaslastingasifhehadbeentrulydead.

Another instancewhichwillbringmedownto theendofmysixthyearandthe conclusion of this sad chapter. At this timewe had a girl in the house,whose sweet face isoneof a littlegroupofhalf adozenwhich I remembermost vividly. Shewas a niece of our shepherd'swife, anArgentinewomanmarriedtoanEnglishman,andcametous to lookafter thesmallerchildren.Shewasnineteenyearsold,apale,slim,prettygirl,withlargedarkeyesandabundantblackhair.Margaritahadthesweetestsmileimaginable,thesoftest

voiceandgentlestmanner,andwassomuchlovedbyeverybodyinthehousethatshewaslikeoneofthefamily.Unhappilyshewasconsumptive,andafterafewmonthshadtobesentbacktoheraunt.Theirlittleplacewasonlyhalfamileorsofromthehouse,andeverydaymymothervisitedher,doingallthatwaspossiblewithsuchskillandremediesasshepossessed togiveherease,andprovidingherwithdelicacies.Thegirldidnotwantapriest tovisitherandprepareher fordeath; sheworshippedhermistress,andwished tobeofthesamefaith,andintheendshediedapervertorconvert,accordingtothisorthatperson'spointofview.

ThedayafterherdeathwechildrenweretakentoseeourbelovedMargaritaforthelasttime;butwhenwearrivedatthedoor,andtheothersfollowingmymotherwentin,Ialonehungback.Theycameoutandtriedtopersuademetoenter,eventopullmein,anddescribedherappearancetoexcitemycuriosity.Shewaslyingallinwhite,withherblackhaircombedoutandloose,onherwhitebed,withour flowersonherbreastandather sides, and lookedvery,verybeautiful.Itwasallinvain.TolookonMargaritadeadwasmorethanIcouldbear.Iwastoldthatonlyherbodyofclaywasdead—thebeautifulbodywe had come to say good bye to; that her soul—she herself, our lovedMargarita—wasaliveandhappy, far, farhappier thananypersoncouldeverbeonthisearth;thatwhenherendwasnearshehadsmiledverysweetly,andassured them that all fearofdeathhad left her—thatGodwas takingher toHimself. Even this was not enough to make me face the awful sight ofMargaritadead;theverythoughtofitwasanintolerableweightonmyheart;but it was not grief that gaveme this sensation, much as I grieved; it wassolelymyfearofdeath.

CHAPTERIV

THEPLANTATION

Livingwithtrees—Winterviolets—Thehouseismadehabitable—Redwillow—Scissor-tail and carrion-hawk—Lombardy poplars-Black acacia— Othertrees—The foss or moat—Rats—A trial of strength with an armadillo—Opossumslivingwithasnake—Alfalfafieldandbutterflies—Canebrake—-Weeds and fennel—Peach trees in blossom—Paroquets—Singing of a fieldfinch—Concert-singinginbirds—OldJohn—Cow-birds'singing—Arrivalofsummermigrants.

I remember—better thananyorchard,grove,orwoodIhaveeverenteredor

seen, do I remember that shady oasis of trees at my new home on theillimitable grassy plain. Up till now I had never lived with trees exceptingthose twenty-five I have told about and that other onewhichwas called elarbolbecauseitwastheonlytreeofitskindinalltheland.Heretherewerehundreds, thousands of trees, and tomy childish unaccustomed eyes it waslike a great unexplored forest. There were no pines, firs, nor eucalyptus(unknowninthecountrythen),norevergreensofanykind;thetreesbeingalldeciduous were leafless now in mid-winter, but even so it was to me awonderfulexperience tobeamong them, to feelandsmell their roughmoistbark stained green with moss, and to look up at the blue sky through thenetworkof interlacing twigs.Andspringwithfoliageandblossomwouldbewith us by and by, in amonth or two; even now inmidwinter therewas aforetasteofit,anditcametousfirstasadeliciousfragranceintheairatonespotbesidearowofoldLombardypoplars—anodourthattothechildislikewinethatmakeththeheartgladtotheadult.Hereat therootsof thepoplarstherewasabedorcarpetofroundleaveswhichweknewwell,andputtingtheclustersapartwithourhands,lo!therewerethevioletsalreadyopen—thedim,purple-blue,hiddenviolets,theearliest,sweetest,ofallflowersthemostlovedbychildreninthatland,anddoubtlessinmanyotherlands.

Therewasmorethantimeenoughforussmallchildrentofeastonvioletsandrunwildinourforest;sinceforseveralweekswewereencouragedtoliveoutof doors as far away aswe could keep from the housewherewewere notwanted.Forjustthengreatalterationswerebeingmadetorenderithabitable:newroomswerebeingaddedontotheoldbuilding,woodenflooringlaidovertheoldbricksandtiles,andthehalf-rottenthatch,ahauntofratsandthehomeof centipedes and of many other hybernating creeping things, was beingstrippedofftobereplacedbyacleanhealthywoodenroof.Formeitwasnohardshiptobesentawaytomakemyplaygroundinthatwoodedwonderland.The trees, both fruit and shade, were of many kinds, and belonged to twowidely-separated periods.The firstwere the old trees planted by some tree-loving owner a century ormore before our time, and the second the otherswhichhadbeenputinagenerationortwolatertofillupsomegapsandvacantplacesandforthesakeofagreatervariety.

The biggest of the old trees, which I shall describe first, was a red willowgrowing by itselfwithin forty yards of the house. This is a native tree, andderives its specific name rubra, as well as its vernacular name, from thereddishcolouroftheroughbark.Itgrowstoagreatsize,liketheblackpoplar,buthaslongnarrowleaveslikethoseoftheweepingwillow.InsummerIwasnevertiredofwatchingthistree,sincehighupinoneofthebranches,whichinthosedaysseemedtome"socloseagainstthesky,"ascissor-tailtyrant-birdalwayshaditsnest,andthishighopenexposednestwasaconstantattraction

to the common brown carrion-hawk, calledchimango—a hawk with thecarrion-crow's habit of perpetually loitering about in search of eggs andfledglings.

The scissor-tail is one of themost courageous of that hawk-hating, violent-temperedtyrant-birdfamily,andeverytimeachimangoappeared,whichwasabout forty times a day, he would sally out to attack him in mid-air withamazingfury.Themarauderdrivenoff,hewouldreturntothetreetoutterhistriumphant rattling castanet- like notes and (no doubt) to receive thecongratulationsofhismate;thentosettledownagaintowatchtheskyfortheappearanceofthenextchimango.

A second redwillowwas the next largest tree in the plantation, but of thiswillowIshallhavemoretosayinalaterchapter.

The tall Lombardy poplars were themost numerous of the older trees, andgrew indouble rows, formingwalksoravenues,on three sidesof theentireenclosedground.Therewasalsoacross-rowofpoplarsdividingthegardensandbuildingsfromtheplantation,andthesewerethefavouritenesting-treesoftwoofourbest-lovedbirds—thebeautifullittlegoldfinchorArgentinesiskin,and the bird called firewood-gatherer by the natives on account of theenormouscollectionofstickswhichformedthenest.

Betweentheborderpoplarwalkandthefossoutside,theregrewasinglerowoftreesofaverydifferentkind—theblackacacia,arareandsingulartree,andof all our trees this onemade the strongest and sharpest impression onmymindaswellasflesh,pricking its image inme,so tospeak. Ithadprobablybeen planted originally by the early first planter, and, I imagine,experimentally, as a possible improvement on thewide-spreading disorderlyaloe,a favouritewith the first settlers;but it isawild lawlessplantandhadrefused tomake a proper hedge. Someof these acacias had remained smallandwerelikeoldscraggybushes,someweredwarfishtrees,whileothershadsprunguplikethefabledbean-stalkandwereastallasthepoplarsthatgrewsidebysidewiththem.Thesetallspecimenshadslenderbolesandthrewouttheirslenderhorizontalbranchesofgreatlengthonallsides,fromtherootstothecrown,thebranchesandtheboleitselfbeingarmedwiththornstwotofourinches long, hard as iron, black or chocolate-brown, polished and sharp asneedles;andtomakeitselfmoreformidableeverylongthornhadtwosmallerthorns growing out of it near the base, so that itwas in shape like a roundtaperingdaggerwithacrossguardtothehandle.Itwasaterribletreetoclimb,yet,whena littleolder. I had to climb it a thousand times, since therewerecertain birds which would make their nests in it, often as high up as theycould,andsomeofthesewerebirdsthatlaidbeautifuleggs,suchasthoseoftheGuiracuckoo,thesizeofpullets'eggs,ofthepurestturquoiseblueflecked

withsnowywhite.

Amongouroldorancienttreesthepeachwasthefavouriteofthewholehouseonaccountof thefruit itgaveus inFebruaryandMarch,also later, inAprilandMay,whenwhatwecalledourwinterpeachripened.Peach,quince,andcherrywerethethreefavouritefruit-treesinthecolonialtimes,andallthreewerefoundinsomeofthequintasororchardsoftheoldestanciahouses.Wehadascoreofquincetrees,withthickgnarledtrunksandoldtwistedbrancheslikerams'horns,butthepeachtreesnumberedaboutfourtofivehundredandgrewwellapart fromoneanother,andwerecertainly the largest Ihaveeverseen.Theirsizewasequaltothatoftheoldestandlargestcherrytreesoneseesincertain favouredspots inSouthernEngland,where theygrownot incloseformationbutwideapartwithample roomfor thebranches to spreadonallsides.

Thetreesplantedbyalatergeneration,bothshadeandfruit,weremorevaried.Themost abundantwas themulberry, of which thereweremany hundreds,mostlyinrows,formingwalks,andalbeitofthesamespeciesasourEnglishmulberrytheydifferedfromitinthegreatsizeandroughnessoftheleavesandinproducingfruitofamuchsmallersize.Thetasteofthefruitwasalsolesslusciousanditwasrarelyeatenbyourelders.Wesmallchildrenfeastedonit,butitwasmostlyforthebirds.Themulberrywaslookedonasashade,notafruit tree, and the other two most important shade trees, in number, weretheacacia blanca, or false acacia, and the paradise tree or pride of China.Besidesthesetherewasarowofeightortenailanthustrees,ortreeofheavenasitissometimescalled,withtallwhitesmoothtrunkcrownedwithaclusterofpalm-likefoliage.Therewasalsoamodernorchard,containingpear,apple,plum,andcherrytrees.

The entireplantation, thebuildings included, comprising an areaof eight ornineacres,wassurroundedbyanimmenseditchorfossabouttwelvefeetdeepandtwentytothirtyfeetwide.Itwasundoubtedlyveryoldandhadgrowninwidth owing to the crumbling away of the earth at the sides. This in timewould have filled and almost obliterated it, but at intervals of two or threeyears, at a timewhen it was dry, quantities of earth were dug up from thebottomandthrownonthemoundinside.Itwasinappearancesomethinglikeaprehistoric earthwork. Inwinter as a rule it became full ofwater andwas afavouritehaunt,especiallyatnight,offlocksofteal,alsoduckofafewotherkinds—widgeon,pintail,andshoveller.Insummeritgraduallydriedup,butafew pools ofmuddywater usually remained through all the hot season andwere haunted by the solitary or summer snipe, one of themany species ofsandpiperandbirdsofthatfamilywhichbredinthenorthernhemisphereandwinteredwithuswhenitwasoursummer.Oncethewaterhadgonedownin

themoat,longgrassandherbagewouldspringupandflourishonitsslopingsides, and the rats and other small beasties would return and riddle it withinnumerableburrows.

The rats were killed down from time to timewith the "smokingmachine,"whichpumpedthefumesofsulphur,badtobacco,andotherdeadlysubstancesintotheirholesandsuffocatedthem;andIrecalltwocuriousincidentsduringthesecrusades.OnedayIwasstandingonthemoundatthesideofthemoatorfosssomefortyyardsfromwhere themenwereatwork,whenanarmadilloboltedfromhisearthandrunningtotheveryspotwhereIwasstandingbeganvigorouslydiggingtoescapebyburyinghimselfinthesoil.Neithermennordogshadseenhim,andIatoncedetermined tocapturehimunaidedbyanyoneandimagineditwouldproveaveryeasytask.AccordinglyIlaidholdofhisblackbone-casedtailwithbothhandsandbegantuggingtogethimofftheground,baitcouldn'tmovehim.Hewentondiggingfuriously,gettingdeeperanddeeperintotheearth,andIsoonfoundthatinsteadofmypullinghimouthewas pullingme in after him. It hurtmy small-boy pride to think that ananimalnobiggerthanacatwasgoingtobeatmeinatrialofstrength,andthismade me hold on more tenaciously than ever and tug and strain moreviolently,untilnottolosehimIhadtogoflatdownontheground.Butitwasall fornothing:firstmyhands, thenmyachingarmswerecarrieddownintotheearth,andIwasforcedtoreleasemyholdandgetuptoridmyselfofthemouldhehadbeenthrowingupintomyfaceandallovermyhead,neck,andshoulders.

In the other case, one of my older brothers seeing the dogs sniffing andscratchingatalargeburrow,tookaspadeanddugacoupleoffeetintothesoiland found an adult black-and-white opossumwith eight or nine half-grownyoung lying together in a nest of dry grass, and, wonderful to tell, a largevenomoussnakecoiledupamongst them.Thesnakewas thedreadedvivoradelacruz,asthegauchoscallit,apit-viperofthesamefamilyasthefer-de-lance,thebush-master,andtherattlesnake.Itwasaboutthreefeetlong,verythickinproportion,andwithbroadheadandblunt tail. Itcameforthhissingandstrikingblindlyrightandleftwhenthedogspulledtheopossumsout,butwaskilledwithablowofthespadewithoutinjuringthedogs.

Thiswas thefirstserpentwithacross Ihadseen,and the sightof the thickbluntbodyofagreenish-greycolourblotchedwithdullblack,andthebroadflatheadwithitsstony-whitelidlesseyes,gavemeathrillofhorror.Inafteryears Ibecamefamiliarwith itandcouldevenventure topick itupwithoutharm tomyself, just as now in England I pick up the less dangerous adderwhenIcomeuponone.Thewondertouswasthatthisextremelyirascibleandvenomousserpentshouldbelivinginanestwithalargefamilyofopossums,

for it must be borne in mind that the opossum is a rapacious and anexceedinglysavage-temperedbeast.

ThisthenwastheworldinwhichImovedandhadmybeing,withinthelimitsoftheoldrat-hauntedfossamongtheenchantedtrees.Butitwasnotthetreesonly that made it so fascinating, it had open spaces and other forms ofvegetationwhichwereexceedinglyattractivetoo.

Therewasa fieldofalfalfaabouthalfanacre in size,which flowered threetimesayear,andduringthefloweringtimeitdrewthebutterfliesfromallthesurroundingplainwithitslusciousbean-likefragrance,untilthefieldwasfullof them, red, black, yellow, andwhite butterflies, fluttering in flocks roundeverybluespike.

Canes,too,inalargepatchor"brake"aswecalledit,grewatanotherspot;agracefulplantabout twenty-fivefeethigh, inappearanceunlike thebamboo,as the long pointed leaveswere of a glaucous blue-green colour. The caneswerevaluabletousastheyservedasfishing-rodswhenwewereoldenoughforthatsport,andwerealsousedaslanceswhenwerodeforthtoengageinmimicbattlesontheplain.Buttheyalsohadaneconomicvalue,astheywereusedby thenativeswhenmaking their thatched roofs as a substitute for thebamboo cane, which cost much more as it had to be imported from othercountries.Accordinglyattheendofthesummer,afterthecanehadflowered,theywereall cutdown, strippedof their leaves, and takenaway inbundles,andwewerethendeprivedtillthefollowingseasonofthepleasureofhuntingforthetallestandstraightestcanestocutthemdownandstripoffleavesandbarktomakebeautifulgreenpolishedrodsforoursports.

Therewereotheropenspacescoveredwithavegetationalmostasinterestingas the canes and the trees: this was where what were called "weeds" wereallowed to flourish. Here were the thorn-apple, chenopodium, sow-thistle,wild mustard, redweed, viper's bugloss, and others, both native andintroduced,indensethicketsfiveorsixfeethigh.Itwasdifficulttopushone'sway through these thickets, and one was always in dread of treading on asnake.Atanotherspotfennelflourishedbyitself,asifithadsomemysteriouspower,perhapsitspeculiarsmell,ofkeepingotherplantsataproperdistance.Itformedquiteathicket,andgrewtoaheightoftenortwelvefeet.Thisspotwasafavouritehauntofmine,asitwasinawasteplaceatthefurthestpointfromthehouse,awildsolitaryspotwhereIcouldspendlonghoursbymyselfwatching the birds.But I also loved the fennel for itself, its beautiful greenfeatheryfoliageand thesmellof it,also the taste,so thatwhenever IvisitedthatsecludedspotIwouldrubthecrushedleavesinmypalmsandchewthesmalltwigsfortheirpeculiarfennelflavour.

Wintermade a great change in the plantation, since it not only stripped thetreesoftheirleavesbutsweptawayallthatrankherbage,thefennelincluded,allowingthegrasstogrowagain.Thelargeluxuriantly-growingannualsalsodisappeared from the garden and all about the house, the big four-o'clockbusheswithdeepredstemsandwealthofcrimsonblossoms,andthemorning-glory convolvulus with its great blue trumpets, climbing over and coveringeveryavailableplacewith itshop-likemassof leavesandabundantblooms.My life in theplantation inwinterwasaconstantwatching forspring.May,June, and July were the leafless months, but not wholly songless. On anygenialandwindlessdayofsunshineinwinterafewswallowswouldreappear,nobody could guess from where, to spend the bright hours wheeling likehouse-martins about the house, revisiting their old breeding-holes under theeaves, anduttering their lively little rippling songs, asofwater running inapebblystream.Whenthesundeclinedtheywouldvanish,tobeseennomoreuntilwehadanotherperfectspring-likeday.

OnsuchdaysinJulyandonanymildmistymorning,standingonthemoundwithin themoat Iwould listen to the sounds from thewide openplain, andtheyweresoundsofspring—theconstantdrummingandrhythmiccriesofthespur-wing lapwings engaged in their social meetings and "dances," and thesongofthepipitsoaringhighupandpouringoutitsthickprolongedstrainsasitslowlyfloateddownwardstotheearth.

InAugust the peach blossomed. The great old trees standingwide apart ontheir grassy carpet, barely touching each other with the tips of their widestbranches, were like great mound-shaped clouds of exquisite rosy-pinkblossoms. There was then nothing in the universe which could compare inloveliness to that spectacle. Iwasaworshipperof treesat this season,and Iremembermyshockedand indignant feelingwhenonedaya flockofgreenparoquetscamescreamingdownandalightedononeofthetreesnearme.Thisparoquetneverbredinourplantation;theywereoccasionalvisitorsfromtheirhome in anoldgroveaboutninemiles away, and theirvisitswere alwaysagreatpleasuretous.OnthisoccasionIwasparticularlyglad,becausethebirdshadelectedtosettleonatreeclosetowhereIwasstanding.Buttheblossomsthicklycoveringeverytwigannoyedtheparrots,astheycouldnotfindspaceenough to grasp a twigwithout grasping its flower aswell; sowhat did thebirdsdointheirimpatiencebutbeginstrippingtheblossomsoffthebranchesonwhichtheywereperchedwiththeirsharpbeaks,sorapidlythattheflowerscamedowninapinkshower,andinthiswayinhalfaminuteeverybirdmadea twig bare where he could sit perched at ease. There were millions ofblossoms;onlyonehereandtherewouldeverbeapeach,yetitvexedmetoseetheparrotscutthemoffinthatheedlessway:itwasadesecration,acrimeeveninabird.

Even now when I recall the sight of those old flowering peach trees, withtrunksasthickasaman'sbody,andthehugemoundsorcloudsofmyriadsofroseateblossomsseenagainsttheblueetherealsky,IamnotsurethatIhaveseenanythinginmylifemoreperfectlybeautiful.YetthisgreatbeautywasbuthalfthecharmIfoundinthesetrees:theotherhalfwasinthebird-musicthatissuedfromthem.Itwasthemusicofbutonekindofbird,asmallgreenishyellow field finch, in size like the linnet thoughwith a longer and slimmerbody, and resembling a linnet too in its general habits. Thus, in autumn itunites in immenseflocks,whichkeeptogetherduringthewintermonthsandsinginconcertanddonotbreakupuntilthereturnofthebreedingseason.Inacountry where there were no bird-catchers or human persecutors of smallbirds,theflocksofthisfinch,calledMistobythenatives,werefarlargerthananylinnetflockseverseeninEngland.Theflockweusedtohaveaboutourplantation numberedmany thousands, and youwould see them like a cloudwheelingaboutintheair,thensuddenlydroppingandvanishingfromsightinthegrass,wheretheyfedonsmallseedsandtenderleavesandbuds.Ongoingtothespottheywouldrisewithaloudhummingsoundofinnumerablewings,andbegin rushing andwhirling about again, chasing each other in play andchirping,andpresentlyallwoulddroptothegroundagain.

InAugust,whenthespringbeginstoinfecttheirblood,theyrepairtothetreesatintervalsduringtheday,wheretheysitperchedandmotionlessforanhouror longer, all singing together. This singing timewaswhen the peach treeswere in blossom, and it was invariably in the peach trees they settled andcouldbe seen, the littleyellowbirds in thousandsamid themillionsofpinkblossoms,pouringouttheirwonderfulmusic.

OneofthemostdelightfulbirdsoundsornoisestobeheardinEnglandistheconcert-singingofaflockofseveralhundreds,andsometimesofathousandormorelinnetsinSeptemberandOctober,andevenlaterintheyear,beforethesegreat congregations have been broken up or have migrated. The effectproducedbythesmallfieldfinchofthepampaswasquitedifferent.Thelinnethas a little twittering songwith breaks in it and small chirping sounds, andwhenagreatmultitudeofbirdssingtogetherthesoundatadistanceoffiftyorsixtyyardsisasofahighwindamongthetrees,butonanearerapproachthemassofsoundresolvesitselfintoatangleofthousandsofindividualsounds,resembling that of a great concourse of starlings at roosting time, butmoremusicalincharacter.Itisasifhundredsoffairyminstrelswereallplayingonstringedandwindinstrumentsofvariousforms,everyoneintentonhisownperformancewithoutregardtotheothers.

Thefieldfinchdoesnottwitterorchirpandhasnobreakorsuddenchangeinhis song, which is composed of a series of long-drawn notes, the first

somewhat throaty but growing clearer and brighter towards the end, so thatwhenthousandssingtogetheritisasiftheysanginperfectunison,theeffectonthehearingbeinglikethatonthesightofflowingwaterorofrainwhenthemultitudinousfallingdropsappearassilvery-greylinesonthevision.Itisanexceedingly beautiful effect, and so far as I know unique among birds thathavethehabitofsinginginlargecompanies.

Irememberthatwehadacarpenterinthosedays,anEnglishmannamedJohn,a nativeofCumberland,whoused tomakeus laugh at his slowheavywaywhen, after asking him some simple question, we had to wait until he putdownhistoolsandstaredatusforabouttwentysecondsbeforereplying.Oneofmyelderbrothershaddubbedhimthe"Cumberlandboor."Irememberonedayongoingtolistentothechoiroffinchesintheblossomingorchard,IwassurprisedtoseeJohnstandingnearthetreesdoingnothing,andasIcameuptohimheturnedtowardsmewithalookwhichastonishedmeonhisdulloldface—that lookwhichperhapsoneofmyreadershasbychanceseenon theface of a religious mystic in a moment of exaltation. "Those little birds! Ineverheardanythinglikeit!"heexclaimed,thentrudgedofftohiswork.Likemost Englishmen, he had, no doubt, a vein of poetic feeling hidden awaysomewhereinhissoul.

We also had the other kind of concert-singing by another species in theplantation.Thiswasthecommonpurplecow-bird,oneoftheTroupialfamily,exclusivelyAmerican,butsupposedtohaveaffinitieswiththestarlingsoftheOld World. This cow-bird is parasitical (like the European cuckoo) in itsbreedinghabits,andhavingnodomesticaffairsofitsowntoattendtoitlivesin flocks all theyear round, leadingan idlevagabond life.Themale is of auniformdeeppurple-black,thefemaleadrabormouse-colour.Thecow-birdswere excessively numerous among the trees in summer, perpetually huntingfornestsinwhichtodeposittheireggs:theyfedonthegroundoutontheplainandwereofteninsuchbigflocksastolooklikeahugeblackcarpetspreadoutonthegreensward.Onarainydaytheydidnotfeed:theycongregatedonthetrees in thousands and sang by the hour. Their favourite gathering-place atsuchtimeswasbehindthehouse,wherethetreesgrewprettythickandweresheltered on two sides by the black acacias and double rows of Lombardypoplars,succeededbydoublerowsoflargemulberrytrees,formingwalks,andthesebypear,appleandcherry trees.Fromwhichever side thewindblew itwascalmhere,andduring theheaviest rain thebirdswouldsithere in theirthousands, pouring out a continuous torrent of song, which resembled thenoiseproducedbythousandsofstarlingsatroosting-time,butwaslouderanddiffered somewhat in character owing to the peculiar song of the cow-bird,whichbeginswithhollowguttural sounds, followedbyaburstof loudclearringingnotes.

These concert-singers, the little green and yellow field finch and the purplecow-bird,werewithusall theyear round,withmanyotherswhich itwouldtakeawholechapter to tellof.When, inJulyandAugust, Iwatchedfor thecomingspring,itwasthemigrants,thebirdsthatcameannuallytousfromthefar north, that chiefly attractedme.Before their arrival thebloomwasgonefrom thepeach trees, and thechoirof countless little finchesbrokenupandscatteredallovertheplain.Thentheopeningleaveswerewatched,andafterthewillowsthefirstandbest-lovedwerethepoplars.Duringallthetimetheywere opening,when theywere still a yellowish-green in colour, the airwasfullofthefragrance,butnotsatisfiedwiththatIwouldcrushandrubthenewsmallleavesinmyhandsandonmyfacetogetthedeliciousbalsamicsmellinfullermeasure.Andof all the trees, after thepeach, thepoplars appeared tofeel thenewseasonwith thegreatest intensity, for itseemedtomethat theyfeltthesunshineevenasIdid,andtheyexpresseditintheirfragrancejustasthepeachandothertreesdidintheirflowers.Anditwasalsoexpressedinthenewsoundtheygaveouttothewind.Thechangewasreallywonderfulwhenthe rows on rows of immensely tall treeswhich formonths had talked andcried in that strange sibilant language, rising to shrieks when a gale wasblowing, now gave out a larger volume of sound, more continuous, softer,deeper,andlikethewashoftheseaonawideshore.

Theothertreeswouldfollow,andbyandbyallwouldbeinfullfoliageoncemore, and ready to receive their strange beautiful guests from the tropicalforestsinthedistantnorth.

Themoststrikingofthenewcomerswasthesmallscarlettyrant-bird,whichisaboutthesizeofourspottedflycatcher;allashiningscarletexcepttheblackwingsand tail.Thisbirdhadadelicatebell-likevoice,but itwas thescarletcolourshiningamid thegreenfoliagewhichmademedelight in itaboveallother birds. Yet the humming-bird, which arrived at the same time, waswonderfully beautiful too, especially when he flew close to your face andremained suspended motionless on mist-like wings for a fewmoments, hisfeatherslookingandglitteringlikeminuteemeraldscales.

Then came other tyrant-birds and the loved swallows—the house- swallow,which resembles the English house-martin, the large purple martin,theGolodrina domestica, and the brown tree-martin. Then, too, came theyellow-billed cuckoo—thekowe-kowe as it is called from its cry.Year afteryearIlistenedforitsdeepmysteriouscall,whichsoundedlikegow-gow-gow-gow-gow,inlateSeptember,evenasthesmallEnglishboylistensforthecallofhis cuckoo, inApril; and thehuman-like character of the sound, togetherwith the startlingly impressive way in which it was enunciated, alwaysproducedtheideathatitwassomethingmorethanamerebirdcall.Later,in

Octoberwhentheweatherwashot,Iwouldhuntforthenest,afrailplatformmadeofafewstickswithfourorfiveovaleggslikethoseoftheturtledoveinsizeandofapalegreencolour.

Therewereothersummervisitors,butImustnotspeakofthemasthischaptercontainstoomuchonthatsubject.MyfeatheredfriendsweresomuchtomethatIamconstantlytemptedtomakethissketchofmyfirstyearsabookaboutbirds and little else. There remains, too, much more to say about theplantation,thetreesandtheireffectonmymind,alsosomeadventuresImetwith,somewithbirdsandotherswithsnakes,whichwilloccupytwoorthreeormorechapterslateron.

CHAPTERV

ASPECTSOFTHEPLAIN

Appearanceofagreenlevelland—Cardoonandgiantthistles—VillagesoftheVizcacha,alargeburrowingrodent—Grovesandplantationsseenlikeislandsonthewidelevelplains—Treesplantedbytheearlycolonists—Declineofthecolonists from an agricultural to a pastoral people—Houses as part of thelandscape—Fleshdietof thegauchos—Summerchange in theaspectof theplain—Thewater-likemirage—Thegiantthistleanda"thistleyear"—Fearoffires—Anincidentatafire—Thepampero,orsouth-westwind,andthefallofthe thistles —Thistle-down and thistle-seed as food for animals—A greatpampero storm—Big hailstones—Damage caused by hail—Zango, an oldhorse,killed—Zangoandhismaster.

Asasmallboyofsixbutwellabletoridebare-backedatafastgallopwithoutfallingoff,Iinvitethereader,mountedtoo,albeitonnothingbutanimaginaryanimal,tofollowmealeagueorsofromthegatetosomespotwherethelandrises to a couple or three or four feet above the surrounding level. There,sittingonourhorses,weshallcommandawiderhorizonthaneventhetallestmanwouldhavestandingonhisownlegs,andinthiswaygetabetterideaofthedistrictinwhichtenofthemostimpressionableyearsofmylife,fromfivetofifteen,werespent.

Weseeallroundusaflatland,itshorizonaperfectringofmistybluecolourwherethecrystal-bluedomeoftheskyrestsonthelevelgreenworld.Greeninlate autumn,winter, and spring, or say fromApril toNovember, but not alllikeagreenlawnorfield:thereweresmoothareaswheresheephadpastured,

butthesurfacevariedgreatlyandwasmostlymoreorlessrough.Inplacestheland as far as one could see was covered with a dense growth of cardoonthistles, or wild artichoke, of a bluish or grey-green colour, while in otherplacesthegiantthistleflourished,aplantwithbigvariegatedgreenandwhiteleaves,andstandingwheninflowersixtotenfeethigh.

Therewereotherbreaksandroughnessesonthatflatgreenexpansecausedbythe vizcachas, a big rodent the size of a hare, a mighty burrower in theearth.Vizcachasswarmedinall thatdistrictwheretheyhavenowpracticallybeen exterminated, and lived in villages, called vizcacheras, composed ofthirty or forty hugeburrows—about the size of half a dozenbadgers' earthsgroupedtogether.Theearththrownoutofthesediggingsformedamound,andbeingbareofvegetationitappearedin thelandscapeasaclay-colouredspotonthegreensurface.Sittingonahorseonecouldcountascoretofiftyorsixtyofthesemoundsorvizcacherasonthesurroundingplain.

On all this visible earth therewere no fences, and no trees excepting thosewhichhadbeenplantedat theoldestanciahouses,and thesebeing farapartthegrovesandplantationslookedlikesmallislandsoftrees,ormounds,blueinthedistance,onthegreatplainorpampa.Theyweremostlyshadetrees,thecommonestbeingtheLombardypoplar,whichofalltreesistheeasiestonetogrowinthatland.Andthesetreesattheestanciasorcattle-rancheswere,atthetimeIamwritingabout,almost invariablyagedandinmanyinstances inanadvanced state of decay. It is interesting to knowhow these old groves andplantations ever came into existence in a landwhere at that time therewaspracticallynotree-planting.

Thefirstcolonistswhomadetheirhomesinthisvastvacantspace,calledthepampas,camefromalandwherethepeopleareaccustomedtositintheshadeof trees, where corn and wine and oil are supposed to be necessaries, andwhere there is salad in thegarden.Naturally theymadegardensandplantedtrees,bothforshadeandfruit,wherevertheybuiltthemselvesahouseonthepampas,andnodoubtfortwoorthreegenerationstheytriedtoliveaspeoplelive inSpain, in the ruraldistricts.Butnow themainbusinessof their liveswas cattle- raising, and as the cattle roamedatwill over thevast plains andweremorelikewildthandomesticanimals, itwasalifeonhorseback.Theycouldnolongerdigorploughtheearthorprotecttheircropsfrominsectsandbirdsand theirownanimals.Theygaveup theiroilandwineandbreadandlivedonfleshalone.Theysatintheshadeandatethefruitoftreesplantedbytheirfathersortheirgreat-grandfathersuntilthetreesdiedofoldage,orwereblowndownorkilledbythecattle,andtherewasnomoreshadeandfruit.

ItthuscameaboutthattheSpanishcolonistsonthepampasdeclinedfromthestateof an agricultural people to that of an exclusivelypastoral andhunting

one; and later,when theSpanishyoke, as itwas called,was shakenoff, theincessantthroat-cuttingwarsofthevariousfactions,whichwerelikethewarsof"crowsandpies,"exceptthatkniveswereusedinsteadofbeaks,confirmedandsunkthemdeeperintheirwildandbarbarousmanneroflife.

Thus,too,thetree-clumpsonthepampasweremostlyremainsofavanishedpast.To theseclumpsorplantationsweshall return lateronwhenIcometodescribe the home life of some of our nearest neighbours; here the housesonly,withorwithouttreesgrowingaboutthem,needbementionedaspartsofthelandscape.Thehouseswerealwayslowandscarcelyvisibleatadistanceofamileandahalf:onealwayshadtostooponenteringadoor.Theywerebuiltofburntorunburntbrick,moreoftenclayandbrushwood,andthatchedwithsedgesorbulrushes.Atsomeofthebetterhousestherewouldbeasmallgarden, a few yards of soil protected in some way from the poultry andanimals,inwhichafewflowersandherbsweregrown,especiallyparsley,rue,sage,tansy,andhorehound.Buttherewasnoothercultivationattempted,andnovegetableswereeatenexceptonionsandgarlic,whichwereboughtatthestores, with bread, rice, mate tea, oil, vinegar, raisins, cinnamon, pepper,cumminseed,andwhateverelsetheycouldaffordtoseasontheirmeat-piesorgive a flavour to the monotonous diet of cow's flesh and mutton and pig.Almosttheonlygameeatenwasostrich,armadillo,andtinamou(thepartridgeofthecountry),whichtheboyscouldcatchbysnaringorrunningthemdown.Wildduck,plover,andsuchbirdstheyrarelyornevertasted,astheycouldnotshoot;andastothebigrodent,thevizcacha,whichswarmedeverywhere,nogauchowouldtouchitsflesh,althoughtomytasteitwasbetterthanrabbit.

ThesummerchangeintheaspectoftheplainwouldbegininNovember:thedeaddrygrasswouldtakeonayellowish-browncolour,thegiantthistleadarkrust brown, and at this season, from November to February, the grove orplantationat the estanciahouse,with itsdeep freshunchangingverdure andshade,wasaveritablerefugeonthevastflatyellowearth.Itwasthen,whenthe water-courses were gradually drying up and the thirsty days coming toflocksandherds,thatthemockingillusionofthemiragewasconstantlyaboutus.Quiteearly in spring,onanywarmcloudlessday, thiswater-miragewasvisible,andwasliketheappearanceonahotsummer'sdayoftheatmosphereinEnglandwhen the air near the surface becomes visible,when one sees itdancingbeforeone'seyes,likethinwaveringandascendingtonguesofflame—crystal-clear flamesmixedwithflamesofa faintpearlyorsilvergrey.Onthe level and hotter pampas this appearance is intensified, and the faintlyvisiblewaveringflameschangetoanappearanceoflakeletsorsheetsofwaterlookingasifruffledbythewindandshininglikemoltensilverinthesun.Theresemblancetowaterisincreasedwhentherearegrovesandbuildingsonthehorizon,whichlooklikedarkblueislandsorbanksinthedistance,whilethe

cattleandhorsesfeedingnotfarfromthespectatorappeartobewadingkneeorbellydeepinthebrilliantwater.

Theaspectoftheplainwasdifferentinwhatwascalleda"thistleyear,"whenthe giant thistles, which usually occupied definite areas or grew in isolatedpatches,suddenlysprangupeverywhere,andforaseasoncoveredmostoftheland.Intheseluxuriantyearstheplantsgrewasthickassedgesandbulrushesin theirbeds,andwere taller thanusual,attainingaheightofabout tenfeet.Thewonderwastoseeaplantwhichthrowsoutleavesaslargeasthoseoftherhubarb,with its stems so close together as to be almost touching.Standingamong the thistles in the growing season one could in a sense hear themgrowing, as the huge leaves freed themselves with a jerk from a crampedposition,producingacracklingsound. Itwas like thecracklingsoundof thefurzeseed-vesselswhichonehearsinJuneinEngland,onlymuchlouder.

To thegauchowho liveshalfhisdayonhishorseand loveshis freedomasmuchasawildbird,athistleyearwasahatefulperiodofrestraint.Hissmall,low-roofed,mud housewas then too like a cage to him, as the tall thistleshemmed it in and shut out the view on all sides. On his horse he wascompelledtokeeptothenarrowcattletrackandtodrawinordrawuphislegstokeepthemfromthelongprickingspines.Inthosedistantprimitivedaysthegauchoifapoormanwasusuallyshodwithnothingbutapairofironspurs.

By the end ofNovember the thistleswould be dead, and their huge hollowstalksasdryandlightastheshaftofabird'sfeather—afeather-shafttwiceasbigroundasabroomstickandsixtoeightfeetlong.Therootswerenotonlydeadbutturnedtodustintheground,sothatonecouldpushastalkfromitsplacewithonefinger,but itwouldnotfallsince itwasheldupbyscoresofother sticks all round it, and these by hundredsmore, and the hundreds bythousands andmillions.The thistle deadwas just as great a nuisance as thethistle living,and in thisdeaddrycondition theywouldsometimesstandallthroughDecemberandJanuarywhenthedayswerehottestandthedangeroffirewaseverpresenttopeople'sminds.Atanymomentacarelesssparkfromacigarettemightkindleadangerousblaze.Atsuchtimesthesightofsmokeinthedistancewouldcauseeverymanwhosawittomounthishorseandflytothedanger-spot,whereanattemptwouldbemadetostopthefirebymakingabroadpathinthethistlessomefiftytoahundredyardsaheadofit.Onewaytomake the pathwas to lasso andkill a few sheep from the nearest flock anddrag them up and down at a gallop through the dense thistles until a broadspacewasclearwheretheflamescouldbestampedandbeatenoutwithhorse-rugs.Butsheeptobeusedinthiswaywerenotalwaystobefoundonthespot,andevenwhenabroadspacecouldbemade,ifahotnorthwindwasblowingitwouldcarryshowersofsparksandburningstickstotheothersideandthe

firewouldtravelon.

IremembergoingtooneofthesebigfireswhenIwasabouttwelveyearsold.Itbrokeoutafewmilesfromhomeandwastravellinginourdirection;Isawmyfathermountanddashoff,butittookmehalfanhourormoretocatchahorseformyself,sothatIarrivedlateonthescene.Afreshfirehadbrokenoutaquarterofamileinadvanceofthemainone,wheremostofthemenwerefightingtheflames;andtothisspotIwentfirst,andfoundsomehalfadozenneighbourswho had just arrived on the scene.Beforewe started operationsabouttwentymenfromthemainfirecamegallopinguptous.Theyhadmadetheirpath,butseeingthisnewfiresofarahead,hadleftitindespairafteranhour'shardhotwork,andhadflowntothenewdangerspot.AstheycameupIlookedinwonderatonewhorodeahead,atallblackmaninhisshirtsleeveswhowas a stranger tome. "Who is this black fellow, I wonder?" said I tomyself,andjust thenheshoutedtomeinEnglish,"Hullo,myboy,whatareyou doing here?" It wasmy father; an hour's fighting with the flames in acloudofblackashesinthatburningsunandwindhadmadehimlooklikeapure-bloodednegro!

DuringDecemberandJanuarywhenthisdesertworldofthistlesdeadanddryastindercontinuedstanding,amenaceanddanger,theonedesireandhopeofeveryonewasforthepampero—thesouth-westwind,whichinhotweatherisapt to come with startling suddenness, and to blow with extraordinaryviolence.And itwould come at last, usually in the afternoonof a close hotday,afterthenorthwindhadbeenblowingpersistentlyfordayswithabreathas froma furnace.At last thehatefulwindwoulddropanda strangegloomthatwasnotfromanycloudwouldcoverthesky;andbyandbyacloudwouldrise, adulldarkcloudasof amountainbecomingvisibleon theplainat anenormous distance. In a little while it would cover half the sky, and therewouldbethunderandlightningandatorrentofrain,andatthesamemomentthewindwould strike and roar in the bent-down trees and shake the house.And in an hour or two it would perhaps be all over, and nextmorning thedetestedthistleswouldbegone,oratalleventslevelledtotheground.

Aftersuchastormthesenseofrelieftothehorseman,nowabletomountandgallopforthinanydirectionoverthewideplainandseetheearthoncemorespreadoutformilesbeforehim,waslikethatofaprisonerreleasedfromhiscell,orofthesickman,whenheatlengthrepairshisvigourlostandbreathesandwalksagain.

Tothisdayitgivesmeathrill,orperhapsitwouldbesafertosaytheghostofavanished thrill,whenI remember therelief itwas inmycase,albeit Iwasneversotiedtoahorse,soparasitical,asthegaucho,afteroneofthesegreatthistle-levellingpamperowinds. Itwasararepleasure torideoutandgallop

my horse over wide brown stretches of level land, to hear his hard hoofscrushing the hollowdesiccated stalks covering the earth inmillions like thebonesofacountlesshostofperishedfoes.Itwasaqueerkindofjoy,amixedfeelingwithadashofgratifiedrevengetogiveitasharpsavour.

After all this abuse of the giant thistle, the Cardo asnal of the nativesandCarduusmarianaofthebotanists,itmaysoundoddtosaythata"thistleyear"wasablessinginsomeways.Itwasananxiousyearonaccountofthefearoffire,andaseasonofgreatapprehensiontoowhenreportsofrobberiesandothercrimeswereabroadintheland,especiallyforthepoorwomenwhowere left so much alone in their low-roofed hovels, shut in by the densepricklygrowth.But a thistle yearwas called a fat year, since the animals—cattle,horses, sheep, andevenpigs—browsed freelyon thehuge leavesandsoft sweetish-tasting stems, and were in excellent condition. The onlydrawbackswerethattheriding-horsesloststrengthastheygainedinfat,andcow'smilkdidn'ttastenice.

Thebestandfattesttimewouldcomewhenthehardeningplantwasnolongerfittoeatandtheflowersbegantoshedtheirseed.Eachflower,insizelikeasmall coffee-cup, would open out in a white mass and shed its scores ofsilveryballs,andthesewhenfreedofheavyseedwouldfloataloftinthewind,and thewhole air as far as one could seewouldbe filledwithmillions andmyriads of floating balls. The fallen seed was so abundant as to cover thegroundunderthedeadbutstillstandingplants.Itisalong,slenderseed,aboutthesizeofagrainofCarolinarice,ofagreenishorbluish-greycolour,spottedwithblack.The sheep feastedon it,using theirmobileandextensibleupperlipslikeacrumb-brushtogatheritintotheirmouths.Horsesgathereditinthesameway,butthecattlewereoutofit,eitherbecausetheycouldnotlearnthetrick,orbecausetheirlipsandtonguescannotbeusedtogatheracrumb-likefood.Pigs,however,flourishedonit,andtobirds,domesticandwild,itwasevenmorethantothemammals.

Inconclusionof thischapterIwillreturnforapageor twotothesubjectofthepampero, the south-westwind of theArgentine pampas, to describe thegreatest of all the greatpampero storms I havewitnessed. Thiswaswhen Iwasinmyseventhyear.

The wind blowing from this quarter is not like the south-west wind of theNorthAtlanticandBritain,awarmwindladenwithmoisturefromhottropicalseas—that great wind which Joseph Conrad in his Mirror of the Seahaspersonified in one of the sublimest passages in recent literature. It is anexcessivelyviolentwind,asallmarinersknowwhohaveencountereditontheSouthAtlanticofftheRiverPlate,butitiscoolanddry,althoughitfrequentlycomeswithgreatthunder-cloudsandtorrentsofrainandhail.Therainmay

lasthalf-an-hourtohalf-a-day,butwhenovertheskyiswithoutavapourandaspelloffineweatherensues.

Itwasinsultrysummerweather,andtowardseveningallofusboysandgirlswentout fora rambleon theplain,andwereaboutaquarterofamile fromhomewhenablacknessappearedinthesouth-west,andbegantocovertheskyinthatquartersorapidlythat, takingalarm,westartedhomewardsasfastaswe could run. But the stupendous slaty-black darkness, mixed with yellowclouds of dust, gained on us, and before we got to the gate the terrifiedscreamsofwildbirdsreachedourears,andglancingbackwesawmultitudesofgullsandploverflyingmadlybeforethestorm,tryingtokeepaheadofit.Thenaswarmofbigdragon-fliescamelikeacloudoverus,andwasgoneinaninstant,andjustaswereachedthegatethefirstbigdropssplasheddownintheformofliquidmud.Wehadhardlygotindoorsbeforethetempestbrokeinits full fury, a blackness as of night, a blendeduproar of thunder andwind,blinding flashes of lightning, and torrents of rain. Then as the first thickdarkness began to pass away, we saw that the air was white with fallinghailstones of an extraordinary size and appearance.Theywere big as fowls'eggs, but not egg-shaped: they were flat, and about half-an-inch thick, andbeingwhite, looked like littleblocksorbrickletsmadeofcompressedsnow.Thehailcontinuedfallinguntiltheearthwaswhitewiththem,andinspiteoftheirgreat size theyweredrivenby the furiouswind intodrifts twoor threefeetdeepagainstthewallsofthebuildings.

It was evening and growing dark when the storm ended, but the light nextmorningrevealedthedamagewehadsuffered.Pumpkins,gourds,andwater-melonswere cut to pieces, andmost of the vegetables, including the Indiancorn,weredestroyed.Thefruit trees, too,hadsufferedgreatly.Fortyorfiftysheephadbeenkilledoutright,andhundredsmoreweresomuchhurtthatfordaystheywentlimpingaboutorappearedstupefiedfromblowsonthehead.Threeofourheifersweredead,andonehorse—anoldlovedriding-horsewithahistory,oldZango—thewholehousewasingriefathisdeath!Hebelongedoriginallytoacavalryofficerwhohadanextraordinaryaffectionforhim—ararethinginalandwherehorsefleshwastoocheap,andmenasarulecarelessof their animals and even cruel. The officer had spent years in the BandaOriental,inguerillawarfare,andhadriddenZangoineveryfightinwhichhehad been engaged.Coming back toBuenosAyres he brought the old horsehomewithhim.Twoorthreeyearslaterhecametomyfather,whomhehadcometoknowverywell,andsaidhehadbeenorderedtotheupperprovincesandwasingreattroubleabouthishorse.Hewastwentyyearsold,hesaid,andnolongerfit toberiddeninafight;andofallthepeopleheknewtherewasbutonemaninwhosecarehewishedtoleavehishorse.Iknow,hesaid,thatifyouwilltakehimandpromisetocareforhimuntilhisoldlifeends,hewillbe

safe;andIshouldbehappyabouthim—ashappyasIcanbewithoutthehorseIhavelovedmorethananyotherbeingonearth.Myfatherconsented,andhadkepttheoldhorseforovernineyearswhenhewaskilledbythehail.Hewasawell-shapeddarkbrownanimal,withlongmaneandtail,but,asIknewhim,always lean and old- looking, and the chief use he was put to was for thechildrentotaketheirfirstriding-lessonsonhisback.

Myparents had already experiencedonegreat sadnesson accountofZangobefore his strange death. For years they had looked for a letter, amessage,from the absent officer, andhadoften picturedhis return and joy at findingalivestillandembracinghisbelovedoldfriendagain.Butheneverreturned,andnomessagecameandnonewscouldbeheardofhim,anditwasat lastconcluded that he had lost his life in that distant part of the country,wheretherehadbeenmuchfighting.

To return to the hailstones. The greatest destruction had fallen on the wildbirds.Beforethestormimmensenumbersofgoldenploverhadappearedandwereinlargeflocksontheplain.Oneofournativeboysrodeinandofferedtogetasackfulofploverforthetable,andgettingthesackhetookmeuponhishorse behind him. A mile or so from home we came upon scores of deadploverlyingtogetherwheretheyhadbeenincloseflocks,butmycompanionwouldnotpickupadeadbird.Therewereothersrunningaboutwithonewingbroken, and these hewent after, leavingme to hold his horse, and catchingthem would wring their necks and drop them in the sack. When he hadcollectedtwoorthreedozenheremountedandwerodeback.

Laterthatmorningweheardofonehumanbeing,aboyofsix,inoneofourpoor neighbours' houses, who had lost his life in a curious way. He wasstanding in the middle of the room, gazing out at the falling hail, when ahailstone,cuttingthroughthethatchedroof,struckhimontheheadandkilledhiminstantly.

CHAPTERVI

SOMEBIRDADVENTURES

Visittoariveronthepampas—Afirstlongwalk—Waterfowl—Myfirstsightofflamingoes—Agreatdovevisitation—Strangetamenessofthebirds—Vainattemptsatputtingsaltontheirtails—Anethicalquestion:Whenisalienotalie?—Thecarancho,avulture-eagle—Ourpairofcaranchos—Theirnest ina

peach tree—I am ambitious to take their eggs—The birds' crimes—I amdrivenoffbythebirds—Thenestpulleddown.

Just beforemy riding days began in real earnest, when I was not yet quiteconfidentenoughtogallopoffaloneformiles tosee theworldformyself, Ihadmyfirst longwalkon theplain.Oneofmyelderbrothers invitedme toaccompany him to awater-course, one of the slow-flowing shallowmarshyriversofthepampaswhichwasbuttwomilesfromhome.Thethoughtofthehalf-wild cattle we would meet terrified me, but he was anxious for mycompanythatdayandassuredmethathecouldseenoherdinthatdirectionandhewouldbecarefultogiveawideberthtoanythingwithhornswemightcomeupon.ThenIjoyfullyconsentedandwesetout,threeofus,tosurveythewondersofagreatstreamof runningwater,wherebulrushesgrewand largewildbirds,neverseenbyusathome,wouldbefound.Ihadhadaglimpseoftheriverbefore,as,whendrivingtovisitaneighbour,wehadcrosseditatoneof the fords and I hadwished to get down and run on itsmoist green lowbanks,andnowthatdesirewouldbegratified.Itwasformea tremendouslylongwalk,aswehadtotakemanyaturntoavoidthepatchesofcardoonandgiant thistles, and by and by we came to low ground where the grass wasalmostwaist-high and full of flowers. Itwas all like anEnglishmeadow inJune,wheneverygrassandeveryherbisinflower,beautifulandfragrant,buttiringtoaboysixyearsoldtowalkthrough.Atlastwecameouttoasmoothgrassturf,andinalittlewhilewerebythestream,whichhadoverfloweditsbanks owing to recent heavy rains andwas now about fifty yardswide.Anastonishing number of birds were visible—chiefly wild duck, a few swans,and many waders-ibises, herons, spoonbills, and others, but the mostwonderful of all were three immensely tall white-and-rose-coloured birds,wadingsolemnly ina rowayardor soapart fromoneanother some twentyyards out from the bank. Iwas amazed and enchanted at the sight, andmydelightwasintensifiedwhentheleadingbirdstoodstilland,raisinghisheadand longneckaloft,openedand shookhiswings.For thewingswhenopenwereofagloriouscrimsoncolour,andthebirdwastomethemostangel-likecreatureonearth.

Whatwerethesewonderfulbirds?Iaskedofmybrothers,buttheycouldnottellme.Theysaidtheyhadneverseenbirdslikethembefore,andlaterIfoundthat the flamingowasnotknown inourneighbourhoodas thewater-courseswerenotlargeenoughforit,butthatitcouldbeseeninflocksatalakelessthanaday'sjourneyfromourhome.

ItwasnotforseveralyearsthatIhadanopportunityofseeingthebirdagain;laterIhaveseenitscoresandhundredsoftimes,atrestorflying,atalltimesofthedayandinallstatesoftheatmosphere,inallitsmostbeautifulaspects,

aswhenatsunsetorintheearlymorningitstandsmotionlessinthestillwaterwithitsclearimagereflectedbelow;orwhenseenflyinginflocks—seenfromsome high bank beneath one—moving low over the blue water in a longcrimsonlineorhalfmoon,thebirdsatequaldistancesapart,theirwing-tipsallbuttouching;butthedelightinthesespectacleshasneverequalledindegreethatwhichIexperiencedonthisoccasionwhenIwassixyearsold.

Thenextlittlebirdadventuretobetoldexhibitsmemoreinthecharacterofaninnocentandexceedinglycredulousbabyofthreethanofafieldnaturalistofsixwithaconsiderableexperienceofwildbirds.

One spring day an immense number of doves appeared and settled in theplantation.Itwasaspeciescommoninthecountryandbredinourtrees,andinfactineverygroveororchardintheland—aprettydove-colouredbirdwithapretty sorrowful song, about a third less in size than thedomesticpigeon,andbelongstotheAmericangenusZenaida.Thisdovewasaresidentwithusalltheyearround,butoccasionallyinspringandautumntheyweretobeseentravelling in immense flocks, and thesewere evidently strangers in the landandcamefromsomesub-tropicalcountryinthenorthwheretheyhadnofearofthehumanform.Atallevents,ongoingoutintotheplantationIfoundthemall about on the ground, diligently searching for seeds, and so tame andheedless ofmy presence that I actually attempted to capture themwithmyhands.Buttheywouldn'tbecaught: thebirdwhenIstoopedandputoutmyhandsslippedaway,andflyingayardortwowouldsettledowninfrontofmeandgoonlookingforandpickingupinvisibleseeds.

MyattemptsfailingIrushedbacktothehouse,wildlyexcited,tolookforanoldgentlemanwholivedwithusandtookaninterestinmeandmypassionforbirds,and findinghimI toldhim thewholeplacewasswarmingwithdovesandtheywereperfectlytamebutwouldn'tletmecatchthem—couldhetellmehow tocatch them?He laughedandsaid Imustbea little foolnot toknowhowtocatchabird.Theonlywaywastoputsaltontheirtails.Therewouldbenodifficultyindoingthat,Ithought,andhowdelightedIwastoknowthatbirds could be caught so easily! Off I ran to the salt-barrel and filled mypockets and handswith coarse salt used tomake brine inwhich to dip thehides;forIwantedtocatchagreatmanydoves—armfulsofdoves.

In a fewminutes Iwas out again in the plantation,with doves in hundredsmoving over the ground all aboutme and taking no notice ofme. Itwas ajoyfulandexcitingmomentwhen I startedoperations,but I soon found thatwhenItossedahandfulofsaltatthebird'stailitneverfellonitstail—itfellon theground twoor threeor four inches shortof the tail. If, I thought, thebirdwouldonlykeepstillamomentlonger!Butthenitwouldn't,andIthinkIspentquitetwohoursinthesevainattemptstomakethesaltfallontheright

place.AtlastIwentbacktomymentortoconfessthatIhadfailedandtoaskforfreshinstructions,butallhewouldsaywas thatIwasontheright track,thattheplanIhadadoptedwastheproperone,andallthatwaswantedwasalittle more practice to enable me to drop the salt on the right spot. ThusencouragedIfilledmypocketsagainandstartedafresh,andthenfindingthatbyfollowingtheproperplanImadenoprogressIadoptedanewone,whichwastotakeahandfulofsaltandhurlitatthebird'stail.StillIcouldn'ttouchthetail;myviolentactiononlyfrightenedthebirdandcausedittoflyaway,adozenyardsor so,beforedroppingdownagain to resume its seed-searchingbusiness.

By-and-byIwastoldbysomebodythatbirdscouldnotbecaughtbyputtingsaltontheirtails;thatIwasbeingmadeafoolof,andthiswasagreatshocktome,sinceIhadbeentaughttobelievethatitwaswickedtotellalie.Nowforthefirst timeIdiscovered that therewere liesand lies,oruntruths thatwerenot lies, which one could tell innocently although they were invented anddeliberately told todeceive.This angeredmeat first, and Iwanted toknowhowIwastodistinguishbetweenrealliesandliesthatwerenotlies,andtheonlyanswerIgotwasthatIcoulddistinguishthembynotbeingafool!

In thenext adventure tobe toldwepass from the love (or tameness) of theturtle to the rage of the vulture. It may be remarked in passing that thevernacularnameofthedoveIhavedescribedisTorcasa,whichItakeit isacorruption of Tortola, the name first given to it by the early colonists onaccountofitsslightresemblancetotheturtle-doveofEurope.

Then,astothevulture,itwasnotatruevulturenorastrictlytrueeagle,butacarrion-hawk,abirdthesizeofasmalleagle,blackishbrownincolourwithawhiteneckandbreastsuffusedwithbrownandspottedwithblack;alsoithada very big eagle-shaped beak, and claws not so strong as an eagle's nor soweakasavulture's.Initshabitsitwasbotheagleandvulture,asitfedondeadflesh,andwasalsoahunterandkillerofanimalsandbirds,especiallyoftheweakly and young. A somewhat destructive creature to poultry and youngsuckinglambsandpigs.Itsfeedinghabitswere,infact,verylikethoseoftheraven,anditsvoice,too,wasraven-like,orratherlikethatofthecarrion-crowat his loudest and harshest. Considering the character of this big rapaciousbird, thePolyborus tharus of naturalists and the carancho of the natives, itmay seem strange that a pairwere allowed tonest and live for years inourplantation, but in those days people were singularly tolerant not only ofinjurious birds and beasts but even of beings of their own species ofpredaceoushabits.

Ontheoutskirtsofouroldpeachorchard,describedinaformerchapter,therewasa solitary treeofa somewhat singular shape, standingabout fortyyards

fromtheothersontheedgeofapieceofwasteweedyland.Itwasabigoldtreeliketheothers,andhadasmoothroundtrunkstandingaboutfourteenfeethighandthrowingoutbranchesallround,sothatitsupperparthadtheshapeof an open inverted umbrella.And in the convenient hollow formed by thecircleofbranchesthecaranchoshadbuilttheirhugenest,composedofsticks,lumpsof turf,drybonesofsheepandotheranimals,piecesof ropeandrawhide, and any other object they could carry. The nest was their home; theyroosted in it by night and visited it at odd times during the day, usuallybringing a bleachedbone or thistle- stalk or some suchobject to add to thepile.

Ourbirdsneverattacked the fowls, andwerenotoffensiveorobtrusive,butkepttotheirownendoftheplantationfurthestawayfromthebuildings.Theyonlycamewhenananimalwaskilled formeat,andwould thenhangabout,keepingasharpeyeontheproceedingsandwatchingtheirchance.Thiswouldcomewhenthecarcasswasdressedandlightsandotherportionsthrowntothedogs;thenthecaranchowouldswoopdownlikeakite,andsnatchingupthemeatwithhisbeakwouldrisetoaheightoftwentyorthirtyyardsintheair,anddroppinghisprizewoulddeftlycatchitagaininhisclawsandsoarawaytofeedonitatleisure.Iwasnevertiredofadmiringthisfeatofthecarancho,whichis,Ibelieve,uniqueinbirdsofprey.

The big nest in the old inverted-umbrella-shaped peach tree had a greatattractionforme;IusedoftentovisititandwonderifIwouldeverhavethepowerofgettinguptoit.Oh,whatadelightitwouldbetogetupthere,abovethe nest, and look down into the great basin-like hollow lined with sheep'swoolandseetheeggs,biggerthanturkey'seggs,allmarbledwithdeepred,orcreamywhitesplashedwithblood-red!ForIhadseencaranchoeggsbroughtinbyagaucho,andIwasambitioustotakeaclutchfromanestwithmyownhands. Itwas true Ihadbeen toldbymymother that if Iwantedwildbirds'eggs Iwas never to takemore than one from a nest, unless itwas of someinjurious species. And injurious the carancho certainly was, in spite of hisgoodbehaviourwhenathome.Ononeofmyearly ridesonmypony Ihadseenapairofthem,andIthinktheywereourownbirds,furiouslyattackingaweakandsicklyewe;shehadrefusedtoliedowntobekilled,andtheywereonherneck,beatingandtearingatherfaceandtryingtopullherdown.AlsoIhadseenalitteroflittlepigsasowhadbroughtforthontheplainattackedbysixorsevencaranchos,andfoundonapproachingthespotthattheyhadkilledhalfof them(about six, I think), andweredevouring themat somedistancefromtheoldpigandthesurvivorsofthelitter.ButhowcouldIclimbthetreeand get over the rim of the huge nest?And I was afraid of the birds, theylookedsounspeakablysavageandformidablewheneverIwentnearthem.Butmydesire toget theeggswasover-mastering,andwhen itwas springand I

hadreasontothinkthateggswerebeinglaid,Iwentoftenerthanevertowatchandwaitforanopportunity.AndoneeveningjustaftersunsetIcouldnotseethebirdsanywhereaboutandthoughtmychancehadnowcome.Imanagedtoswarmupthesmoothtrunktothebranches,andthenwithwildlybeatingheartbeganthetaskoftryingtogetthroughtheclosebranchesandtoworkmywayover thehuge rimof thenest. Just then I heard theharshgrating cryof thebird, and peering through the leaves in the direction it came from I caughtsight of the two birds flying furiously towardsme, screaming again as theycamenearer.Then terror seizedme, anddown Iwent through thebranches,and catching hold of the lowest one managed to swing myself clear anddroppedtotheground.Itwasagoodlongdrop,butIfellonasoft turf,andspringingtomyfeetfledtotheshelteroftheorchardandthenontowardsthehouse,withouteverlookingbacktoseeiftheywerefollowing.

That was my only attempt to raid the nest, and from that time the birdscontinuedinpeacefulpossessionof it,until itcameintosomeperson'smindthat this huge nest was detrimental to the tree, and was the cause of itsproducing so little fruit compared with any other tree, and the nest wasaccordinglypulleddown,andthebirdsforsooktheplace.

In the description in a former chapter of our old peach trees in theirblossomingtimeImentionedtheparoquetswhichoccasionallyvisitedusbuthad their breeding-place some distance away. This birdwas one of the twocommonparrotsof thedistrict, theother largerspeciesbeing thePatagonianparrot, Conarus patagonus, the Loro barranquero or Cliff Parrot of thenatives. In my early years this bird was common on the treeless pampasextending for hundreds of miles south of Buenos Ayres as well as inPatagonia,andbredinholesitexcavatedincliffsandsteepbanksatthesideoflakesandrivers.Thesebreeding-siteswerefarsouthofmyhome,andIdidnotvisitthemuntilmyboyhood'sdayswereover.

Inwinter these birds had a partialmigration to the north: at that seasonwewerevisitedbyflocks,andasachilditwasajoytomewhentheresoundingscreams of the travelling parrots, heard in the silence long before the birdsbecame visible in the sky, announced their approach. Then, when theyappearedflyingatamoderateheight,howstrangeandbeautifultheylooked,with long pointed wings and long graduated tails, in their sombre greenplumagetouchedwithyellow,blue,andcrimsoncolour!HowI longedforaneareracquaintancewiththesewintervisitorsandhopedtheywouldsettleonour trees! Sometimes they did settle to rest, perhaps to spend half a day orlongerintheplantation;andsometimes,tomygreathappiness,aflockwouldelecttoremainwithusforwholedaysandweeks,feedingonthesurroundingplain,comingat intervals to the treesduring theday,andatnight to roost. I

used to go out on my pony to follow and watch the flock at feed, andwondered at their partiality for the bitter-tasting seeds of thewild pumpkin.Thisplant,whichwasabundantwithus,producedanegg-shapedfruitabouthalfthesizeofanostrich'segg,withahardshell-likerind,butthebirdswiththeirsharpiron-hardbeakswouldquicklybreakupthedryshellandfeastonthe pips, scattering the seed-shells about till the ground was whitened withthem.WhenIapproachedthefeedingflockonmyponythebirdswouldriseupand, flying toandatme,hover inacompactcrowd just abovemyhead,almostdeafeningmewiththeirangryscreams.

Thesmallerbird,theparoquet,whichwasaboutthesizeofaturtle-dove,hada uniform rich green colour above and ashy-grey beneath, and, like mostparrots,itnestedintrees.ItisoneofthemostsocialbirdsIknow;itlivesalltheyearroundincommunitiesandbuildshugenestsofsticksneartogetherasinarookery,eachnesthavingaccommodationfortwoorthreetohalf-a-dozenpairs.Eachpairhasanentranceandnestcavityofitsowninthebigstructure.

Theonlybreeding-placeinourneighbourhoodwasinagroveorremainsofanancient ruined plantation at an estancia house, about nine miles from us,ownedbyanEnglishmannamedRamsdale.Heretherewasacolonyofaboutacoupleofhundredbirds,andthedozenormoretreestheyhadbuiltonwereladenwith theirgreatnests, eachonecontainingasmuchmaterial aswouldhavefilledacart.

Mr.RamsdalewasnotournearestEnglishneighbour—theonetobedescribedinanotherchapter;norwasheamanwecaredmuchabout,andhismeagreestablishmentwasnotattractive,ashisoldslatternlynativehousekeeperandtheotherservantswereallowedtodojustwhattheyliked.ButhewasEnglishandaneighbour,andmyparentsmadeitapointofpayinghimanoccasionalvisit, and I always managed to go with them—certainly not to see Mr.Ramsdale,whohadnothingtosaytoashylittleboyandwhosehardredfacelookedthefaceofaharddrinker.Myvisitsweretotheparoquetsexclusively.Oh,why, thought Imany andmany a time, didnot thesedear greenpeoplecomeovertousandhavetheirhappyvillageinourtrees!YetwhenIvisitedthemtheydidn'tlikeit;nosoonerwouldIrunouttothegrovewherethenestswere than the placewould be in an uproar.Out and up theywould rush, touniteinaflockandhovershriekingovermyhead,andthecommotionwouldlastuntilIleftthem.

OnourreturnlateoneafternooninearlyspringfromoneofourrarevisitstoMr. Ramsdale, we witnessed a strange thing. The plain at that place wascoveredwithadensegrowthofcardoon-thistleorwildartichoke,andleavingtheestanciahouse inour trap,we followed thecattle tracksas therewasnoroadonthatside.Abouthalf-wayhomewesawatroopofsevenoreightdeer

in an open green space among the big grey thistle-bushes, but instead ofuttering their whistling alarm-cry and making off at our approach theyremainedatthesamespot,althoughwepassedwithinfortyyardsofthem.Thetroopwascomposedoftwobucksengagedinafuriousfight,andfiveorsixdoeswalkingroundandroundthetwofighters.Thebuckskepttheirheadssolowdownthat theirnoseswerealmosttouchingtheground,whilewiththeirhornslockedtogethertheypushedviolently,andfromtimetotimeonewouldsucceed in forcing the other ten or twenty feet back. Then a pause, thenanotherviolentpush,thenwithhornsstilltogethertheywouldmovesideways,roundandround,andsoonuntilweleftthembehindandlostsightofthem.

Thisspectaclegreatlyexcitedusat thetimeandwasvividlyrecalledseveralmonths afterwardswhen one of our gaucho neighbours told us of a curiousthinghehadjustseen.Hehadbeenoutonthatcardoon-coveredspotwherewehadseenthefightingdeer,andatthatveryspotinthelittlegreenspacehehadcomeupontheskeletonsoftwodeerwiththeirhornsinterlocked.

Tragediesofthiskindinthewildanimalworldhaveoftenbeenrecorded,buttheyareexceedinglyrareonthepampas,asthesmoothfew-prongedantlersofthenativedeer,corvuscampestris,arenotsoliabletogethopelesslylockedasinmanyotherspecies.

Deer were common in our district in those days, and were partial to landovergrown with cardoon thistle, which in the absence of trees and thicketsaffordedthemsomesortofcover.Iseldomrodetothatsidewithoutgettingasightofagroupofdeer,oftenlookingexceedinglyconspicuousintheirbrightfawncolourastheystoodgazingattheintruderamidstthewidewasteofgreycardoonbushes.

Theseroughplainswerealsothehauntoftherhea,ourostrich,anditwasherethat I firsthadaclosesightof thisgreatestandmostunbird-likebirdofourcontinent.Iwaseightyearsoldthen,whenoneafternooninlatesummerIwasjustsettingoff fora rideonmypony,whenIwas told togoouton theeastside till I came to the cardoon-covered land about a mile beyond theshepherd'sranch.Theshepherdwaswantedintheplantationandcouldnotgoto theflock justyet,andIwas told to lookfor theflockand turn it towardshome.

I found the flock just where I had been told to look for it, the sheep verywidelyscattered,andsomegroupsofadozenor two toahundredwere justvisibleatadistanceamongtheroughbushes.Justwherethesefurthestsheepweregrazing therewasascattered troopofseventyoreightyhorsesgrazingtoo, andwhen I rode to that spot I all at once foundmyself amonga lot ofrheas,feedingtooamongthesheepandhorses.Theirgreyplumagebeingso

much like thecardoonbushes incolourhadpreventedmefromseeing thembeforeIwasrightamongthem.

The strange thing was that they paid not the slightest attention to me, andpullingupmyponyIsatstaringinastonishmentatthem,particularlyatone,avery big one and nearest to me, engaged in leisurely pecking at the cloverplantsgrowingamongthebigpricklythistleleaves,andasitseemedcarefullyselectingthebestsprays.

What a great noble-looking bird itwas and howbeautiful in its loose grey-and-whiteplumage,hanginglikeapicturesquely-wornmantleaboutitsbody!Whyweretheysotame?Iwondered.Thesightofamountedgaucho,evenatagreatdistance,willinvariablysetthemoffattheirtopmostspeed;yethereIwaswithin a dozen yards of one of them,with several others aboutme, alloccupiedinexaminingtheherbageandselectingthenicest-lookingleavestopluck,justasifIwasnotthereatall!IsupposeitwasbecauseIwasonlyasmallboyonasmallhorseandwasnotassociatedintheostrichbrainwiththewild-looking gaucho on his big animal charging upon him with a deadlypurpose.Presently Iwentstraightat theonenearme,andhe then raisedhisheadandneckandmovedcarelesslyawaytoadistanceofafewyards, thenbegancroppingthecloveroncemore.Irodeathimagain,puttingmyponytoatrot,andwhenwithintwoyardsofhimheallatonceswunghisbodyroundinaquaintwaytowardsme,andbreakingintoasortofdancingtrotbrushedpastme.

PullingupagainandlookingbackIfoundhewastenortwelveyardsbehindme,oncemorequietlyengagedincroppingcloverleaves!

Againandagainthisbird,andoneoftheothersIrodeat,practisedthesamepretty trick, first appearing perfectly unconcerned atmy presence and then,whenImadeachargeatthem,withjustonelittlecarelessmovementplacingthemselvesadozenyardsbehindme.

But this same trick of the rhea iswonderful to seewhen the hunted bird isspent with running and is finally overtaken by one of the hunters who hasperhapslostthebolaswithwhichhecaptureshisquarry,andwhoendeavourstoplacehimselfsidebysidewithitsoastoreachitwithhisknife.Itseemsaneasythingtodo:thebirdisplainlyexhausted,panting,hiswingshanging,ashelopeson,yetnosooneristhemanwithinstrikingdistancethanthesuddenmotioncomesintoplay,andthebirdasbyamiracleisnowbehindinsteadofatthesideofthehorse.Andbeforethehorsegoingattopspeedcanbereinedin and turned round, the rhea has had time to recover his wind and get ahundredyardsawayormore.Itisonaccountofthistrickyinstinctoftherheathat thegauchossay,"Elavestruzeselmasgauchode losanimales,"which

meansthattheostrich,initsresourcefulnessandthetricksitpractisestosaveitselfwhenhardpressed,isascleverasthegauchoknowshimselftobe.

CHAPTERVII

MYFIRSTVISITTOBUENOSAYRES

Happiest time—First visit to the Capital—Old and New Buenos Ayres—Vivid impressions—Solitary walk—How I learnt to go alone—Lost—Thehousewestayedatandthesea-likeriver—Roughandnarrowstreets—Rowsofposts—Cartsandnoise—Agreatchurchfestival—Youngmeninblackandscarlet—Riverscenes—Washerwomenandtheirlanguage—Theirword-fightswithyoungfashionables—Nightwatchmen—Ayounggentleman'spastime—Afishingdog—Afinegentlemanseenstoninglittlebirds—AglimpseofDonEusebio,theDictator'sfool.

Thehappiesttimeofmyboyhoodwasatthatearlyperiod,alittlepasttheageof six,when Ihadmyownpony to rideon,andwasallowed to stayonhisbackjustaslongandgoasfarfromhomeasIliked.Iwasliketheyoungbirdwhenonfirstquittingthenestitsuddenlybecomesconsciousofitspowertofly.Myearly flyingdayswere,however, soon interrupted,whenmymothertookmeonmyfirstvisittoBuenosAyres;thatistosay,thefirstIremember,as Imust have been taken there once before as an infant in arms, sincewelived too far from town for any missionary-clergyman to travel all thatdistancejusttobaptizealittlebaby.BuenosAyresisnowthewealthiest,mostpopulous,Europeanizedcity inSouthAmerica:what itwas likeat that timetheseglimpsesintoafarpastwillservetoshow.Comingasasmallboyofanexceptionallyimpressionablemind,fromthatgreenplainwherepeoplelivedthesimplepastorallife,everythingIsawinthecityimpressedmedeeply,andthesightswhichimpressedmethemostareasvividinmymindto-dayastheyever were. I was a solitary little boy in my rambles about the streets, forthough Ihadayoungerbrotherwhowasmyonlyplaymate,hewasnotyetfive,andtoosmalltokeepmecompanyinmywalks.NordidImindhavingnoonewithme.Very,veryearly inmyboyhoodIhadacquired thehabitofgoing about alone to amuse myself in my own way, and it was only afteryears,whenmyagewasabout twelve, thatmymother toldmehowanxiousthissingularityinmeusedtomakeher.Shewouldmissmewhenlookingouttoseewhatthechildrenweredoing,andIwouldbecalledandsearchedfor,tobefoundhiddenawaysomewhereintheplantation.Thenshebegantokeepaneyeonme, andwhen Iwasobserved stealingoff shewould secretly follow

andwatchme,standingmotionlessamongthetallweedsorunderthetreesbythehalf-hour, staring at vacancy.This distressedher verymuch; then to hergreat reliefand joyshediscovered that Iwas therewithamotivewhichshecould understand and appreciate: that Iwaswatching some living thing, aninsectperhaps,butoftenerabird—apairoflittlescarletflycatchersbuildinganestoflichenonapeachtree,orsomesuchbeautifulthing.Andasshelovedall living thingsherself shewasquitesatisfied that Iwasnotgoingqueer inmyhead,forthatwaswhatshehadbeenfearing.

Thestrangenessofthestreetswasalittletoomuchformeat thestart,andIremember thatonfirstventuringoutbymyselfa littledistancefromhomeIgotlost.IndespairofeverfindingmywaybackIbegantocry,hidingmyfaceagainst a post at a street corner, andwas there soon surrounded by quite anumber of passers-by; then a policeman cameup,with brass buttons on hisbluecoatandaswordathisside,andtakingmebythearmheaskedmeinacommandingvoicewhere I lived—thenameof thestreetand thenumberofthehouse.Icouldn'ttellhim;thenIbegantogetfrightenedonaccountofhissword and big black moustache and loud rasping voice, and suddenly ranaway,andafter running forabout sixoreightminutes foundmyselfbackathome,tomysurpriseandjoy.

ThehousewherewestayedwithEnglishfriendswasnear thefront,orwhatwas then the front, that part of the citywhich faced the Plata river, a riverwhichwaslikethesea,withnovisibleshorebeyond;andliketheseaitwastidal,anddifferedonlyinitscolour,whichwasamuddyredinsteadofblueorgreen.Thehousewas roomy,and likemostof thehousesat thatdatehadalarge courtyardpavedwith red tiles andplantedwith small lemon trees andfloweringshrubsofvariouskinds.Thestreetswerestraightandnarrow,pavedwithroundboulderstonesthesizeofafootball, thepavementswithbrickorflagstones,andsonarrowtheywouldhardlyadmitofmorethantwopersonswalkingabreast.Alongthepavementsoneachsideofthestreetwererowsofposts placed at a distance of ten yards apart.These strange-looking rowsofposts,whichforeignerslaughedtosee,werenodoubttheremainsofyetrudertimes,whenropesofhidewerestretchedalong thesideof thepavements toprotect thefoot-passengers fromrunawayhorses,wildcattledrivenbywildmen from the plains, and other dangers of the narrow streets.As theywerethenpavedthestreetsmusthavebeenthenoisiestintheworld,onaccountoftheimmensenumbersofbigspringlesscartsinthem.Imaginethethunderousracketmade by a long procession of these carts, when they were returningempty,and thedrivers,aswasoften thecase,urged theirhorses toagallop,andtheybumpedandthunderedoverthebigroundstones!

Just opposite the house we stayed at there was a large church, one of the

largest of the numerous churches of the city, and one of my most vividmemories relates to agreat annual festival at the church—thatof thepatronsaint'sday.Ithadbeenopentoworshippersallday,butthechiefservicewasheldaboutthreeo'clockintheafternoon;atalleventsitwasatthathourwhenagreat attendanceof fashionablepeople tookplace. Iwatched themas theycame in couples, families and small groups, in every case the ladies,beautifullydressed,attendedbytheircavaliers.Atthedoorofthechurchthegentlemanwouldmakehisbowandwithdrawtothestreetbeforethebuilding,whereasortofoutdoorgatheringwas formedofall thosewhohadcomeasescortstotheladies,andwheretheywouldremainuntiltheservicewasover.The crowd in the street grew and grew until there were about four or fivehundred gentlemen, mostly young, in the gathering, all standing in smallgroups,conversing inananimatedway,so that thestreetwasfilledwith theloudhummingsoundoftheirblendedvoices.Thesemenwereallnatives,allofthegoodorupperclassofthenativesociety,andalldressedexactlyalikeinthefashionof that time. Itwas theirdressand theuniformappearanceofsolarge a number of persons, most of them with young, handsome, animatedfaces,thatfascinatedmeandkeptmeonthespotgazingatthemuntilthebigbells began to thunder at the conclusion of the service and the immenseconcourseofgaily-dressedladiesswarmedout,andimmediatelythemeetingbrokeup,thegentlemenhurryingbacktomeetthem.

Theyallworesilkhatsandtheglossiestblackbroadcloth,notevenapairoftrousersofanyothershadewasseen;andallworethescarletsilkorfineclothwaistcoatwhich,atthatperiod,wasconsideredtherightthingforeverycitizenoftherepublictowear;also,inlieuofbuttonhole,ascarletribbonpinnedtothelapelofthecoat.Itwasaprettysight,andtheconcourseremindedmeofaflockofmilitarystarlings,ablackordark-plumagedbirdwithascarletbreast,oneofmyfeatheredfavourites.

Myrambleswerealmostalwaysonthefront,sinceIcouldwalkthereamileor twofromhome,northorsouth,withoutgetting lost,alwayswith thevastexpanse of water on one hand, with many big ships looking dim in thedistance,andnumerouslightersorbelanderscomingfromthemwithcargoesofmerchandisewhichtheyunloadedintocarts,thesegoingoutaquarterofamileintheshallowwatertomeetthem.Thentherewerethewater-cartsgoingand coming in scores and hundreds, for at that period there was no watersupplytothehouses,andeveryhouse-holderhadtobuymuddywaterbythebucketathisowndoorfromthewatermen.

One of the most attractive spots to me was the congregating place ofthelavanderas,southofmystreet.Hereonthebroadbeachunderthecliffonesawawhitenesslikeawhitecloud,coveringthegroundforaspaceofabouta

third of a mile; and the cloud, as one drew near, resolved itself intoinnumerable garments, sheets and quilts, and other linen pieces, flutteringfromlonglines,andcoveringthelowrockswashedcleanbythetideandthestretchesofgreenturfbetween.Itwasthespotwherethewasherwomenwereallowed towash all the dirty linen ofBuenosAyres in public.All over theground the women, mostly negresses, were seen on their knees, beside thepoolsamongtherocks,furiouslyscrubbingandpoundingawayattheirwork,andlikeallnegressestheywereexceedinglyvociferous,andtheirloudgabble,mingledwithyellsandshrieksoflaughter,remindedmeofthehubbubmadebyagreat concourseofgulls, ibises, godwits, geese, andothernoisywater-fowlonsomemarshylake.Itwasawonderfullyanimatedscene,anddrewmeto it again and again: I found, however, that it was necessary to go warilyamong these women, as they looked with suspicion at idling boys, andsometimes,whenIpickedmywayamongthespreadgarments,Iwassharplyorderedoff.Then,too,theyoftenquarrelledovertheirrighttocertainplacesandspacesamongthemselves;thenverysuddenlytheirhilariousgabblewouldchange towildcriesof angerand torrentsof abuse.Byandby Idiscoveredthat their greatest rages and worst language were when certain younggentlemenoftheupperclassesvisitedthespottoamusethemselvesbybaitingthe lavanderas. The young gentleman would saunter about in an absent-mindedmannerandpresentlywalkrightontoabeautifullyembroideredandbelacednightdressorotherdaintygarmentspreadouttodryontheswardorrock, and, standing on it, calmly proceed to take out and light a cigarette.Instantly theblackviragowouldbeonherfeetconfrontinghimandpouringoutatorrentofherfoulestexpressionsanddeadliestcurses.He,inapretendedrage,wouldreplyinevenworselanguage.Thatwouldputheronhermettle;for now all her friends and foes scattered about the ground would suspendtheirworktolistenwithalltheirears;andthecontestofwordsgrowinglouderandfiercerwouldlastuntilthecombatantswerebothexhaustedandunabletoinventanymorenewandhorribleexpressionsofopprobriumtohurlateachother.Then the insultedyounggentlemanwouldkick thegarmentaway inafuryandhurlingtheunfinishedcigaretteinhisadversary'sfacewouldwalkoffwithhisnoseintheair.

I laugh to recall these unseemly word-battles on the beach, but they wereshockingtomewhenIfirstheardthemasasmall,innocent-mindedboy,anditonlymadethecaseworsewhenIwasassuredthattheyounggentlemanwasonly acting a part, that the extreme anger he exhibited, which might haveservedasanexcuseforusingsuchlanguage,wasallpretence.

Anotherfavouritepastimeofthesesameidle,richyounggentlemenoffendedmeasmuchastheoneIhaverelated.Thenight-watchmen,calledSerenos,ofthattimeinterestedmeinanextraordinaryway.Whennightcameitappeared

thatthefiercepolicemen,withtheirswordsandbrassbuttons,werenolongerneededtosafeguard thepeople,and theirplace in thestreetswas takenbyaquaint, frowsy- looking body of men, mostly old, some almost decrepit,wearingbigcloaksandcarryingstaffsandheavy iron lanternswitha tallowcandlealightinside.Butwhatapleasureitwastolieawakeatnightandlistentotheirvoicescallingthehours!Thecallsbeganatthestrokeofeleven,andthenfrombeneaththewindowwouldcomethewonderfullongdrawlingcallofLason—cehanda—doyse—re—no,whichmeanselevenoftheclockandallserene,butifcloudedtheconcludingwordwouldbenu—bla—do,andsoon,accordingtotheweather.Fromallthestreets,fromalloverthetown,thelong-drawncallswouldfloattomylisteningears,withinfinitevarietyinthevoices—thehighandshrill,thefalsetto,theharsh,raucousnotelikethecawofthe carrion crow, the solemn, booming bass, and then some fine, rich, purevoice that soaredheavenwardsaboveall theothersandwas like thepealingnotesofanorgan.

I lovedthepoornight-watchmenandtheircries,anditgrievedmylittlesofthearttohearthatitwasconsideredfinesportbytherichyounggentlementosallyforthatnightanddobattlewiththem,andtodeprivethemoftheirstaffsandlanterns,whichtheytookhomeandkeptastrophies.

Another human phenomenon which annoyed and shocked my tender mind,like that of the contests on the beach between young gentlemen andwasherwomen,was themultitudeofbeggarswhich infested the town.Thesewerenot likeourdignifiedbeggaronhorseback,withhis redponcho, spursand tall straw hat, who rode to your gate, and having received his tribute,blessed you and rode away to the next estancia. These city beggars on thepavementwere themostbrutal, even fiendish, lookingmen Ihadever seen.Most of them were old soldiers, who, having served their ten, fifteen, ortwenty years, according to the nature of the crime forwhich they had beencondemned to the army, had been discharged or thrown out to live likecarrion-hawksonwhat they could pickup.Twenty times a day at least youwould hear the iron gate opening from the courtyard into the street swungopen, followed by the call or shout of the beggar demanding charity in thenameofGod.Outsideyoucouldnotwalkfarwithoutbeingconfrontedbyoneofthesemen,whowouldboldlysquarehimselfinfrontofyouonthenarrowpavement and beg for alms. If you had no change and said, "Perdon, porDios," he would scowl and let you pass; but if you looked annoyed ordisgusted, or ordered him out of theway, or pushed bywithout aword, hewouldglareatyouwithaconcentratedragewhichseemedtosay,"Oh,tohaveyoudownatmymercy,boundhandandfoot,asharpknifeinmyhand!"Andthiswouldbefollowedbyablastofthemosthorriblelanguage.

OnedayIwitnessedaverystrangething,theactionofadog,bythewaterside.Itwaseveningandthebeachwasforsaken;cartmen,fishermen,boatmenallgone,andIwas theonly idler lefton the rocks;but the tidewascoming in,rollingquitebigwavesontotherocks,andthenovelsightofthewaves,thefreshness,thejoyofit,keptmeatthatspot,standingononeoftheoutermostrocksnotyetwashedoverbythewater.Byandbyagentleman,followedbyabigdog,camedownonto thebeachandstoodatadistanceoffortyorfiftyyards fromme,while thedogbounded forwardover the flat, slippery rocksandthroughpoolsofwateruntilhecametomyside,andsittingontheedgeoftherockbegangazingintentlydownatthewater.Hewasabig,shaggy,round-headedanimal,withagreyishcoatwithsomepatchesoflightreddishcolouronit;whathisbreedwasIcannotsay,buthelookedsomewhatlikeasheep-dogoranotter-hound.Suddenlyheplungedin,quitedisappearingfromsight,but quickly reappeared with a big shad of about three and a half or fourpounds'weightinhisjaws.Climbingontotherockhedroppedthefish,whichhedidnotappear tohave injuredmuch,as itbegan flounderingabout inanexceedingly lively manner. I was astonished and looked back at the dog'smaster;buttherehestoodinthesameplace,smokingandpayingnoattentiontowhat his animalwas doing.Again the dog plunged in and brought out asecondbigfishanddroppeditontheflatrock,andagainandagainhedived,untiltherewerefivebigshadsallflounderingaboutonthewetrockandlikelysoontobewashedbackintothewater.TheshadisacommonfishinthePlataandthebest toeatofall itsfishes,resemblingthesalmoninitsrichflavour,andiseagerlywatchedforwhenitcomesupfromtheseabytheBuenosAyresfishermen,justasourfishermenwatchformackerelonourcoasts.Butonthiseveningthebeachwasdesertedbyeveryone,watchersincluded,andthefishcameandswarmedalongtherocks,andtherewasnoonetocatchthem—notevensomepoorhungryidlertopounceuponandcarryoffthefivefishesthedog had captured.One by one I saw themwashed back into thewater, andpresentlythedog,hearinghismasterwhistlingtohim,boundedaway.

FormanyyearsafterthisincidentIfailedtofindanyonewhohadevenseenorheardofadogcatchingfish.Eventually,inreadingImetwithanaccountoffishing-dogsinNewfoundlandandothercountries.

Oneotherstrangeadventuremetwithonthefrontremainstobetold.Itwasabouteleveno'clockin themorningandIwasontheparade,walkingnorth,pausing from time to time to look over the sea-wall towatch the flocks ofsmallbirdsthatcametofeedonthebeachbelow.Presentlymyattentionwasdrawn toayoungmanwalkingonbeforeme,pausingandpeering too fromtime to time over the wall, and when he did so throwing something at thesmall birds. I ran on and overtook him, and was rather taken aback at hiswonderfully fine appearance. He was like one of the gentlemen of the

gatheringbeforethechurch,describedafewpagesback,andworeasilkhatandfashionableblackcoatandtrousersandscarletsilkwaistcoat;hewasalsoa remarkably handsome young gentleman,with a golden-brown curly beardandmoustacheanddarkliquideyesthatstudiedmyfacewithahalf-amusedcuriositywhenIlookedupathim.Inonehandhecarriedawashleatherbagbyits handle, and holding a pebble in his right hand hewatched the birds, thesmallpartiesofcrestedsongsparrows,yellowhousesparrows, siskins, fieldfinches,andotherkinds,andfromtimetotimehewouldhurlapebbleatthebirdhehadsingledoutfortyyardsdownbelowusontherocks.Ididnotseehimactuallyhitabird,buthisprecisionwasamazing, foralmost invariablythemissile, thrownfromsuchadistanceatsominuteanobject,appeared tograzethefeathersandtomisskillingbybutafractionofaninch.

I followed him for some distance, mywonder and curiosity growing everyminutetoseesuchasuperior-lookingpersonengagedinsuchapastime.Foritis a fact that thenatives donot persecute small birds.On the contrary, theydespisethealiensinthelandwhoshootandtrapthem.Besides,ifhewantedsmallbirdsforanypurpose,whydidhetrytogetthembythrowingpebblesatthem?Ashedidnotordermeoff,butlookedinakindlywayatmeeverylittlewhile,withaslightsmileonhisface,Iatlengthventuredtotellhimthathewouldnevergetabirdthatway—thatitwouldbeimpossibleatthatdistancetohitonewithasmallpebble."Oh,no,notimpossible,"hereturned,smilingandwalkingon,stillwithaneyeontherocks."Well,youhaven'thitoneyet,"Iwasboldenough to say, andat thathe stopped, andputtinghis fingerandthumbinhiswaistcoatpockethepulledoutadeadmalesiskinandputitinmyhands.

Thiswasthebirdcalled"goldfinch"bytheEnglishresidentinLaPlata,andtothe Spanish it is also goldfinch; it is, however, a siskin, Chrysomitrismagellanica,andhasavelvet-blackhead,therestofitsplumagebeingblack,green,andshiningyellow.Itwasoneofmybest-lovedbirds,butIhadneverhadoneinmyhand,deadoralive,before,andnowitswonderfulunimaginedloveliness, itsgraceful form,and theexquisitelypureflower-likeyellowhueaffectedmewithadelightsokeenthatIcouldhardlykeepfromtears.

After gloating a few moments over it, touching it with my finger-tips andopening the little black and goldwings, I looked up pleadingly and beggedhimtoletmekeepit.Hesmiledandshookhishead:hewouldnotwastehisbreathtalking;allhisenergywastobespentinhurlingpebblesatotherlovelylittlebirds.

"Oh,senor,willyounotgiveittome?"Ipleadedstill;andthen,withsuddenhope,"Areyougoingtosellit?"

Helaughed,and taking it frommyhandput itback inhiswaistcoatpocket;then,withapleasantsmileandanodtosaythattheinterviewwasnowover,hewentonhisway.

Standingon thespotwherehe leftme,andstillbitterly regretting that Ihadfailed to get the bird, Iwatched him until he disappeared from sight in thedistance,walkingtowardsthesuburbofPalermo;andamysteryheremainstothis day, the one and only Argentine gentleman, a citizen of the Athens ofSouthAmerica,amusinghimselfbykillinglittlebirdswithpebbles.ButIdonot know that itwas an amusement.He had perhaps in somewildmomentmadeavowtokillsomanysiskinsinthatway,orabettoprovehisskillinthrowing a pebble; or he might have been practising a cure for somemysterious deadly malady, prescribed by some wandering physician fromBagdadorIspaham;or,moreprobablestill,someheartless,soullesswomanhewasinlovewithhadimposedthisfantasticaltaskonhim.

Perhaps themostwonderful thingIsawduring that firsteventfulvisit to thecapitalwasthefamedDonEusebio,thecourtjesterorfoolofthePresidentorDictator Rosas, the "Nero of South America," who lived in his palace atPalermo,justoutsidethecity.IhadbeensentwithmysistersandlittlebrothertospendthedayatthehouseofanAnglo-Argentinefamilyinanotherpartofthetown,andwewereinthelargecourtyardplayingwiththechildrenofthehouse when some one opened a window above us and called out, "DonEusebio!"Thatconveyednothingtome,butthelittleboysofthehouseknewwhatitmeant;itmeantthatifwewentquicklyouttothestreetwemightcatcha glimpse of the great man in all his glory. At all events, they jumped up,flinging their toys away, and rushed to the street door, and we after them.Comingoutwefoundquiteacrowdoflookers-on,andthendownthestreet,inhisgeneral'sdress—foritwasoneoftheDictator'slittlejokestomakehisfoolageneral—allscarlet,withabigscarletthree-corneredhatsurmountedbyanimmense aigrette of scarlet plumes, came Don Eusebio. He marched alongwith tremendous dignity, his sword at his side, and twelve soldiers, also inscarlet,hisbodyguard,walkingsixoneachsideofhimwithdrawnswordsintheirhands.

Wegazedwithjoyfulexcitementatthissplendidspectacle,anditmadeitallthemorethrillingwhenoneoftheboyswhisperedinmyearthatifanypersonin the crowd laughed or made any insulting or rude remark, he would beinstantly cut to pieces by the guard. And they looked truculent enough foranything.

ThegreatRosashimselfIdidnotsee,but itwassomethingtohavehadthismomentary sight ofGeneralEusebio, his fool, on the eve of his fall after areign of over twenty years, during which he proved himself one of the

bloodiestaswellasthemostoriginal-mindedoftheCaudillosandDictators,andaltogether,perhaps,thegreatestofthosewhohaveclimbedintopowerinthiscontinentofrepublicsandrevolutions.

CHAPTERVIII

THETYRANT'SFALLANDWHATFOLLOWED

The portraits in our drawing-room—The Dictator Rosas who was like anEnglishman—Thestrangefaceofhiswife,Encarnacion—ThetraitorUrquiza—TheMinisterofWar,hispeacocks,andhisson—Homeagainfromthecity—TheWardeprivesusof ourplaymate—Natalia, our shepherd'swife—Herson,Medardo—TheAlcaldeourgrandoldman—BattleofMonteCaseros—The defeated army—Demands for fresh horses— In peril—My father'sshining defects—His pleasure in a thunder storm—A childlike trust in hisfellow-men—Soldiers turn upon their officer—A refugee given up andmurdered—OurAlcaldeagain—Oncuttingthroats—Ferocityandcynicism—Nativeblood-lustanditseffectonaboy'smind—FeelingaboutRosas—Abirdpoem or tale—Vain search for lost poem and story of its authorship—TheDictator'sdaughter—Time,theoldgod.

At the end of the last chapter,when describingmyone sight of the famousjester,DonEusebio,inhisglory,attendedbyabody-guardwithdrawnswordswhowerereadytocutdownanyoneof thespectatorswhofailedtoremovehis hat or laughed at the show, I said it was on the eve of the fall of thePresident of theRepublic, orDictator, "theTyrant," as hewas calledbyhisadversaries when they didn't call him the "Nero of South America" or the"TigerofPalermo"—thisbeingthenameofaparkonthenorthsideofBuenosAyreswhereRosaslivedinawhitestuccoedhousecalledhispalace.

At that time the portrait, in colours, of the great man occupied the post ofhonourabovethemantelpieceinoursala,ordrawing-room—thepictureofaman with fine clear-cut regular features, light reddish-brown hair and side-whiskers,andblueeyes;hewassometimescalled"Englishman"onaccountofhisregularfeaturesandblondecomplexion.Thatpictureofasternhandsomeface,withflagsandcannonandolive-branch—thearmsoftherepublic—initsheavy gold frame,was one of the principal ornaments of the room, andmyfatherwasproudofit,sincehewas,forreasonstobestatedbyandby,agreatadmirerofRosas,anout-and-outRosista,astheloyaloneswerecalled.Thisportraitwasflankedby twoothers;oneofDonaEncarnacion, thewife, longdead,ofRosas;ahandsome,proud-lookingyoungwomanwithavastamount

ofblackhairpileduponherheadinafantasticfashion,surmountedbyalargetortoiseshellcomb.Irememberthatassmallchildrenweusedtolookwithaqueer,almostuncannysortoffeelingat thisfaceunderitspileofblackhair,becauseitwashandsomebutnotsweetnorgentle,andbecauseshewasdeadandhaddiedlongago;yetitwaslikethepictureofonealivewhenwelookedat it, and those black unloving eyes gazed straight back into ours.Why didthoseeyes,unlesstheymoved,whichtheydidn't,alwayslookbackintooursno matter in what part of the room we stood?—a perpetual puzzle to ourchildishuninformedbrains.

On the other side was the repellent, truculent countenance of the Captain-General Urquiza, who was the Dictator's right-hand man, a ferocious cut-throat ifevertherewasone,whohadupheldhisauthorityformanyyearsinthe rebellious upper provinces, butwhohad just now raised the standard ofrevoltagainsthimandinalittlewhile,withtheaidofaBrazilianarmy,wouldsucceedinoverthrowinghim.

The central portrait inspired us with a kind of awe and reverential feeling,sinceevenassmallchildrenweweremadetoknowthathewasthegreatestman in the republic, that he had unlimited power over all men's lives andfortunesandwasterribleinhisangeragainstevil-doers,especiallythosewhorebelledagainsthisauthority.

Twomoreportraitsofthefamousmenoftherepublicofthatdateadornedthesamewall.NexttoUrquizawasGeneralOribe,commanderofthearmysentbyRosasagainstMontevideo,whichmaintainedthesiegeofthatcityforthespace of ten years. On the other side, next to Dona Encarnacion, was theportraitoftheMinisterofWar,afacewhichhadnoattractionforuschildren,as it was not coloured like that of the Dictator, nor had any romance ormysteryinitlikethatofhisdeadwife;yetitservedtobringallthesepicturedpeopleintoouractualworld—tomakeusrealizethattheywerethecounterfeitpresentmentsofrealmenandwomen.ForithappenedthatthissameMinisterofWarwasinawayaneighbourofours,asheownedanestancia,whichhesometimesvisited,aboutthreeleaguesfromus,onthatpartoftheplaintotheeastofourplacewhichIhavedescribedinaformerchapterasbeingcoveredwithadensegrowthofthebluish-greywildartichoke,thecardodeCastilla,asitiscalledinthevernacular.Likemostoftheestanciahousesofthatdayitwas a long low building of brick with thatched roof, surrounded by anenclosedquinta, or plantation, with rows of century-old Lombardy poplarsconspicuous at a great distance, and many old acacia, peach, quince, andcherry trees. Itwasacattle andhorse-breedingestablishment,but thebeastswereoflessaccounttotheownerthanhispeacocks,afowlforwhichhehadsogreatapredilectionthathecouldnothavetoomanyofthem;hewasalways

buyingmorepeacockstosendouttotheestate,andtheymultiplieduntil thewholeplaceswarmedwiththem.Andhewantedthemallforhimself,sothatitwasforbiddentosellorgiveevenaneggaway.Theplacewasinthechargeofamajor-domo,agood-natured fellow,andwhenhediscovered thatwe likedpeacocks'feathersfordecorativepurposesinthehouse,hemadeitacustomtosend us each year at the moulting-time large bundles, whole armfuls, offeathers.

AnothercuriousthingintheestanciawasalargeroomsetapartforthedisplayoftrophiessentfromBuenosAyresbytheMinister'seldestson.Ihavealreadygivenanaccountofafavouritepastimeoftheyounggentlemenofthecapital—that of giving battle to the night-watchmen and wresting their staffs andlanterns from them.OurMinister's heirwas a leader in this sport, and fromtimetotimesentconsignmentsofhistrophiestothecountryplace,wherethewallsoftheroomwerecoveredwithstaffsandfestoonsoflanterns.

Once or twice as a small boy I had the privilege of meeting this younggentleman and looked at himwith an intense curiositywhich has served tokeephisimageinmymindtillnow.Hisfigurewasslenderandgraceful,hisfeaturesgood,andhehadaratherlongSpanishface;hiseyesweregrey-blue,andhishairandmoustacheareddishgolden-brown.Itwasahandsomeface,butwithacuriouslyrepelling,impatient,reckless,almostdevilishexpression.

Iwasathomeagain,backintheplantationamongmybelovedbirds,gladtoescapefromthenoisydustycityintothesweetgreensilences,withthegreatgreenplainglitteringwiththefalsewaterofthemiragespreadingaroundourshadyoasis,andthefactthatwar,whichfortheshortperiodofmyownlittlelifeandformanylongyearsbeforeIwasborn,hadnotvisitedourprovince,thankstoRosastheTyrant,themanofbloodandiron,hadnowcometousdidnotmakethesunshinelesssweetandpleasanttobehold.Ourelders,itistrue,showedanxious faces, but theywereoften anxious aboutmatterswhichdidnotaffectuschildren,andthereforedidn'tmatter.Butbyandbyevenwelittleonesweremadetorealizethattherewasatroubleinthelandwhichtouchedustoo,sinceitdeprivedusof thecompanionshipof thenativeboywhowasourparticularfriendandguardianduringourearlyhorsebackramblesontheplain. This boy, Medardo, or Dardo, was the fifteen-years-old son—illegitimateofcourse—of thenativewomanourEnglishshepherdhadmadehiswife.Whyhehaddonesowasaperpetualmysteryandmarvel toeveryone on account of her person and temper. The very thought of this poorNatalia,orDonaNataasshewascalled,longdeadandturnedtodustinthatfar pampa, troubles my spirit even now and gives me the uncomfortablefeelingthatinputtingherportraitonthispaperIamdoingameanthing.

Shewasanexcessively leancreature,careless,andevendirty inherperson,

withslippersbutnostockingsonherfeet,anolddirtygownofacoarsebluecottonstuffandalargecolouredcottonhandkerchieforpieceofcalicowoundturban-wiseaboutherhead.Shewasofayellowishparchmentcolour,theskintight-drawnover thesmallbonyaquilinefeatures,anditwouldhaveseemedlikethefaceofacorpseormummybutforthedeeply-sunkenjet-blackeyesburningwithatroubledfireintheirsockets.Therewasatremorandstrangelypathetic note in her thin high-pitched voice, as of a woman speaking witheffort between half-suppressed sobs, or like themournful cry of somewildbirdofthemarshes.Voiceandfaceweretrueindicationsofheranxiousmind.Shewas inaperpetual stateofworryover some triflingmatter, andwhenarealtroublecame,aswhenourflock"gotmixed"withaneighbour'sflockandfour or five thousand sheep had to be parted, sheep by sheep, according totheirear-marks,orwhenherhusbandcamehomedrunkand tumbledoffhishorse at the door insteadof dismounting in the usualmanner, shewould bealmostoutofhermindandwringherhandsandshriekandcryoutthatsuchconductwouldnotbeenduredbyhislong-sufferingmaster,andtheywouldnolongerhavearoofovertheirheads!

Pooranxious-mindedNata,whomovedusboth topityandrepulsion, itwasimpossiblenottoadmirehereffortstokeepherstolidinarticulatehusbandintherightpathandherintensewildanimal-likeloveofherchildren—thethreedirty-facedEnglish-lookingoffspringofherstrangemarriage,andDardo,herfirstborn, the son of the wind. He, too, was an interesting person; small orshortforhisyears,hewasthickandhadacuriouslysolidmatureappearance,with a round head, wide open, startlingly bright eyes, and aquiline featureswhichgavehima resemblance to a sparrow-hawk.Hewasmature inmind,too,andhadallthehorseloreoftheseasonedgaucho,andatthesametimehewaslikeachildinhisloveoffunandplay,andwantednothingbetterthantoserveusasaperpetualplaymate.Buthehadhiswork,whichwastolookaftertheflockwhentheshepherd'sserviceswererequiredelsewhere;aneasytaskfor him on his horse, especially in summer when for long hours the sheepwould standmotionless on the plain.Dardo,whowas teaching us to swim,wouldtheninviteustogototheriver—tooneoftwostreamswithinhalfanhour's ride from home, where there were good bathing-pools! but alwaysbefore startinghewouldhave togoandaskhismother's consent.Mountingmypony Iwould followhim to thepuesto or shepherd's ranche, only to bedeniedpermission:"No,youarenottogoto-day:youmustnotthinkofsuchathing.Iforbidyoutotaketheboystotheriverthisday!"

ThenDardo,turninghishorse'shead,wouldexclaim,"Oh,caram-bam-bam-ba!" And she, seeing him going, would rush out after us, shrieking, "Don'tcaram-bam-bam-bame!Youarenottogototheriverthisday—Iforbidit!Iknowifyougototheriverthisdaytherewillbeaterriblecalamity!Listento

me,Dardo,rebel,devilthatyouare,youshallnotgobathingto-day!"Andthecrieswouldcontinueuntil,breakingintoagallop,wewouldquicklybeoutofearshot.ThenDardowouldsay,"Nowwe'llgobacktothehousefortheothersand go to the river. You see, she made me kneel before the crucifix andpromisenevertotakeyoutobathewithoutaskingherconsent.Andthat'sallI'vegottodo;Ineverpromisedtoobeyhercommands,soit'sallright."

ThesepleasantadventureswithDardoontheplainweresuddenlyputastoptobythewar.Onemorninganumberofpersonsonfootandonhorsebackwereseencomingtousoverthegreenplainfromtheshepherd'sranche,andastheydrewnearerwerecognizedouroldAlcaldeonhishorseas the leaderof theprocession,andbehindhimwalkedDonaNata,holdinghersonbythehand;thenfollowedothersonfoot,andbehindthemallrodefouroldgauchos,theAlcalde'shenchmen,wearingtheirswords.

Whatmatteroftremendousimportancehadbroughtthiscrowdtoourhouse?The Alcalde, Don Amaro Avalos, was not only the representative of the"authorities"inourparts—policeofficer,pettymagistrateofsorts,andseveralother thingsbesides—butagrandoldman inhimself,andhe looms large inmemoryamongtheoldgauchopatriarchsinourneighbourhood.Hewasabigman,about six feethigh, exceedinglydignified inmanner,his longhair andbeard of a silvery whiteness; he wore the gaucho costume with a greatprofusion of silver ornaments, including ponderous silver spurs weighingaboutfourpounds,andheavysilverwhip-handle.Asaruleherodeonabigblackhorsewhichadmirablysuitedhisfigureandthescarletcolourandsilverofhiscostume.

OnarrivalDonAmarowasconducted to thedrawing-room, followedbyalltheothers;andwhenallwereseated,includingthefouroldgauchoswearingswords,theAlcaldeaddressedmyparentsandinformedthemoftheobjectofthevisit.Hehadreceivedanimperativeorderfromhissuperiors,hesaid, totakeatonceandsendtoheadquarterstwelvemoreyoungmenasrecruitsforthearmyfromhissmall sectionof thedistrict.Nowmostof theyoungmenhadalreadybeentaken,orhaddisappearedfromtheneighbourhoodinordertoavoidservice,andtomakeupthislasttwelvehehadeventotakeboysoftheageofthisone,andMedardowouldhavetogo.Butthiswomanwouldnothaveherboytaken,andafterspendingmanywordsintryingtoconvinceherthatshemustsubmithehadatlast,tosatisfyher,consentedtoaccompanyhertohermaster'shousetodiscussthematteragaininhermasterandmistress'spresence.

It was a long speech, pronouncedwith great dignity; then, almost before itfinished, the distracted mother jumped up and threw herself on her kneesbefore my parents, and in her wild tremulous voice began crying to them,

imploringthemtohavecompassiononherandhelphertosaveherboyfromsuchadreadfuldestiny.Whatwouldhebe,shecried,aboyofhistenderyearsdraggedfromhishome,fromhismother'scare,andthrownamongacrowdofold hardened soldiers, and of evil-minded men—murderers, robbers, andcriminalsofalldescriptionsdrawnfromalltheprisonsofthelandtoserveinthearmy!

Itwasdreadfultoseeheronherkneeswringingherhands,andtolistentoherwild lamentable cries; and again and again while the matter was beingdiscussedbetween theoldAlcaldeandmyparents,shewouldbreakoutandpleadwithsuchpassionanddespairinhervoiceandwords,thatallthepeoplein the roomwereaffected to tears.Shewas like somewildanimal trying tosaveheroffspring from thehunters.Never, exclaimedmymother,when thestrugglewas over, had she passed so painful, so terrible, an hour! And thestrugglehadallbeeninvain,andDardowastakenfromus.

Onemorning, someweeks later, thedull roar fromdistantbiggunscame toour ears, andwewere told that a great battlewas being fought, that Rosashimselfwas at the head of his army—apoor little force of 25,000men gottogetherinhothastetoopposeamixedArgentineandBrazilianforceofabout40,000mencommandedby the traitorUrquiza.Duringseveralhoursof thatanxious day the dull, heavy sound of firing continued and was like distantthunder: then in the evening came the tidings of the overthrow of thedefendingarmy,andofthemarchoftheenemyonBuenosAyrescity!Onthefollowingday,fromdawntodark,wewereinthemidstofanincessantstreamofthedefeatedmen,flyingtothesouth,insmallpartiesoftwoorthreetohalfadozenmen,withsomelargerbands,allintheirscarletuniformsandarmedwith lances and carbines and broadswords,many of the bands driving largenumbersofhorsesbeforethem.

Myfatherwaswarnedbytheneighboursthatwewereingreatdanger,sincethesemenwerenowlawlessandwouldnothesitatetoplunderandkillintheirretreat, and that all riding-horses would certainly be seized by them. As aprecautionhehadthehorsesdriveninandconcealedintheplantation,andthatwasallhewoulddo."Ohno,"hesaid,withalaugh,"theywon'thurtus,"andsowewere all out and about all daywith the front gate and all doors andwindowsstandingopen.Fromtimetotimeabandontiredhorsesrodetothegate and,without dismounting, shouted a demand for fresh horses. In everycasehewentoutandtalkedtothem,alwayswithasmiling,pleasantface,andafterassuringthemthathehadnohorsesforthemtheyslowlyandreluctantlytooktheirdeparture.

Aboutthreeo'clockintheafternoon,thehottesthouroftheday,atroopoftenmen rodeupat agallop, raisingagreat cloudofdust, andcoming inat the

gatedrewreinbeforetheverandah.Myfatherasusualwentouttomeetthem,whereupontheydemandedfreshhorsesinloudmenacingvoices.

Indoorswewereallgatheredinthelargesitting-room,waitingtheupshotinastateof intenseanxiety, fornopreparationshadbeenmadeandnomeansofdefenceexistedintheeventofasuddenattackonthehouse.Wewatchedtheproceedings from the interior, which was too much in shadow for ourdangerousvisitors to see that theywereonlywomenandchildren there andoneman,avisitor,whohadwithdrawntothefurtherendoftheroomandsatleaningbackinaneasychair, tremblingandwhiteasacorpse,withanakedsword in his hand.He explained to us afterwards,when the dangerwas allover, that fortunatelyhewasanexcellentswordsman,and thathavingfoundtheweapon in the room, he had resolved to give a good account of the tenruffiansiftheyhadmadearushtogetin.

Myfatherrepliedtothesemenashehaddonetotheothers,assuringthemthathehadnohorses togive them.Meanwhilewewhowere indoorsallnoticedthatoneofthetenmenwasanofficer,abeardlessyoungmanofabouttwenty-one or two, with a singularly engaging face. He took no part in theproceedings, but sat silent on his horse,watching the otherswith a peculiarexpression,halfcontemptuousandhalfanxious,onhiscountenance.Andhealone was unarmed, a circumstance which struck us as very strange. Theotherswerealloldveterans,middle-agedandoldishmenwithgrizzledbeards,allinscarletjacketandscarletchiripaandascarletcapofthequaintformthenworn,shapedlikeaboat turnedupsidedown,withahorn-likepeakinfront,andbeneaththepeakabrassplateonwhichwasthenumberoftheregiment.

Themen appeared surprised at the refusal of horses, and stated plainly thattheywouldnotacceptit;atwhichmyfathershookhisheadandsmiled.Oneof themen thenaskedforwater toquenchhis thirst.Someone in thehousethentookoutalargejugofcoldwater,andmyfathertakingithandedituptotheman;hedrank,thenpassedthejugontotheotherthirstyones,andaftergoing its rounds the jugwas handed back and the demand for fresh horsesrenewed inmenacing tones. There was somewater left in the jug, andmyfatherbeganpouringitoutinathinstream,makinglittlecirclesandfiguresonthe dry dusty ground, then once more shook his head and smiled verypleasantlyonthem.Thenoneofthemen,fixinghiseyesonmyfather'sface,bent forward and suddenly struck his hand violently on the hilt of hisbroadswordand,rattlingtheweapon,halfdrewitfromitssheath.Thisnerve-trying experimentwas a complete failure, its only effect being tomakemyfather smile up at theman evenmore pleasantly than before, as if the littlepracticaljokehadgreatlyamusedhim.

Thestrangethingwasthatmyfatherwasnotplayingapart—that itwashis

naturetoactinjustthatway.Itisacuriousthingtosayofanypersonthathishighestormost shiningqualitieswerenothingbutdefects, since, apart fromthesesamesingularqualities,hewasjustanordinarypersonwithnothingtodistinguish him from his neighbours, excepting perhaps that he was notanxious toget richandwasmoreneighbourlyormorebrotherly towardshisfellowsthanmostmen.Thesenseofdanger, the instinctofself-preservationsupposedtobeuniversal,wasnotinhim,andtherewereoccasionswhenthisextraordinary defect produced the keenest distress in my mother. In hotsummers wewere subject to thunderstorms of an amazing violence, and atsuch times, when thunder and lightning were nearest together and mostterrifyingtoeverybodyelse,hewouldstandoutofdoorsgazingcalmlyupattheskyasiftheblindingflashesandworld-shakingthunder-crasheshadsomesoothing effect, likemusic, on hismind. One day, just before noon, it wasreportedbyoneofthementhatthesaddle-horsescouldnotbefound,andmyfather,withhisspy-glassinhishand,wentoutandranupthewoodenstairstothemirador or look-out constructed at the top of the big barn-like buildingused for storingwool. Themiradorwas so high that standing on it onewasable to see evenover the topsof the tall plantation trees, and toprotect thelooker-out therewasahighwoodenrailinground it,andagainst this the tallflag-staff was fastened.When my father went up to the look-out a terriblyviolentthunderstormwasjustburstingonus.Thedazzling,almostcontinuouslightning appeared to be not only in the black cloud over the house but allroundus, and crashquickly followed crash,making the doors andwindowsrattleintheirframes,whiletherehighaboveusintheverymidstoftheawfultumultstoodmyfathercalmasever.Notsatisfiedthathewashighenoughonthefloorofthelook-outhehadgotuponthetopmostrail,andstandingonit,with his back against the tall pole, he surveyed the open plain all roundthroughhisspy-glassinsearchofthelosthorses.Irememberthatindoorsmymotherwithwhite terror-stricken face stood gazing out at him, and that thewholehousewasinastateofterror,expectingeverymomenttoseehimstruckbylightningandhurleddowntotheearthbelow.

Asecondand in its resultsamoredisastrousshiningqualitywasachildliketrust in the absolute good faith of every person with whom he came intobusinessrelations.Thingsbeingwhattheyarethisinevitablyledtohisruin.

To return to our unwelcome visitors.On this occasionmy father's perfectlycoolsmilingdemeanour,resultingfromhisfoolhardiness,servedhimandthehousewell: it deceived them, for theycouldnotbelieve thathewouldhaveacted in that way if they had not beenwatched bymenwith rifles in theirhandsfromtheinteriorwhowouldopenfireontheleasthostilemovementontheirpart.

Suddenly the scowling spokesman of the troop, with a shouted "Vamos!"turnedhishorse'sheadand,followedbyalltheothers,rodeoutandbrokeintoa gallop.We too then hurried out, and from the screen of poplar and blackacacia trees growing at the side of themoat,watched theirmovements, andsaw,when theyhadgotawaya fewhundredyards fromthegate, theyoungunarmedofficerbreakawayfromthemandstartoffat thegreatest speedhecould get out of his horse. The others quickly gave chase and at lengthdisappeared from sight in the direction of the Alcalde's or local pettymagistrate'shouse,aboutamileandahalfaway.Itwasa longlowthatchedranchwithouttrees,andcouldnotbeseenfromourhouseasitstoodbehindamarshylakeovergrownwithallbulrushes.

Whilewewerestrainingoureyestoseetheresultofthechase,andafterthehunted man and his pursuers had vanished from sight among the herds ofcattle and horses grazing on the plain, the tragedywas being carried out inexceedinglypainfulcircumstances.Theyoungofficer,whosehomewasmorethan a day's journey from our district, had visited the neighbourhood on aformer occasion and remembered that he had relations in it; and when hebrokeawayfromthemen,diviningthatitwastheirintentiontomurderhim,hemade for the oldAlcalde's house.He succeeded in keeping ahead of hispursuersuntilhearrivedatthegate,andthrowinghimselffromhishorseandrushingintothehouse,andfindingtheoldAlcaldesurroundedbythewomenofthehouse,addressedhimasuncleandclaimedhisprotection.TheAlcaldewasnot,strictlyspeaking,hisunclebutwashismother'sfirstcousin.Itwasanawful moment: the nine armed ruffians were already standing outside,shouting to the owner of the place to give them up their prisoner, andthreateningtoburndownthehouseandkillalltheinmatesifherefused.TheoldAlcaldestoodinthemiddleoftheroom,surroundedbyacrowdofwomenand children, his own two handsome daughters, aged about twenty andtwenty-tworespectively,amongthem,faintingwithterrorandcryingforhimtosavethem,whiletheyoungofficeronhiskneesimploredhimforthesakeofhismother'smemory,andoftheMotherofGodandofallheheldsacred,torefusetogivehimuptobeslaughtered.

The old man was not equal to the situation: he trembled and sobbed withanguish,andat lastfalteredoutthathecouldnotprotecthim—thathemustsavehisowndaughtersandthewivesandchildrenofhisneighbourswhohadsoughtrefuge inhishouse.Themenoutside,hearinghowtheargumentwasgoing,cametothedoor,andfinallyseizingtheyoungmanbythearmledhimoutandmadehimmounthishorseagainandridewiththem.Theyrodebackthewaytheyhadgoneforhalfamiletowardsourhouse,thenpulledhimoffhishorseandcuthisthroat.

Onthefollowingdayamulattoboywholookedafter theflockandwentonerrandsfortheAlcalde,cametomeandsaidthatifIwouldmountmyponyandgowithhimhewouldshowmesomething.Itwasnotseldomthissamelittlefellowcametometooffertoshowmesomething,anditusuallyturnedout to be a bird's nest, an object which keenly interested us both. I gladlymountedmyponyandfollowed.Thebrokenarmyhadceasedpassingourwaybynow,and itwaspeacefulandsafeoncemoreon thegreatplain.Werodeaboutamile,andhethenpulleduphishorseandpointedtotheturfatourfeet,whereIsawagreatstainofbloodontheshortdrygrass.Here,hetoldme,waswheretheyhadcuttheyoungofficer'sthroat:thebodyhadbeentakenbytheAlcaldetohishouse,whereithadbeenlyingsincetheeveningbefore,anditwould be taken for burial next day to our nearest village, about eightmilesdistant.

Themurderwasthetalkoftheplaceforsomedays,chieflyonaccountofthepainful factsof thecase—that theoldAlcalde,whowas respectedandevenlovedbyeveryone,shouldhavefailedinsopitifulawaytomakeanyattemptat saving his young relation.But themere fact that the soldiers had cut thethroatoftheirofficersurprisednoone;itwasacommonthinginthecaseofadefeat in thosedaysfor themen to turnuponandmurder theirofficers.Norwasthroat-cuttingamerecustomorconvention:totheoldsoldieritwastheonly satisfactoryway of finishing off your adversary, or prisoner ofwar, oryourofficerwhohadbeenyourtyrant,onthedayofdefeat.Theirfeelingwassimilar to that of the man who is inspired by the hunting instinct in itsprimitive form, as described byRichard Jefferies. To kill the creatureswithbulletsatadistancewasnosatisfaction tohim:hemustwithhisownhandsdrivetheshaftintothequiveringflesh—hemustfeelitsquiveringandseethebloodgushupbeneathhishand.OnesmilesatavisionofthegentleRichardJefferiesslaughteringwildcattle in thepalaeolithicway,but that feelinganddesirewhich he describeswith such passion in his Story ofMyHeart, thatsurvivalofthepast,isnotuncommonintheheartsofhunters,andifwewereevertodropoutofourcivilizationIfancyweshouldreturnratherjoyfullytotheprimitivemethod.And so in thosedark times in theArgentineRepublicwhen,duringhalf acenturyofcivil strifewhich followedoncastingoff theSpanish "yoke," as itwas called, the people of the plains had developed anamazingferocity,theylovedtokillamannotwithabulletbutinamannertomakethemknowandfeelthattheywerereallyandtrulykilling.

As a child thosedreadful deedsdidnot impressme, since I didnotwitnessthemmyself,andafter lookingat thatstainofbloodonthegrassthesubjectfadedoutofmymind.ButastimewentonandIheardmoreaboutthispainfulsubjectIbegantorealizewhatitmeant.Thefullhorrorofitcameonlyafewyearslater,whenIwasbigenoughtogoabouttothenativehousesandamong

thegauchosintheirgatherings,atcattle-partingsandbrandings,races,andonotheroccasions. I listened to theconversationofgroupsofmenwhose liveshadbeenmostlyspentinthearmy,asaruleinguerillawarfare,andthetalkturnedwithsurprisingfrequencytothesubjectofcuttingthroats.Nottowastepowder on prisoners was an unwritten law of the Argentine army at thatperiod,andtheveterangauchocleverwiththeknifetookdelightinobeyingit.Italwayscameasa relief, Iheard themsay, tohaveasvictimayoungmanwith a good neck after an experience of tough, scraggy old throats: with aperson of that sort they were in no hurry to finish the business; it wasperformedinaleisurely,lovingway.Darwin,writinginpraiseofthegauchoinhisVoyageofaNaturalist,saysthatifagauchocutsyourthroathedoesitlikeagentleman:evenasasmallboyIknewbetter—thathedidhisbusinessratherlikeahellishcreaturerevellinginhiscruelty.Hewouldlistentoallhiscaptive could say to soften his heart—all his heartrending prayers andpleadings;andwouldreply:"Ah,friend,"—orlittlefriend,orbrother—"yourwordspiercemetotheheartandIwouldgladlyspareyouforthesakeofthatpoormotherofyourswhofedyouwithhermilk,andforyourownsaketoo,since in thisshort timeIhaveconceivedagreat friendship towardsyou;butyourbeautifulneckisyourundoing,forhowcouldIpossiblydenymyselfthepleasureofcuttingsuchathroat—soshapely,sosmoothandsoftandsowhite!Thinkofthesightofwarmredbloodgushingfromthatwhitecolumn!"Andsoon,withwavingsofthesteelbladebeforethecaptive'seyes,untiltheend.

When I heard them relate such things—and I am quoting their verywords,remembered all these years only too well—laughingly, gloating over suchmemories, sucha loathingandhatredpossessedme that ever afterwards theverysightofthesemenwasenoughtoproduceasensationofnausea,justaswhen in the dog days one inadvertently rides too near the putrid carcass ofsomelargebeastontheplain.

As I have said, all this feeling about throat-cutting and the power to realizeandvisualizeit,cametomebydegreeslongafterthesightofablood-stainontheturfnearourhome;andinlikemannerthesignificanceofthetyrant'sfallandthemightychangesitbroughtaboutinthelandonlycametomelongafterthe event. Peoplewere in perpetual conflict about the character of the greatman.Hewasabhorredbymany,perhapsbymost;otherswereonhissideevenforyearsafterhehadvanishedfromtheirken,andamongtheseweremostoftheEnglishresidentsofthecountry,myfatheramongthem.QuitenaturallyIfollowedmyfatherandcametobelievethatallthebloodshedduringaquarterofacentury,allthecrimesandcrueltiespractisedbyRosas,werenotlikethecrimescommittedbyaprivateperson,butwereallforthegoodofthecountry,with the result that inBuenosAyres and throughout our province there hadbeenalongperiodofpeaceandprosperity,andthatallthisendedwithhisfall

andwas succeededbyyearsof fresh revolutionaryoutbreaks andbloodshedandanarchy.AnotherthingaboutRosaswhichmademereadytofallinwithmy father'shighopinionofhimwas thenumberof storiesabouthimwhichappealedtomychildishimagination.Manyoftheserelatedtohisadventureswhenhewoulddisguisehimselfasapersonofhumblestatusandprowlaboutthecitybynight,especiallyinthesqualidquarters,wherehewouldmaketheacquaintance of the very poor in their hovels. Most of these stories wereprobablyinventionsandneednotbetoldhere;buttherewasonewhichImustsaysomethingaboutbecauseit isabirdstoryandgreatlyexcitedmyboyishinterest.

Iwasoftenaskedbyourgauchoneighbourswhen I talkedwith themaboutbirds—andtheyallknewthatthatsubjectinterestedmeaboveallothers—ifIhadeverheardelcanto,orelcuentodelBien-te-veo.Thatistosay,theballador tale of the Bien-te-veo—a species of tyrant-bird quite common in thecountry,withabrownbackandsulphur-yellowunderparts,acrestonitshead,andfacebarredwithblackandwhite.Itisalittlelargerthanourbutcher-birdand, like it, is partly rapacious in its habits. The barred face and longkingfisher-like beak give it a peculiarly knowing or cunning look, and theeffectisheightenedbythelongtrisyllabiccallconstantlyutteredbythebird,fromwhichitderivesitsnameofBien-te-veo,whichmeansI-can-see-you.Heisalwayslettingyouknowthatheisthere,thathehasgothiseyeonyou,sothatyouhadbetterbecarefulaboutyouractions.

TheBien-te-veo,Ineedhardlysay,wasoneofmyfeatheredfavourites,andIbeggedmygauchofriendstotellmethiscuento,butalthoughImetscoresofmenwhohadheardit,notonerememberedit:theycouldonlysaythatitwasverylong—veryfewpersonscouldremembersuchalongstory;andIfurthergatheredthatitwasasortofhistoryofthebird'slifeandhisadventuresamongtheotherbirds; that theBien-te-veowasalwaysdoingclevernaughty thingsandgettingintotrouble,butinvariablyescapingthepenalty.FromallIcouldhear itwasa taleof theReynard theFoxorder,or like the tales toldby thegauchosof thearmadilloandhowthatquaint littlebeastalwaysmanaged tofool his fellow-animals, especially the fox, who regarded himself as thecleverestofallthebeastsandwholookedonhishonest,dull-wittedneighbourthearmadilloasabornfool.Oldgauchosusedtotellmethattwentyormoreyearsagooneoftenmetwithareciterofballadswhocouldrelatethewholestoryof theBien-te-veo.Goodreciterswerecommonenough inmytime:atdancesitwasalwayspossibletofindoneortwotoamusethecompanywithlong poems and ballads in the intervals of dancing, and first and last Iquestionedmany who had this talent, but failed to find one who knew thefamousbird-ballad,andintheendIgaveupthequest.

Thestoryinvariablytoldwasthatamanconvictedofsomeseriouscrimeandcondemnedtosufferthelastpenalty,andleft,asthecustomthenwas,forlongmonthsinthegaolinBuenosAyres,amusedhimselfbycomposingthestoryoftheBien-te-veo,andthinkingwellofithemadeapresentofthemanuscripttothegaolerinacknowledgmentofsomekindnesshehadreceivedfromthatperson. The condemned man had no money and no friends to interestthemselvesonhisbehalf;but itwasnot thecustomat that timetoexecuteacriminal as soon as he was condemned. The prison authorities preferred towaituntiltherewereadozenorsotoexecute;thesewouldthenbetakenout,rangedagainstawalloftheprison,oppositeafileofsoldierswithmusketsintheir hands, and shot, the soldiers after the first discharge reloading theirweapons and going up to the fallen men to finish off those who were stillkicking.Thiswastheprospectourprisonerhadtolookforwardto.Meanwhilehis ballad was being circulated and read with immense delight by variouspersons in authority, and one of these who was privileged to approach theDictator,thinkingitwouldaffordhimalittleamusement,tooktheballadandreadittohim.Rosaswassopleasedwithitthathepardonedthecondemnedmanandorderedhisliberation.

Allthis,Iconjectured,musthavehappenedatleasttwentyyearsbeforeIwasborn. I also concluded that the ballad had never been printed, otherwise Iwouldmostprobablyhavefoundit;butsomecopiesinwritinghadevidentlybeen made and it had become a favourite composition with the reciters atfestivegatherings,buthadnowgoneoutandwashopelesslylost.

These, as I have already intimated,were but the little things that touched achild's fancy; there was another romantic circumstance in the life of Rosaswhichappealedtoeverybody,adultaswellaschild.

Hewas the father ofDonaManuela, known by the affectionate diminutive,Manuelita, throughout the land, and loved and admired by all, even by herfather'senemies, forhercompassionatedisposition.Perhapsshewas theonebeingintheworldforwhomhe,awidowerandlonelyman,cherishedagreattenderness.Itiscertainthatherpoweroverhimwasverygreatandthatmanylives that would have been taken for State reasons were saved by herinterposition.Itwasabeautifulandfearfulpartthatshe,agirl,wascalledontoplayonthatdreadfulstage;andverynaturallyitwassaidthatshe,whowastheveryspiritofmercyincarnate,couldnothaveactedastheloving,devoteddaughtertoonewhowasthemonsterofcrueltyhisenemiesproclaimedhimtobe.

Here, in conclusion to this chapter, I had intended to introduce a few soberreflections on the character of Rosas—certainly the greatest and mostinterestingofalltheSouthAmericaCaudillos,orleaders,whorosetoabsolute

powerduringthelongstormyperiodthatfollowedonthewarofindependence—reflectionswhichcametomelater,inmyteens,whenIbegantothinkformyselfandformmyownjudgments.ThisInowperceivewouldbeamistake,ifnotanimpertinence,sinceIhavenotthetemperofmindforsuchexercisesandshouldgivetoomuchimportancetocertainsingularactsontheDictator'spartwhichotherswouldperhaps regardaspolitical errors,ordue to suddenfits of passion or petulance rather than as crimes.And some of his acts areinexplicable, as for instance the public execution in the interests of religionand morality of a charming young lady of good family and her lover, thehandsomeyoungpriestwhohadcaptivatedthetownwithhiseloquence.Whyhediditwillremainapuzzleforever.Thereweremanyotheractswhichtoforeignersand to thoseborn in later timesmight seem the resultof insanity,but which were really the outcome of a peculiar, sardonic, and somewhatprimitivesenseofhumouronhispartwhichappealspowerfullytothemenoftheplains,thegauchos,amongwhomRosaslivedfromboyhood,whenheranawayfromhisfather'shouse,andbywhoseaidheeventuallyrosetosupremepower.

All these thingsdonotmuchaffect thequestionofRosasasa ruler andhisplace in history. Time, the old god, says the poet, invests all things withhonour,andmakes themwhite.Thepoet-prophet isnot tobe taken literally,buthiswordssoundoubtedlycontainatremendoustruth.Andhere,then,onemayletthequestionrest.Ifafterhalfacentury,andmore,theoldgodisstillsitting,chinonhand,revolvingthisquestion,itwouldbeaswelltogivehim,say,anotherfiftyyearstomakeuphismindandpronounceafinaljudgment.

CHAPTERIX

OURNEIGHBOURSATTHEPOPLARS

Homesonthegreatgreenplain—Makingtheacquaintanceofourneighbours—The attraction of birds—LosAlamos and the old lady of the house—HertreatmentofSt.Anthony—ThestrangeBarbozafamily—Themanofblood—Greatfighters—Barbozaasasinger—Agreatquarrelbutnofight—Acattle-marking—DonaLuciadelOmbu—Afeast—BarbozasingsandisinsultedbyElRengo—Refuses to fight—The twokindsof fighters—Apoor little angelonhorseback—MyfeelingforAnjelita—Boysunabletoexpresssympathy—Aquarrelwithafriend—Enduringimageofalittlegirl.

In a former chapter on the aspects of the plain I described the groves and

plantations,whichmarked the sitesof theestanciahouses, asappearing likebanksor islandsof trees,blue in thedistance,on thevast flatsea-likeplain.Some of these were many miles away and were but faintly visible on thehorizon,othersnearer,andthenearestofallwasbuttwomilesfromus,onthehithersideofthatshallowrivertowhichmyfirstlongwalkwastaken,whereIwasamazedandenchantedwithmyfirstsightofflamingoes.ThisplacewascalledLosAlamos,orThePoplars,anamewhichwouldhavesuiteda largemajorityoftheestanciahouseswithtreesgrowingaboutthem,seeingthatthetall Lombardy poplar was almost always there in long rows towering highabove all other trees and a landmark in the district. It is about the peopledwellingatLosAlamosIhavenowtowrite.

WhenIfirststartedonmyridingramblesabouttheplainIbegantomaketheacquaintance of some of our nearest neighbours, but at first it was a slowprocess.AsachildIwasexcessivelyshyofstrangers,andIalsogreatlyfearedthebigsavagehouse-dogsthatwouldrushouttoattackanyoneapproachingthegate.Butahousewithagroveorplantationfascinatedme,forwherethereweretreestherewerebirds,andIhadsoonmadethediscoverythatyoucouldsometimesmeetwith birds of a newkind in a plantation quite near to yourown. Little by little I found out that the people were invariably friendlytowardsasmallboy,eventhechildofanalienandhereticrace;alsothatthedogs in spiteof all theirnoiseand furynever really tried topullmeoffmyhorseandtearmetopieces.Inthisway,thinkingofandlookingonlyforthebirds,Ibecameacquaintedwithsomeofthepeopleindividually,andasIgrewtoknowthembetterfromyeartoyearIsometimesbecameinterestedinthemtoo,and in thisand threeor four succeedingchapters Iwilldescribe those Iknewbestorthatinterestedmethemost.NotonlyasIfirstkneworbegantoknowtheminmyseventhyear,butinseveralinstancesIshallbeabletotracetheirlivesandfortunesforsomeyearsfurtheron.

Whenout riding Iwent oftenest in thedirectionofLosAlamos,whichwaswestofus,orasthegauchoswouldsay,"onthesidewherethesunsets."Forjust behind the plantation, enclosed in its rows of tall old poplars,was thatbird-hauntedstreamwhichwasanirresistibleattraction.Thesightofrunningwater,too,wasanever-failingjoy,alsotheodourswhichgreetedmeinthatmoist green place—odours earthy, herby, fishy, flowery, and even birdy,particularlythatpeculiarmuskyodourgivenoutonhotdaysbylargeflocksoftheglossyibis.

Theperson—ownerortenant,Iforgetwhich—wholivedinthehousewasanoldwomannamedDonaPascuala,whomIneversawwithoutacigar inhermouth.Herhairwaswhite,andherthousand-wrinkledfacewasasbrownasthe cigar, and she had fun-loving eyes, a loud authoritative voice and a

masterfulmanner,andshewasesteemedbyherneighboursasawiseandgoodwoman. Iwas shyof her and avoided thehousewhile anxious to get peepsinto the plantation to watch the birds and look for nests, as whenever shecaughtsightofmeshewouldnotletmeoffwithoutasharpcross-examinationastomymotivesanddoings.Shewouldalsohaveahundredquestionsbesidesaboutthefamily,howtheywere,whattheywerealldoing,andwhetheritwasreallytruethatwedrankcoffeeeverymorningforbreakfast;alsoifitwastruethatallofuschildren,eventhegirls,whenbigenoughweregoingtobetaughttoreadthealmanac.

Irememberoncewhenwehadbeenhavingalongspellofwetweather,andthelow-lyingplainaboutLosAlamoswasgettingflooded,shecametovisitmymotherandtoldherreassuringlythattherainwouldnotlastmuchlonger.St.Anthonywas the saint shewasdevoted to, and shehad takenhis imagefromitsplaceinherbedroomandtiedastringrounditslegsandletitdownthewellandleftittherewithitsheadinthewater.Hewasherownsaint,shesaid,andafterallherdevotiontohim,andallthecandlesandflowers,thiswashowhetreatedher!Itwasallverywell,shetoldhersaint,toamusehimselfbycausingtheraintofallfordaysandweeksjusttofindoutwhethermenwouldbedrownedorturnthemselvesintofrogstosavethemselves:nowshe,DonaPascuala,wasgoing to findouthowhe liked it.There,withhishead in thewater,hewouldhavetohanginthewelluntiltheweatherchanged.

Four years later, in my tenth year, Dona Pascuala moved away and wassucceededatLosAlamosbyafamilynamedBarboza:strangepeople!Halfadozenbrothersandsisters,oneortwomarried,andone,theheadandleaderofthe tribe, or family, a bigman aged about forty with fierce eagle-like eyesunder bushyblack eyebrows that looked like tufts of feathers.But his chiefglory was an immense crow-black beard, of which he appeared to beexcessively proud and was usually seen stroking it in a slow deliberatemanner, nowwith one hand, thenwith both, pulling it out, dividing it, thenspreading it over his chest to display its full magnificence. He wore at hiswaist, in front,aknifeor facon,witha sword-shapedhiltanda longcurvedbladeabouttwo-thirdsthelengthofasword.

Hewasagreatfighter:atalleventshecametoourneighbourhoodwiththatreputation, and I at that time, at the ageof nine, likemyelder brothers hadcometotakeakeeninterestinthefightinggaucho.Aduelbetweentwomenwithknives,theirponchaswrappedroundtheirleftarmsandusedasshields,wasa thrillingspectacle tous;Ihadalreadywitnessedseveralencountersofthiskind;butthesewerefightsofordinaryorsmallmenandwereverysmallaffairscomparedwiththeencountersofthefamousfighters,aboutwhichwehad news from time to time.Now thatwe had one of the genuine big ones

among us it would perhaps be our great good fortune towitness a real bigfight;forsoonerorlatersomechampionduellistfromadistancewouldappeartochallengeourman,orelsesomeoneofourownneighbourswouldriseuponedaytodisputehisclaimtobecockof thewalk.Butnothingof thekindhappened,althoughontwooccasionsIthoughtthewishedmomenthadcome.

ThefirstoccasionwasatabiggatheringofgauchoswhenBarbozawasaskedandgraciouslyconsentedtosingadecima—asongorballadconsistingoffourten-linestanzas.NowBarbozawasasingerbutnotaplayerontheguitar,sothat an accompanist had to be called for.A stranger at themeeting quicklyresponded to thecall.Yes,hecouldplay toanyman'ssinging—any tuneheliked to call. He was a big, loud-voiced, talkative man, not known to anypersonpresent;hewasapasser-by,andseeingacrowdataranchohadriddenupandjoinedthem,readytotakeahandinwhateverworkorgamesmightbegoing on. Taking the guitar he settled down by Barboza's side and begantuningtheinstrumentanddiscussingthequestionoftheairtobeplayed.Andthiswassoonsettled.

Here I must pause to remark that Barboza, although almost as famous forhisdecimasasforhissanguinaryduels,wasnotwhatonewouldcallamusicalperson.His singingvoicewas inexpressiblyharsh, like that, for example,ofthecarrioncrowwhenthatbirdismostvocalinitsloveseasonandmakesthewoodsresoundwithitsprolongedgratingmetalliccalls.Theinterestingpointwasthathissongswerehisowncompositionandwererecitalsofhisstrangeadventures,mixedwithhisthoughtsandfeelingsaboutthingsingeneral—hisphilosophy of life. Probably if I had these compositions before me now inmanuscript theywouldstrikemeasdreadfullycrudestuff;neverthelessIamsorryIdidnotwritesomeofthemdownandthatIcanonlyrecallafewlines.

The decima he now started to sing related to his early experiences, andswayinghisbodyfromsidetosideandbendingforwarduntilhisbeardwasalloverhiskneeshebeganinhisraucousvoice:

Enelanomilochocientosyquarenta,Quandocitarontodoslosenrolados,

which,roughlytranslated,means:

EighteenhundredandfortywastheyearWhenalltheenrolledwerecitedtoappear.

Thusfarhehadgotwhentheguitarist,smitingangrilyonthestringswithhispalm, leaped tohis feet, shouting, "No,no—nomoreof that!What!doyousingtomeof1840—thatcursedyear!Irefusetoplaytoyou!NorwillIlistentoyou,norwill Iallowanypersontosingof thatyearandthatevent inmy

presence."

Naturally every one was astonished, and the first thought was, What willhappennow?Bloodwouldassuredlyflow,andIwastheretosee—andhowmyelderbrotherswouldenvyme!

Barboza rose scowling from his seat, and dropping his hand on the hilt ofhis facon said: "Who is this who forbids me, Basilio Barboza, to sing of1840?"

"Iforbidyou!"shoutedthestrangerinarageandsmitinghisbreast."Doyouknowwhatitistometohearthatdate—thatfatalyear?Itislikethestabofaknife.I,aboy,wasofthatyear;andwhenthefifteenyearsofmyslaveryandmisery were over there was no longer a roof to shelter me, nor father normothernorlandnorcattle!"

Everyone instantlyunderstood thecaseof thispoorman,half crazedat thesuddenrecollectionofhiswastedandruinedlife,anditdidnotseemrightthatheshouldbleedandperhapsdieforsuchacause,andallatoncetherewasarush and the crowd thrust itself betweenhimandhis antagonist andhustledhimadozenyardsaway.Thenoneinthecrowd,anoldman,shouted:"Doyouthink, friend, thatyouare theonlyone in thisgatheringwho losthis libertyandallhepossessedonearth in that fatalyear? I, too, sufferedasyouhavesuffered—"

"And I!" "And I!" shouted others, and while this noisy demonstration wasgoingonsomeofthosewhowerepressingclosetothestrangerbegantoaskhimifheknewwhothemanwashehadforbiddentosingof1840?HadheneverheardofBarboza,thecelebratedfighterwhohadkilledsomanymeninfights?

Perhapshehadheardanddidnotwishtodie justyet:atalleventsachangecame over his spirit; he became more rational and even apologetic, andBarbozagraciouslyacceptedtheassurancethathehadnodesiretoprovokeaquarrel.

Andsotherewasnofightafterall!

Thesecondoccasionwasabouttwoyearslater—alongperiod,duringwhichthere had been a good many duels with knives in our neighbourhood; butBarbozawasnotinanyofthem,nopersonhadcomeforwardtochallengehissupremacy. It is commonly said among the gauchos that when a man hasproved his prowess by killing a few of his opponents, he is thereafterpermittedtoliveinpeace.

One day I attended a cattle-marking at a small native estancia a fewmilesfromhome,ownedbyanoldwomanwhomIusedtothinktheoldestpersonintheworldasshehobbledaboutsupportingherselfwithtwosticks,bentnearlydouble,withherhalf-blind,colourlesseyesalways fixedon theground.Butshehadgranddaughterslivingwithherwhowerenotbad-looking:theeldest,Antonia, a big loud-voiced young woman, known as the "white mare" onaccountofthewhitenessofherskinandlargesize,andthreeothers.Itwasnotstrangethatcattle-brandingatthisestanciabroughtallthemenandyouthsforleaguesaround todoaservice to thevenerableDonaLuciadelOmbu.Thatwaswhat shewas called, because therewas a solitary grand old ombu treegrowing about a hundred yards from the house—awell-known landmark inthedistrict.Therewerealsohalfadozenweepingwillowsclosetothehouse,butnoplantation,nogarden,andnoditchorenclosureofanykind.Theoldmud-builtrancho,thatchedwithrushes,stoodonthelevelnakedplain;itwasoneoftheolddecayedestablishments,andthecattlewerenotmany,sothatbymidday the work was done and the men, numbering about forty or fifty,troopedtothehousetobeentertainedatdinner.

Asthedaywashotandtheindooraccommodationinsufficient,thetableswerein the shade of thewillows, and therewe had our feast of roast and boiledmeat,withbread andwine andbigdishesofaros con leche—rice boiled inmilkwith sugar and cinnamon.Next to cummin-seed cinnamon is the spicebestlovedofthegaucho:hewillridelongleaguestogetit.

Thedinneroverandtablescleared, themenandyouthsdisposed themselveson the benches and chairs and on their spread ponchos on the ground, andstarted smoking and conversing.A guitarwas produced, andBarboza beingpresent,surroundedasusualbyacrowdofhisparticularfriendsorparasites,all eagerly listening to his talk and applauding his sallies with bursts oflaughter,hewasnaturallyfirstaskedtosing.TheaccompanistinthiscasewasGoyoMontes, a little thick-set gauchowith round staringblue eyes set in around pinky- brown face, and the tune agreed on was one known as LaLechera—theMilkmaid.

Then,while the instrumentwasbeing tunedandBarbozabegan to swayhisbodyabout,andtalkingceased,agauchonamedMarcosbutusuallycalledElRengoonaccountofhislameness,pushedhimselfintothecrowdsurroundingthegreatmanandseatedhimselfonatableandputhisfootofhislamelegonthebenchbelow.

ElRengowasastrangebeing,amanwithremarkablyfineaquilinefeatures,piercing black eyes, and long black hair. As a youth he had distinguishedhimselfamonghis fellow-gauchosbyhisdaring featsofhorsemanship,madadventures,andfights;thenhemetwiththeaccidentwhichlamedhimforlife

andat thesame timesavedhimfromthearmy;when,atacattle-parting,hewas thrown from his horse and gored by a furious bull, the animal's hornhavingbeendrivendeepintohisthigh.FromthattimeMarcoswasamanofpeace andwas liked and respectedby everyone as agoodneighbour and agoodfellow.Hewasalsoadmiredforthepeculiarlyamusingwayoftalkinghehad, when in the proper mood, which was usually when he was a littleexhilarated by drink. His eyes would sparkle and his face light up, and hewouldsethislistenerslaughingatthequeerwayinwhichhewouldplaywithhis subject; but there was always somemockery and bitterness in it whichserved to show that something of the dangerous spirit of his youth stillsurvivedinhim.

Onthisoccasionhewasinoneofhismostwilful,mocking,recklessmoods,andwasnosoonerseatedthanhebegansmilingly,inhisquietconversationaltone, to discuss the question of the singer and the tune. Yes, he said, theMilkmaid was a good tune, but another name to it would have suited thesubjectbetter.Oh,thesubject!Anyonemightguesswhatthatwouldbe.Thewordsmatteredmorethantheair.Forherewehadbeforeusnotasmallsweetsinger,agoldfinchinacage,butacock—afightingcockwithwell-trimmedcombandtailandapairofsharpspurs to itsfeet.Listen,friends,he isnowabouttoflaphiswingsandcrow.

Iwas leaning against the table onwhichhe sat andbegan to think itwas adangerous place for me, since I was certain that every word was distinctlyheardbyBarboza;yethemadenosign,butwentonswayingfromsidetosideasifnomockingwordhadreachedhim,thenlaunchedoutinoneofhismostatrociousdecimas, autobiographical and philosophical. In the first stanza hementionsthathehadslainelevenmen,butusingapoet'slicensehestatesthefact in a roundaboutway, saying that he slew sixmen, and then fivemore,makingeleveninall:

Seismuertesehechoycincosononce.

whichmaybeparaphrasedthus:

SixmenhadIsenttohadesorheaven,Thenaddedfivemoretomakethemeleven.

Thestanzaended,Marcosresumedhiscomments.WhatIdesiretoknow,saidhe, is, why eleven? It is not the proper number in this case. One more iswantedtomakethefulldozen.Hewhorestsatelevenhasnotcompletedhistaskandshouldnotboastofwhathehasdone.HereamIathisservice:hereisalifeworthnothingtoanyonewaitingtobetakenifheiswillingandhasthepowertotakeit.

This was a challenge direct enough, yet strange to say no sudden furiousactionfollowed,noflashingofsteelandbloodsplashedontableandbenches;norwastherethefaintestsignofemotioninthesinger'sface,oranytremororchangeinhisvoicewhenheresumedhissinging.Andsoitwentontotheend—boastful stanza and insulting remarks from Marcos; and by the timethedecima ended adozenor twentymenhad forced themselves inbetweenthetwosothattherecouldbenofightonthisoccasion.

Amongthosepresentwasanoldgauchowhotookapeculiarinterestinmeonaccountofmybirdloreandwhousedtotalkandexpoundgauchophilosophytomeinafatherlyway.MeetinghimadayortwolaterIremarkedIdidnotthinkBarbozadeservingofhisfameasafighter.Ithoughthimacoward.No,hesaid,hewasnotacoward.HecouldhavekilledMarcos,butheconsideredthat itwouldbe amistake, since itwould addnothing to his reputation andwould probablymake him disliked in the district. Thatwas all verywell, Ireplied,buthowcouldanyonewhowasnotapoltroonenduretobepubliclyinsultedandchallengedwithoutflyingintoarageandgoingforhisenemy?

He smiled and answered that I was an ignorant boy and would understandthesethingsbettersomeday,afterknowingagoodmanyfighters.Thereweresome,hesaid,whoweremenoffierytemper,whowouldflyatandkillanyone for the slightest cause—an idleor imprudentwordperhaps.Therewereothersofacooltemperwhoseambitionitwastobegreatfighters,whofoughtandkilledpeoplenotbecausetheyhatedorwereinaragewiththem,butforthesakeof thefameitwouldgivethem.Barbozawasoneof thiscoolkind,whowhenhe foughtkilled, andhewasnot tobedrawn intoa fightbyanyordinarypersonoranyfoolwhothoughtpropertochallengehim.

Thusspokemymentoranddidnotwhollyremovemydoubts.ButImustnowgobacktotheearlierdate,whenthisstrangefamilywerenewlycometoourneighbourhood.

Allofthefamilyappearedproudoftheirstrangenessandofthereputationoftheir fighting brother, their protector and chief. No doubt he was anunspeakableruffian,andalthoughIwasaccustomedtoruffiansevenasachildand did not find that they differedmuch from othermen, this onewith hisfierce piercing eyes and cloud of black beard and hair, somehowmademeuncomfortable, and I accordingly avoidedLosAlamos. I disliked thewholetribe, except a little girl of about eight, a child, it was said, of one of theunmarriedsisters.Ineverdiscoveredwhichofheraunts,asshecalledallthesetall, white-faced heavy-browed women, was her mother. I used to see heralmosteveryday,forthoughachildshewasoutonhorsebackearlyandlate,ridingbarebackedandboyfashion,flyingabouttheplain,nowtodriveinthehorses,nowtoturnbacktheflockwhenitwasgettingtoofarafield,thenthe

cattle,andfinallytorideonerrandstoneighbours'housesortobuygroceriesatthestore.Icanseehernowatfullgallopontheplain,bare-footedandbare-legged,inherthinoldcottonfrock,herraven-blackhairflyingloosebehind.The strangest thing in her was her whiteness: her beautifully chiselled facewaslikealabaster,withoutafreckleortraceofcolourinspiteoftheburninghotsunandwindshewasconstantlyexposedto.Shewasalsoextremelylean,andstrangelyseriousforalittlegirl:sheneverlaughedandrarelysmiled.HernamewasAngela,andshewascalledAnjelita,theaffectionatediminutive,butIdoubtthatmuchaffectionwaseverbestowedonher.

Tomysmall-boy'seyesshewasabeautifulbeingwithacloudonher,andIwished it had been in my power to say something to make her laugh andforget,thoughbutforaminute,themanycaresandanxietieswhichmadehersounnaturallygravefora littlegirl.Nothingpropertosayevercametome,and if it had come it would no doubt have remained unspoken. Boys arealwaysinarticulatewheretheirdeepestfeelingsareconcerned;howevermuchtheymay desire it they cannot express kind and sympathetic feelings. In ahaltingwaytheymaysometimessayawordofthatnaturetoanotherboy,orpal, but before a girl, howevermuch shemaymove their compassion, theyremaindumb.Iremember,whenmyagewasaboutnine,thecaseofaquarrelaboutsometrivialmatterIoncehadwithmyclosestfriend,aboyofmyownagewho,withhispeople,used tocomeyearlyonamonth'svisit tousfromBuenosAyres.Forthreewholedayswespokenotawordandtooknonoticeof eachother,whereas beforewehadbeen inseparable.Thenhe all at oncecameuptomeandholdingouthishandsaid,"Let'sbefriends."Iseizedtheprofferedhand,andwasmoregratefultohimthanIhaveeverfelttowardsanyone since, just because by approachingme first I was spared the agony ofhaving to say those three words to him. Now that boy—that is to say, thematerialpartofhim—isbutahandfulofgreyashes,long,longagoatrest;butIcanbelievethatiftheotherstilllivingpartshouldbychancebeinthisroomnow,peepingovermyshouldertoseewhatIamwriting,hewouldburstintoasheartya laughasaghost iscapableofat thisancientmemory,andsaytohimselfthatittookhimallhiscouragetospeakthosethreesimplewords.

AndsoitcameaboutthatIsaidnogentlewordtowhite-facedAnjelita,andindue time she vanished out of my life with all that queer tribe of hers, thebloody uncle included, to leave an enduring image in my mind which hasneverquitelostacertaindisturbingeffect.

CHAPTERX

OURNEARESTENGLISHNEIGHBOUR

CasaAntigua,ournearestEnglishneighbour'shouse—OldLombardypoplars—Cardoon thistle or wild artichoke—Mr. Royd, an English sheep-farmer—Makingsheep's-milkcheesesunderdifficulties—Mr.Royd'snativewife—Thenegroservants—Thetwodaughters:astrikingcontrast—Thewhiteblue-eyedchildandherduskyplaymate—Ahappyfamily—OurvisitstoCasaAntigua—Gorgeous dinners—Estanislao and his love of wild life—The Royds' returnvisits—A homemade carriage— The gaucho's primitive conveyance—Thehappyhomebrokenup.

Oneofthemostimportantestanciasinourneighbourhood,atalleventstous,was called Casa Antigua, and that it was an ancient dwelling-place in thatdistrict appeared likely enough, since the trees were the largest and had anappearanceofextremeage.Itmust,however,berememberedthatinspeakingof ancient things on the pampas wemean things a century or two old, notmanyhundredsorthousandsofyearsasinEurope.ThreecenturiesinthatpartofSouthAmericatakesusbacktoprehistorictimes.TheseLombardypoplars,plantedinlongrows,werethelargestIhadseen:theywereverytall;manyofthem appeared to be dying of old age, and all had enormous rough-barkedbuttressed trunks.The other shade-treeswere also old and gnarled, someofthemdying.Thehouse itself did not look ancient, andwas built of unburntbricksand thatched,andhadabroadcorridorsupportedbywoodenpostsorpillars.

TheCasaAntiguawassituatedaboutsixmilesfromourhouse,butlookednomore than three on account of the great height of the trees, whichmade itappear large and conspicuous on that wide level plain. The land for milesround it was covered with a dense growth of cardoon thistles. Now thecardoonistheEuropeanartichokerunwildanditscharactersomewhatalteredinadifferentsoilandclimate.Thelargedeep-cutleavesareofapalishgrey-greencolour,thestalkscoveredwithawhitish-greydown,andtheleavesandstems thickly setwith longyellow spines. It grows in thickbushes, and thebushesgrowclose together to theexclusionofgrassesandmostotherplant-life,andproducespurpleblossomsbigasasmallboy'shead,onstemsfourorfivefeethigh.Thestalks,whichareaboutasthickasaman'swrist,wereusedwhendeadanddryasfirewood;andthisindeedwastheonlyfuelobtainableatthattimeinthecountry,except"cowchips,"fromthegrazinglandsand"peat"fromthesheepfold.Attheendofsummer,inFebruary,thefirewood-gathererswouldsettoworkgatheringthecardoon-stalks,theirhandsandarmsprotectedwith sheep-skin gloves, and at that season our carters would bring in hugeloads,tobestackedupinpileshighasahousefortheyear'suse.

Thelandwherethecardoongrowssoabundantlyisnotgoodforsheep,andatCasaAntiguaallthelandwasofthischaracter.ThetenantwasanEnglishman,aMr.GeorgeRoyd,anditwasthoughtbyhisneighboursthathehadmadeaseriousmistakewhichwouldperhaps lead todisastrousconsequences,wheninvesting his capital in the expensive fine-wool breeds to put them on suchland.All this Iheardyearsafterwards.At that timeIonlyknewthathewasournearestEnglishneighbour,andmoretousonthataccountthananyother.We certainly had other English neighbours—those who lived half a day'sjourney on horseback from us were our neighbours there—English,Welsh,Irish, Scotch, but they were not like Mr. Royd. These others, howeverprosperous(andsomeweretheownersoflargeestates),camemostlyfromtheworkingorlowermiddleclassintheirowncountryandwereinterestedsolelyintheirownaffairs.Mr.Roydwasofadifferentorder.Hewasaboutforty-fivewhenmy yearswere seven, a handsome clean-shavedmanwith bright bluehumorouseyesandbrownhair.Hewasaneducatedman,and lovedtomeetwith others of likemindwith himself,withwhomhe could converse in hisown language. There was no English in his house. He had a bright genialdisposition,aloveoffun,andaheartyringinglaughitwasapleasuretohear.He was an enthusiast about his sheep-farming, always full of fine projects,alwaysdreamingofthethingsheintendeddoingandofthegreatresultswhichwouldfollow.Oneofhispetnotionswasthatcheesesmadewithsheep'smilkwouldbeworthanypricehelikedtoputonthem,andheaccordinglybegantomakethemunderverygreatdifficulties,sincethesheephadtobebrokentoitand they yielded but a small quantity compared with the sheep of certaindistrictsinFranceandothercountrieswheretheyhavebeenmilkedformanygenerations andhave enlarged their udders.Worst of all, his native servantsconsidered itadegradation tohave tostoop tomilksuchcreaturesassheep."Whynotmilk thecats?" theyscornfullydemanded.However,hesucceededinmakingcheeses,andverynicetheywere,farnicerinfactthananynativecheesesmadefromcows'milkwehadevertasted.Butthedifficultiesweretoogreat for him to produce them in sufficient quantity for the market, andeventuallythesheep-milkingcametoanend.

UnfortunatelyMr.Roydhadnoonetohelphiminhisschemes,ortoadviseandinfusealittlemorepracticalityintohim.Hisfamilycouldneverhavebeenanything but a burden and drag on him in his struggle, and his disasterprobably resulted from his romantic and over-sanguine temper,whichmadehim the husband of hiswife and caused him to dreamof a fortune built oncheesesmadefromsheep'smilk.

His wife was a native; in other words, a lady of Spanish blood, of a goodfamily, city born and bred. They had met in Buenos Ayres when in theirbloom,atthemostemotionalperiodoflife,andinspiteofoppositionfromher

peopleandofthetremendousdifficultiesinthewayofaunionbetweenoneoftheFaithandahereticinthosereligiousdays,theywereeventuallymademanandwife.Asagirlshehadbeenbeautiful;now,agedaboutforty,shewasonlyfat—a large fatwoman,with an extremelywhite skin, raven-black hair andeyebrows,andvelvet-blackeyes.ThatwasDonaMercedesasIknewher.Shedidnoworkinthehouse,andneverwentforawalkorarideonhorseback:shespenthertimeinaneasy-chair,alwayswelldressed,andinwarmweatheralwayswith a fan in her hand. I can hear the rattle of that fan now as sheplayed with it, producing a succession of graceful waving motions andrhythmic sounds as an accompaniment to the endless torrent of small talkwhichshepouredout;forshewasanexceedinglyvolubleperson,andtoassistin making the conversation more lively there were always two or threescreamingparrotsontheirperchesnearher.Shealsolikedtobesurroundedbyalltheotherfemalesinthehouse,hertwodaughtersandtheindoorservants,four or five in number, all full-blooded negresses, black but comely, fat,pleasant-looking, laughing young and middle-aged women, all as a ruledressed in white. Theywere unmarried, but two or three of themwere themothers of certain small darkies to be seen playing about and rolling in thedustneartheservants'quartersatthefarendofthelonglowhouse.

Theeldestdaughter,Eulodia,wasaboutfifteenasIfirstrememberher,atallslim handsome girl with blue-black hair, black eyes, coral-red lips, and aremarkablywhite skinwithout a traceof redcolour in it.Shewasnodoubtjust likewhat hermother had beenwhen the dashing impressionable youngGeorge Royd had first met her and lost his heart—and soul. The youngersister,abouteightatthattime,wasaperfectcontrasttoEulodia:shehadtakenafter her father, and in colour and appearance generally was a perfect littleEnglish girl of the usual angel type,with long shining golden hair,worn incurls,eyesofthepurestturquoiseblue,andacomplexionlikethepetalsofawild rose. Adelina was her pretty name, and to us Adelina was the mostbeautifulhumanbeingintheworld,especiallywhenseenwithherduskylittleplaymateLiberata,whowasofthesameageandheightandwasthechildofoneof theblackservants.Thesetwohadgrownfondofeachotherfromthecradle,andsoLiberatahadbeenpromotedtobeAdelina'sconstantcompanionin the house and to wear pretty dresses. Being amulatita she was dark ordusky skinned, with a reddish tinge in the duskiness, purple-red lips, andliquid black eyes with orange-brown reflections in them—the eyes calledtortoiseshell in America. Her crisp cast-iron coloured hair was worn like afleeceroundhersmallhead,andherfeaturesweresorefinedonecouldonlysuppose that her father had been a singularly handsome as well as a whiteman.AdelinaandLiberatawere inseparable,exceptatmeal-times,when theduskylittlegirlhadtogobackamongherowntribeonthemother'sside;andthey formed an exquisite picture as one often saw them, standing by the

Senora's chair with their arms round each other's necks—the pretty dark-skinnedchildandthebeautifulwhitechildwithshininghairandblueforget-me-noteyes.

Adelinawasherfather'sfavourite,buthewasfondofallhispeople,theblackservantsincluded,andtheyofhim,andthelifeatCasaAntiguaappearedtobeanexceedinglyhappyandharmoniousone.

LookingbackatthisdistanceoftimeitstrikesmewhenIcometothinkofit,thatitwasamostextraordinarymenage,acollectionofthemostincongruousbeingsitwouldbepossibletobringtogether—asortofHappyFamilyinthezoologicalsense.Itdidnotseemsoatthetime,wheninanyhouseonthewidepampas one would meet with people whose lives and characters would beregardedincivilizedcountriesasexceedinglyoddandalmostincredible.

It was a red-letter day to us children when, about once a month, we werepackedintoatrapanddrivenwithourparentstospendadayatCasaAntigua.Thedinneratnoonwasthemostgorgeousaffairofthekindweknew.OneofMr.Royd'senthusiasmswascookery—themakingofrareanddelicatedishes—andtheservantshadbeentaughtsowellthatweusedtobeamazedattherichness and profusion of the repast. These dinners were to us like the"collations" and feasts so minutely and lovingly described in the ArabianNights,especiallythatdinnerofmanycoursesgivenbytheBarmecidetohishungryguestwhichfollowedthefirsttantalizingimaginaryone.Thewonderwasthatanymaninthepositionofasheep-farmerinasemi-barbarousland,farfromanytown,couldprovidesuchdinnersforhisvisitors.

After dinnermy best timewould come,when I would steal off to look forEstanislao, theyoungnativehorseman,whowasonly tooenthusiastic aboutwild life and spentmore time hunting rheas than in attending to his duties."WhenIseeanostrich,"hewouldsay,"Ileavetheflockanddropmyworknomatterwhatitis.Iwouldratherlosemyplaceontheestanciathannotchaseit."Butheneverlosthisplace,sinceitappearedthatnoonecoulddoanythingwrongontheestanciaandnotbeforgivenbyitsmaster.

ThenEstanislao,abigfellowingauchodress,wearingaredhandkerchieftiedroundhisheadinplaceofhat,andamassorcloudofblackishcrinkledhaironhisneckandshoulders,would takemeroundtheplantation toshowmeanynestshehadfoundandanyrarebirdsthathappenedtobeabout.

Towards eveningwewouldbebundledback into the trap anddrivenhome.Then,whenthedaycameroundfor thereturnvisit,Mr.Roydwouldbundlehisfamilyintotheir"carriage,"whichhe,withoutbeingacarriage-builderoreven a carpenter, had made with his own hands. It had four solid wooden

wheelsaboutayardindiameter,anduprightwoodensidesaboutfourorfivefeethigh. Itwas springless andwithout seats, andhada longpole towhichtwohorseswerefastened,andEstanislao,mountedonone,wouldthrashthemintoagallopandcarrythethingboundingovertheroadlessplain.Thefatladyand other passengers were saved from being bumped to death by severalmattresses, pillows, and cushions heaped inside. It was the strangest, mostprimitiveconveyanceIeversaw,excepttheonecommonlyusedbyagauchototakehiswifeonavisit toaneighbour'shousewhenshewasinadelicateconditionortootimidtorideonahorseornotwellenoughofftoownaside-saddle. Thiswas awell-stretched, dried horse-hide,with a lasso attached atoneendtotheheadorfore-partofthehideandtheotherendtothegaucho'shorse,asaruletothesurcingle.Astoolorcushionwasplacedinthecentreofthebighidefortheladytositon,andwhenshehadestablishedherselfonitthemanwouldwhip up his horse and away hewould gallop, dragging thestrange conveyance after him—a sight which filled the foreigner withamazement.

Our intimate happy relations with the Royd family continued till aboutmytwelfthyear,thencamerathersuddenlytoanend.Mr.Royd,whohadalwaysseemedoneofthebrightest,happiestmenweknew,allatoncefellintoastateofprofoundmelancholy.Noonecouldguessthecause,ashewasquitewellandappearedtobeprosperous.Hewasat lengthpersuadedbyhisfriendstogotoBuenosAyrestoconsultadoctor,andwentaloneandstayedinthehouseof anAnglo-Argentine familywhowere also friendsofours.By-and-by thedreadfulnewscamethathehadcommittedsuicidebycuttinghisthroatwitharazor. His wife and daughters then left the Casa Antigua, and not longafterwardsDonaMercedeswrotetomymotherthattheywereleftpenniless;that theirflocksandotherpossessionsat theestanciaweretobesoldfor thebenefit of their creditors, and that she and her daughterswere living on thecharityofsomeofherrelationswhowerenotwelloff.Heronlyhopewasthathertwodaughters,beinggood-lookinggirls,wouldfindhusbandsandbeinaposition to keep her fromwant.Her oneword about her dead husband, thelovable,easy-goingGeorgeRoyd,thebrighthandsomeEnglishboywhohadwooed and won her so many years before, was that she looked upon hermeetingwithhimingirlhoodas thegreatcalamityofher life, that inkillinghimself and leavinghiswife anddaughters topovertyand suffering,hehadcommittedanunpardonablecrime.

SoendsthestoryofournearestEnglishneighbour.

CHAPTERXI

ABREEDEROFPIEBALDS

La Tapera, a native estancia—Don Gregorio Gandara—His grotesqueappearanceandstrangelaugh—Gandara'swifeandherhabitsandpets—Mydislike of hairless dogs—Gandara's daughters—A pet ostrich—In the peachorchard—Gandara's herds of piebald brood mares—His masterful temper—His own saddle-horses—Creating a sensation at gaucho gatherings—Theyounger daughter's lovers—Her marriage at our house—The priest and theweddingbreakfast—Demetriaforsakenbyherhusband.

When,standingbythefrontgateofourhome,welookedouttothenorthoverthe levelplainand letoureyesrovewest fromthe tallLombardypoplarsofCasaAntigua,theypresentlyrestedonanotherpileorislandoftrees,blueinthedistance,markingthesiteofanotherestanciahouse.ThiswastheestanciacalledLaTapera,withwhoseownerwealsohadfriendlyrelationsduringalltheyearswe lived in thatdistrict.TheownerwasDonGregorioGandara, anative, and likeournearestEnglishneighbour,Mr.Royd, anenthusiast, andwasalsolikehiminbeingthehusbandofafatindolentwifewhokeptparrotsandotherpetanimals,andthefatheroftwodaughters.Inthiscase,too,therewere no sons.There, however, all resemblance ceased, since twomenmoreunlikeintheirappearance,character,andfortuneitwouldnotbeeasytofind.DonGregoriowasanextraordinarypersontolookat;hehadaroundorbarrel-shapedbody, short bow legs, and a big roundhead,which resembled a ballfashionedoutofablockofdark-colouredwoodwithacoarsehumanfaceandhugeearsrudelycarvedonit.Hehadacurlyhead,thecrispdarkhairgrowingasknobs,whichgavehisroundskull theappearanceofbeingembossedliketheheadofacurlyretriever.Thelargebrowneyeswereextremelyprominent,withatremendousstaringpowerinthem,andthewholeexpressionwasoneoftoad-likegravity.Buthecouldlaughonoccasion,andhislaughtouschildrenwasthemostgrotesqueandconsequentlythemostdelightfulthingabouthim.Whenever we saw him ride up and dismount, and after fastening hismagnificentlycaparisonedhorse to theoutergatecome in tomakeacallonourparents,wechildrenwouldabandonoursportsorwhateverweweredoingand joyfully run to thehouse; thendistributingourselvesabout the roomonchairs and stools, sit, silent and meek, listening and watching for DonGregorio'slaugh.Hetalkedinastartlinglyemphaticway,almostmakingonejumpwhenheassentedtowhatwasbeingsaidwithhisloudsuddensi-si-si-si-si,andwhenhespokebringingouthissentencestwoorthreewordsatatime,soundinglikeangrybarks.Andbyandbysomethingwouldbesaidtotouchhis risible faculties,whichwould sendhimoff ina sortof fit; and throwinghimselfbackinhischair,closinghiseyesandopeningwidehisbigmouthhewoulddrawhisbreathinwithaprolongedwailingorsibilantsounduntilhis

lungsweretoofulltoholdanymore,anditwouldthenbedischargedwitharush,accompaniedbyasortofwildanimalscream,somethinglikethescreamofafox.Theninstantly,almostbeforethescreamwasover,hiscountenancewouldrecoveritspreternaturalgravityandintensestaringattention.

Ourkeendelightinthisperformancemadeitactuallypainfulsincethefeelingcould not be expressed—sincewe knew that our father knew thatwewereonlytooliable toexplodein thepresenceofanhonouredguest,andnothingvexed himmore.While in the room we dared not change glances or evensmile;butafterseeingandhearingthewonderfullaughafewtimeswewouldsteal off and going to some quiet spot sit in a circle and start imitating it,findingitaverydelightfulpastime.

AfterIhadlearnttorideIusedsometimestogowithmymotherandsistersfor an afternoon's visit to La Tapera. The wife was the biggest and fattestwoman inourneighbourhoodandstoodaheadandshoulders taller thanherbarrel-shapedhusband.Shewasnot,likeDonaMercedes,aladybybirth,noraneducatedperson,butresembledherinherhabitsandtastes.Shesatalwaysinalargecaneeasy-chair,outdoorsorin,invariablywithfourhairlessdogsinhercompany,oneonherbroadlap,anotheronalambskinrugatherfeet,andoneonrugsateachside.Thethreeonthefloorwereeverpatientlywaitingfortheir respective turns to occupy the broadwarm lapwhen the time came toremovethelast-favouredonefromthatposition.Ihadaninvincibledisliketothesedogswiththeirshinyblue-blacknakedskins,likethebaldheadofanoldnegro,andtheirlongwhitescatteredwhiskers.Thesewhitestiffhairsontheirfacesandtheirdimblinkingeyesgavethemacertainresemblancetoveryolduglymenwithblackbloodinthem,andmadethemallthemorerepulsive.

The two daughters, both grown towomanhood,were namedMarcelina andDemetria; the first big, brown, jolly, and fat like hermother, the otherwithbetterfeatures,apaleoliveskin,darkmelancholyeyes,andagentlepensivevoiceandairwhichmadeherseemlikeoneofadifferentfamilyandrace.Thedaughterswouldservematetous,abeveragewhichasasmallboyIdidnotlike,buttherewasnochocolateorteainthathouseforvisitors,andinfruit-timeIwasalwaysgladtogetawaytotheorchard.Asatourownhometheoldpeach trees grew in themiddle part of the plantation, the other parts beingplantedwith rowsofLombardypoplars andother large shade trees.A tameostrich,orrhea,waskeptatthehouse,andaslongasweremainedindoorsorseatedintheverandahhewouldhangaboutcloseby,butwouldfollowusassoon aswe started off to the orchard.Hewas like a pet dog and could notendure to be left alone or in the uncongenial company of other domesticcreatures—dogs,cats,fowls,turkeys,andgeese.Heregardedmenandwomenastheonlysuitableassociatesforanostrich,butwasnotallowedintherooms

on account of his inconvenient habit of swallowing metal objects such asscissors,spoons,thimbles,bodkins,coppercoins,andanythingofthekindhecould snatch upwhen no onewas looking. In the orchardwhen he saw useatingpeacheshewoulddothesame,andifhecouldn'treachhighenoughtopluckthemforhimselfhewouldbegofus.Itwasgreatfuntogivehimhalfadozenormoreatatime,then,whentheyhadbeenquicklygobbledup,watchtheirprogressas the longrowofbiground lumpsslowly travelleddownhisneckanddisappearedonebyoneasthepeachespassedintohiscrop.

Gandara's great businesswas horse-breeding, and as a rule he kept about athousand brood mares, so that the herds usually numbered about threethousandhead.Strangetosay,theywerenearlyallpiebalds.Thegaucho,fromthepoorestworkeronhorsebacktothelargestowneroflandsandcattle,has,or had in those days, a fancy for having all his riding-horses of one colour.Everymanasarulehadhistropilla—hisownhalfadozenoradozenormoresaddle-horses,andhewouldhavethemallasnearlyalikeaspossible,sothatone man had chestnuts, another browns, bays, silver- or iron-greys, duns,fawns,cream-noses,orblacks,orwhites,orpiebalds.Onsomeestancias thecattle,too,wereallofonecolour,andIrememberoneestatewherethecattle,numberingaboutsixthousand,wereallblack.Ourneighbour'sfancywasforpiebald horses, and so strong was it that he wished not to have any one-colouredanimalsinhisherd,despitethefactthathebredhorsesforsaleandthatpiebaldswerenot sopopular ashorsesof amorenormal colouring.Hewould have done better if, sticking to one colour, he had bred iron-greys,cream-noses,chestnuts,orfawnsorduns—allfavouritecolours;orbetterstillif he had not confined himself to any one colour. The stallions were allpiebalds,butmanyofthebroodmareswerewhite,ashehaddiscoveredthathecouldgetasgood ifnotbetter results fromkeepingwhiteaswellaspie-baldmares.NobodyquarrelledwithGandaraonaccountofhistasteinhorses;onthecontrary,heandhisvastparti-colouredherdsweregreatlyadmired,buthis ambition to have a monopoly in piebalds was sometimes a cause ofoffence. He sold two-year-old geldings only, but never a mare unless forslaughter,forinthosedaysthehalf-wildhorsesofthepampaswereannuallyslaughteredinvastnumbersjustforthehidesandgrease.Ifhefoundawhiteorpiebaldmareinaneighbour'sherdhewouldnotrestuntilhegotpossessionofit,andbygivingdoubleitsvalueinmoneyorhorsesheseldomfoundanydifficultyingettingwhathewanted.Butoccasionallysomepoorgauchowithonly a few animals would refuse to part with a piebaldmare, either out ofpride,or"cussedness"asanAmericanwouldsay,orbecausehewasattachedtoit,andthiswouldstirGandara'ssoultoitsdeepestdepthandbringupalltheblackness inhimto thesurface."Whatdoyouwant, then?"hewouldshout,sittingonhishorseandmakingviolentgestureswithhisrighthandandarm,barking out his words. "Have I not offered you enough? Listen!What is a

white mare to you—to you, a poor man—more than a mare of any othercolour? If your riding-horsesmust be of one colour, tellme the colour youwant.Blackorbrownorbayorchestnut,orwhat?Look!youshallhavetwoyoungunbrokengeldingsof twoyears inexchange for themare.Couldyoumake a better exchange? Were you ever treated more generously? If yourefuseitwillbeoutofspite,andIshallknowhowtotreatyou.Whenyouloseyour animals and are broken,when your children are sickwith fever,whenyourwifeisstarving,youshallnotcometomeforahorsetorideon,norformoney,normeat,normedicine,sinceyouwillhavemeforanenemyinsteadofafriend."

That,theysay,washowheragedandbulliedwhenhemetwitharepulsefromapoorneighbour.SofondwasDonGregorioofhispiebaldsthathespentthegreaterpartofeverydayonhorsebackwithhisdifferentherdsofmares,eachled by its own proud piebald stallion. He was perpetually waiting andwatchingwithanxious interest for theappearanceofanewfoal. If it turnedoutnotapiebaldhecarednothingmoreabout it,nomatterhowbeautiful incolouritmightbeorwhatgoodpointsithad:itwastogoassoonashecouldget rid of it; but if a piebald, he would rejoice, and if there was anythingremarkableinitscolouringhewouldkeepasharpeyeonit,tofindoutlaterperhaps that he liked it toowell to partwith it.Eventually,whenbroken, itwouldgo intohisprivate tropilla, and in thiswayhewouldalwayspossessthreeorfour timesasmanysaddle-horsesasheneeded. IfyoumetGandaraeverydayforaweekortwoyouwouldseehimeachtimeonadifferenthorse,andeveryoneofthemwouldbemoreorlessasurprisetoyouonaccountofitscolouring.

Therewas something fantastic in thispassion. It remindsoneof the famouseighteenth-centurymillerofNewhaven,describedbyMarkAntonyLowerinhisbookaboutthestrangecustomsandquaintcharactersintheSussexoftheolddays.Themillerusedtopayweeklyvisitsonhorsebacktohiscustomersin the neighbouring towns and villages, his horse, originally a white one,having firstbeenpainted somebrilliantcolour—blue,green,yellow,orange,purple, or scarlet. The whole village would turn out to look at the miller'swonderfulhorseandspeculateas to thecolourhewouldexhibitonhisnextappearance. Gandara's horses were strangely coloured by nature aided byartificialselection,andIrememberthatasaboyIthoughtthemverybeautiful.Sometimes it was a black- or brown- or bay-and-white, or a chestnut- orsilver-grey-orstrawberry-red-and-white,butthemainpointwasthepleasingarrangement and shading of the dark colour. Some of his best selectedspecimens were iron- or blue-grey- and-white; others, finer still, fawn-and-white and dun-and-white, and the best of all, perhaps,white and ametallictawnyyellow,thecolourthenativescallbronzeorbrassy,whichIneverseein

England.Horsesofthiscolourhavetheearsedgedandtippedwithblack,themuzzle,fetlocks,mane,andtailalsoblack.Idonotknowifheeversucceededinbreedingatortoiseshell.

Gandara'sprideinthehorsesherodehimself—therarebloomsselectedfromhisequinegarden—showeditselfinthewayinwhichhedecoratedthemwithsilverheadstallsandbitandthewholegearsparklingwithsilver,whilehewascarelessofhisowndress,goingabout inanold rustyhat,unpolishedboots,andafrayedoldIndianponchoorcloakoverhisgauchogarments.Probablythemostgloriousmomentofhis lifewaswhenherodetoarace-meetingorcattle- marking or other gathering of the gaucho population of the district,whenalleyeswouldbeturnedtohimonhisarrival.Dismounting,hewouldhobblehishorse, tie theglittering reins to thebackof the saddle, and leavehimproudlychampinghisbignativebitandtossinghisdecoratedhead,whilethepeoplegatheredroundtoadmirethestrangely-colouredanimalasifithadbeen a Pegasus just alighted from the skies to stand for a while exhibitingitselfamongthehorsesoftheearth.

Mylatest recollectionsofLaTaperaareconcernedmorewithDemetria thanthepiebalds.Shewasnotanelegantfigure,aswasnaturalinadaughterofthegrotesqueDonGregorio,buthercountenance,asIhavesaid,wasattractiveonaccountofitscolourandgentlewistfulexpression,andbeingthedaughterofamanrichinhorsesshedidnotwantforlovers.Inthosefar-offdaystheidle,gay, well-dressed young gambler was always a girl's first and often mostsuccessfulwooer,butatLaTapera theyoung lovershad to reckonwithonewho, incredibleas it seemed inagaucho,hatedgamblingandkeptahostileand rather terrifying eye on their approaches. Eventually Demetria becameengagedtoayoungstrangerfromadistancewhohadsucceededinpersuadingthefatherthathewasaneligiblepersonandabletoprovideforawife.

Nowithappenedthatthenearestpriestinourpartofthecountrylivedalongdistanceaway,andtogettohimandhislittlethatchedchapelonehadtocrossaswamptwomileswideinwhichone'shorsewouldsinkbelly-deepinmiryholes at least a dozen times before one could get through. In thesecircumstancestheGandarafamilycouldnotgotothepriest,butmanagedtopersuadehimtocometo them,andasLaTaperawasnotconsideredagoodenoughplace inwhich tohold so important a ceremony,myparents invitedthemtohavethemarriageinourhouse.Thepriestarrivedonhorsebackaboutnoononasultryday,hotandtiredandwellsplashedwithdriedmud,andinarather bad temper. Itmust also have gone against him to unite these youngpeople in the house of hereticswhowere doomed to a dreadful future aftertheir rebellious liveshadended.However,hegot throughwith thebusiness,andpresentlyrecoveredhisgoodtemperandgrewquitegenialand talkative

whenhewas led into thedining-roomand foundagrandwedding-breakfastwithwineinplentyonthetable.DuringthebreakfastIlookedoftenandlongatthefacesofthenewly-marriedpair,andpitiedournicegentleDemetria,andwishedshehadnotgivenherselftothatman.Hewasnotabad-lookingyoungmanandwaswell-dressedinthegauchocostume,buthewasstrangelysilentand ill at ease thewhole time and did notwin our regard. I never sawhimagain. It sooncameout thathewasagamblerandhadnothingbuthis skillwithapackofcardstoliveby,andDonGregorioinaragetoldhimtogobacktohisnativeplace.Andgohedidvery soon, leavingpoorDemetriaonherparents'hands.

ShortlyafterthisunhappyexperienceDonGregorioboughtahouseinBuenosAyresforhiswifeanddaughters,sothattheycouldgoandspendamonthortwowhen they wanted a change, and I saw them on one or two occasionswhenintown.Hehimselfwouldhavebeenoutofhiselementinsuchaplace,shutupinacloseroomorpainfullywaddlingovertheroughboulder-stonesofthenarrowstreetsonhisbow legs.Life forhimwas tobeon thebackof apiebaldhorseonthewidegreenplain,lookingafterhisbelovedanimals.

CHAPTERXII

THEHEADOFADECAYEDHOUSE

TheEstanciaCanadaSeca—Lowlandsandfloods—DonAnastacio,agauchoexquisite—A greatly respected man—Poor relations—Don Anastacio a pig-fancier—Narrow escape from a pig—Charm of the low green lands—Theflowercalledmacachina—Asweet-tastingbulb—Beautyofthegreenflower-sprinkledturf—Ahauntofthegoldenplover—TheBolas—Myplover-huntingexperience—Rebukedbyagaucho—Agreenspot,ourplaygroundinsummerandlakeinwinter—Thevenomoustoad-likeCeratophrys—Vocalperformanceof the toad-likecreature—Wemakewaron them—Thegreat lakebattleanditsresults.

InthischapterIwishtointroducethereadertothelastbutoneofthehalfadozenofournearestneighbours,selectedastypicalofthesmallerestancieros—aclassof landownersandcattle-breeders thenintheirdecayandprobablynowfastvanishing.ThiswasDonAnastacioBuenavida,whowasanoriginalperson too inhis littleway.Hewasoneofourverynearest neighbours, hisestanciahousebeingnomorethantwoshortmilesfromusonthesouthside.Like most of these old establishments, it was a long low building with a

thatched roof, enclosures for cattle and sheep close by, and an old grove orplantation of shade-trees borderedwith rows of tall Lombardy poplars. Thewhole place had a decayed and neglected appearance, the grounds beingweedyandlitteredwithbleachedbonesandotherrubbish:fencesandditcheshadalsobeendestroyedandobliterated,sothatthecattlewerefreetorubtheirhidesonthetreetrunksandgnawatthebark.TheestanciawascalledCanadaSeca, fromasluggishmuddystreamnear thehousewhichalmost invariablydriedup insummer; inwinterafterheavyrains itoverflowed its lowbanks,andinverywetseasonslake-likepondsofwaterwereformedalloverthelow-lyingplainbetweenCanadaSecaandourhouse.Arainyseasonwaswelcometo us children: the sight ofwide sheets of clear shallowwaterwith a vividgreenturfbeneathexcitedusjoyfully,andalsoaffordedussomeadventurousdays,oneofwhichwillberelatedbyandby.

Don Anastacio Buenavida was a middle-aged man, a bachelor, deeplyrespectedbyhisneighbours,andevenlookedonasapersonofconsiderableimportance.Somuchdid I hear inhispraise that as a child I had akindofreverentialfeelingforhim,whichlastedforyearsanddidnot,Ithink,whollyevaporateuntilIwasinmyteensandbegantoformmyownjudgments.Hewasquitealittleman,notmorethananinchortwooverfivefeethigh,slim,withanarrowwaistandsmallladylikehandsandfeet.Hissmallovalfacewasthe colour of old parchment; he had large dark pathetic eyes, a beautifullyshapedblackmoustache,andlongblackhair,worninsymmetricalringletstohisshoulders.Inhisdresstoohewassomethingofanexquisite.Heworethepicturesquegauchocostume;acamiseta,orblouse,of thefinestblackcloth,profuselydecoratedwithsilverbuttons,puffsandpleats,andscarletandgreenembroidery;achiripa,theshawl-likegarmentworninplaceoftrousers,ofthefinest yellow or vicuna-coloured wool, the white carsoncillos, or widedrawers, showingbelow,of the finest linen,withmore fringeand lace-workthanwasusualinthatgarment.Hisbootswerewellpolished,andhisponcho,orcloak,ofthefinestbluecloth,linedwithscarlet.

It must have taken Don Anastacio a couple of hours each morning to gethimselfupinthisfashion,ringletsandall,andonceuphedidnothingbutsitintheliving-room,sippingbittermateandtakingpartfromtimetotimeinthegeneralconversation,speakingalwaysinlowbutimpressivetones.Hewouldsay something about the weather, the lack or superabundance of water,accordingtotheseason,theconditionofhisanimalsandtheconditionofthepasture—infact,justwhateverybodyelsewassayingbutofmoreimportanceascomingfromhim.Alllistenedtohiswordswiththeprofoundestattentionandrespect,andnowonder,sincemostofthosewhosatinhisliving-room,suckingmate,werehispoorrelationswhofedonhisbounty.

DonAnastaciowasthelastofalonglineofestancierosoncerichinlandandcattle,butforgenerationstheCanadaSecaestatehadbeendwindlingaslandwassold,andnowtherewaslittleleft,andthecattleandhorseswerefew,andonly a small flockof sheepkept just to provide thehousewithmutton.Hispoorrelationslivingscatteredaboutthedistrictknewthathewasnotonlyanimprovident but an exceedingly weak and soft-hearted man, in spite of hisgrandmanner,andmanyofthepoorestamongthemhadbeenallowedtobuildtheirranchesonhislandandtokeepafewanimalsfortheirsustenance:mostof these had built their hovels quite close to the estancia house, behind theplantation, so that it was almost like a hamlet at this point. These poorneighbourshadthefreedomofthekitchenorliving-room;itwasusuallyfullof them, especially of the women, gossiping, sipping endless mate, andlisteningwithadmiringattentiontothewisewordswhichfellatintervalsfromthelipsoftheheadofthefamilyortribe.

Altogether, Don Anastacio in his ringlets was an ineffectual, colourless,effeminateperson,aperfectcontrasttohisugly,barrel-shaped,badly-dressedbut robust-minded neighbour, Gandara. Yet he too had a taste in animalswhich distinguished him among his fellow- landowners, and even remindedone of Gandara in a ridiculous way. For just as Gandara was devoted topiebaldhorses,soDonAnastaciowasdevotedtopigs.Itwouldnothavebeenlike him if these had been pigs for profit: they were not animals fit to befattened for themarket, and no personwould have thought of buying suchbeasts. They were of the wild-pig breed, descended originally from theEuropean animal introducedby the earlySpanish colonists, but after twoorthree centuries of feral life a good deal changed in appearance from theirprogenitors.Thisferalpigwascalledbarracointhevernacular,andwasabouta third less in size than the domestic animal, with longer legs and morepointed face, and of a uniform deep rust-red in colour. Among hundreds Ineversawonewithanyblackorwhiteonit.

IbelievethatbeforeDonAnastacio'stimeafewofthesewildpigshadbeenkeptasacuriosityat theestancia,andthatwhenhecameintopossessionheallowed them to increase and roam in herds all over the place, doingmuchharmby rootingupmanyacresof thebestgrazing land in their searchaftergrubs, earthworms,mole-crickets, andblind snakes, alongwithcertain rootsand bulbs which they liked. This was their only provender when therehappenedtobenocarcassesofcows,horses,orsheepforthemtofeedonincompanywiththedogsandcarrionhawks.Hewouldnotallowhispigstobekilled,butprobablyhispoorrelationsandpensionerswereoutoccasionallybynight to stick a pig when beef andmutton were wanting. I never tasted orwantedtotastetheirflesh.Thegauchoisinordinatelyfondofthetwogamiest-flavouredanimalsinthepampas—theostrichorrheaandthehairyarmadillo.

These I could eat and enjoy eating, although I was often told by Englishfriends that theywere toostrong for their stomachs;but thevery thoughtofthiswildpig-fleshproducedasensationofdisgust.

OnedaywhenIwasabouteightyearsoldIwasridinghomeatalonelyspotthreeorfourmilesout,goingatafastgallopbyanarrowpaththroughadensegrowthofgiantthistlessevenoreightfeethigh,whenallatonceIsawafewyardsbeforemeabigroundheapofthistleplants,whichhadbeenpluckedupentireandbuiltintoashelterfromthehotsunaboutfourfeethigh.AsIcameclosetoitaloudsavagegruntandthesquealingofmanylittlepigletsissuedfrom themound, and out from it rushed a furious red sowand chargedme.Theponysuddenlyswervedasidein terror, throwingmecompletelyoverononeside,butluckilyIhadinstinctivelygrippedthemanewithbothhands,andwithaviolent effort succeeded ingettinga legbackover thehorse, andweswiftly left the dangerous enemybehind.Then, remembering all I had beentoldabouttheferocityofthesepigs,itstruckmethatIhadhadanextremelynarrowescape,sinceifIhadbeenthrownoffthesavagebeastwouldhavehadmeathermercyandwouldhavecertainlykilledmeinacoupleofminutes;andas shewasprobablymadwithhungerand thirst in that lonelyhot spot,witha lotofyoung to feed, itwouldnothave takenher long todevourme,bonesandbootsincluded.

This set me thinking on the probable effect of my disappearance, of mymother's terrible anxiety, and what they would think and do about it Theywould know from the return of the pony that I had fallen somewhere: theywouldhavesearchedformealloverthesurroundingplain,especiallyinallthewilder, lonelierplaceswherebirdsbreed;on landswhere thecardoon thistleflourishedmost,and in thevastbedsofbulrushes in themarshes,butwouldnot have found me. And at length when the searching was all over, somegaucho riding by that cattle-path through the thistleswould catch sight of apieceofcloth,aportionofaboy'sgarment,andthesecretofmyendwouldbediscovered.

Ihadnever liked the redpigs,onaccountof theway theyploughedupanddisfiguredthebeautifulgreenswardwiththeiriron-hardsnouts,alsobecauseof the powerful and disgusting smell they emitted, but after this adventurewiththesowthefeelingwasmuchstronger,andIwonderedmoreandmorewhy that beautiful soul, Don Anastacio, cherished an affection for suchdetestablebeasts.

In spring and early summer the low-lying areas about Canada Seca werepleasantplacestoseeandrideonwherethepigshadnotdefacedthem:theykept theirbrightverdurewhen thehighergroundswereparchedandbrown;then too, after rain, they were made beautiful with the bright little yellow

flowercalledmacachina.

As themacachinawas the firstwild flower toblossom in the land ithadasgreatanattractiontouschildrenasthewildstrawberry,ground-ivy,celandine,and other first blooms for the child in England. Our liking for our earliestflowerwasallthegreaterbecausewecouldeatitandlikeditsacidtaste,alsobecauseithadabulbverynicetoeat—asmallroundbulbthesizeofahazelnut,ofapearlywhite,whichtastedlikesugarandwater.Thatlittlesweetnesswasenoughtosetusalldiggingthebulbsupwithtableknives,butevenlittlechildrencanvaluethingsfortheirbeautyaswellastaste.Themacachinawaslikethewood-sorrelinshape,bothflowerandleaf,buttheleavesweremuchsmallerandgrewclosetotheground,astheplantflourishedmostwherethegrasswasclose-croppedbythesheep,formingasmoothturflikethatofourchalk downs. The flowers were never crowded together like the buttercup,forming sheets of shining yellow, but grew two or three inches apart, eachslenderstemproducingasingleflower,whichstoodacoupleofinchesabovetheturf.Sofinewerethestemsthattheslightestbreathofwindwouldsettheblossomsswaying,anditwasthenaprettysight,andoftenheldmemotionlessin themidstofsomegreenplace,whenallaroundmeforhundredsofyardsthegreencarpetofgrasswasabundantlysprinkledwiththousandsofthelittleyellowblossomsallswayingtothelightwind.

Thesegreen level landswerealsoa favouritehauntof thegoldenploverontheirfirstarrivalinSeptemberfromtheirbreeding-placesmanythousandsofmiles away in the arctic regions.Later in the season, as thewater dried up,theywouldgoelsewhere.Theycameinflocksandwerethengreatlyesteemedas a table-bird, especiallybymy father, butwe couldonlyhave themwhenoneofmyelderbrothers,whowas the sportsmanof the family,wentout toshootthem.AsaverysmallboyIwasnotallowedtouseagun,butasIhadbeentaughttothrowthebolasbythelittlenativeboysIsometimesassociatedwith,IthoughtImightbeabletoprocureafewofthebirdswithit.Thebolas,used for such an object, is a string a couple of yards long,made from finethreadscutfromacolt'shide,twistedorbraided,andaleadenballateachend,onebeingthesizeofahen'segg,theotherlessthanhalfthesize.Thesmallball is held in the hand, the other swung round three or four times andthebolasthenlaunchedattheanimalorbirdonewishestocapture.

Ispentmanyhoursonseveralconsecutivedaysfollowingtheflocksaboutonmypony,hurlingthebolasatthemwithoutbringingdownmorethanonebird.Myproceedingswerenodoubtwatchedwithamusementbythepeopleoftheestancia house,whowere often sitting out of doors at the everlastingmate-drinking; and perhaps DonAnastacio did not like it, as he was, I imagine,somethingofaSt.Franciswithregardtotheloweranimals.Hecertainlyloved

hisabominablepigs.Atalleventsonthelastdayofmyvaineffortstoprocuregoldenplover,abig,beardedgaucho,withhatstuckonthebackofhishead,rodeforth fromthehouseona largehorse,andwaspassingatadistanceofaboutfiftyyardswhenheallatoncestopped,andturningcameatagalloptowithinafewfeetofmeandshoutedinaloudvoice:"Whydoyoucomehere,Englishboy,frighteningandchasingawayGod'slittlebirds?Don'tyouknowthattheydonoharmtoanyone,anditiswrongtohurtthem?"Andwiththathegallopedoff.

Iwasangryatbeingrebukedbyanignorantruffianlygaucho,wholikemostof his kindwould tell lies, gamble, cheat, fight, steal, anddoother naughtythings without a qualm. Besides, it struck me as funny to hear the goldenplover,whichIwantedforthetable,called"God'slittlebirds,"justasiftheywere wrens or swallows or humming- birds, or the darling little many-colouredkingletofthebulrushbeds.ButIwasashamed,too,andgaveupthechase.

Thenearestofthemoistgreenlow-lyingspotsIhavedescribedaslyingsouthofus,betweenourhouseandCanadaSeca,wasnotmorethantwentyminutes'walk from the gate. Itwas a flat, oval-shaped area of about fifty acres, andkeptitsvividgreencolourandfreshnesswheninJanuarythesurroundinglandwasallofarustybrowncolour.Itwastousadelightfulspottorunaboutandplay on, and though the golden plover did not come there it was hauntedduring the summer by small flocks of the pretty buff-coloured sandpiper, asandpiper with the habits of a plover, one, too, which breeds in the arcticregionsandspendshalf theyearinsouthernSouthAmerica.Thisgreenareawould become flooded after heavy rains. Itwas then like a vast lake to us,althoughthewaterwasnotmorethanaboutthreefeetdeep,andatsuchtimesitwasinfestedwiththebigvenomoustoad-likecreaturecalledescuerzointhevernacular,whichsimplymeanstoad,butnaturalistshaveplaceditinquiteadifferent familyof thebatrachians and call itCeratophrysornata It is toad-likeinformbutmorelumpish,withabiggerhead;itisbigasaman'sfist,ofavividgreenwithblacksymmetricalmarkingsonitsback,andprimrose-yellowbeneath.Adreadfullookingcreature,atoadthatpreysontherealorcommontoads,swallowingthemalive justas thehamadryadswallowsotherserpents,venomousornot,andastheCriboofMartinique,abignon-venomousserpent,killsandswallowsthedeadlyfer-de-lance.

In summerwehadno fearof this creature, as it buries itself in the soil andaestivatesduringthehot,dryseason,andcomesforthinwetweather.Ineverknewanyspotwherethesecreaturesweremoreabundantthaninthatwinterlakeofours,andatnightinthefloodedtimeweusedtolieawakelisteningtotheir concerts. The Ceratophrys croaks when angry, and as it is the most

truculentofallbatrachiansitworksitselfintoarageifyougonearit.Itsfirstefforts at chanting or singing sounds like the deep, harsh, anger-croakprolonged, but as the timegoeson theygradually acquire, night bynight, alessraucousandalouder,moresustainedandfar-reachingsound.Therewasalways very great variety in the tones; andwhile some continued deep andharsh—theharshestsoundinnature—otherswereclearerandnotunmusical;andinalargenumbertherewerealwaysafewinthescatteredchoirthatout-soaredalltheothersinhigh,long-drawnnotes,almostorgan-likeinquality.

Listeningtotheirvariedperformanceonenightaswelayinbed,mysportingbrother proposed that on the followingmorningwe should drag one of thecattle-troughs to the lake to launch it and go on a voyage in quest of thesedangerous, hateful creatures and slay themwith our javelins. It was not animpossible scheme, since the creatures were to be seen at this seasonswimmingorfloatingonthesurface,andinourboatorcanoeweshouldalsodetectthemastheymovedaboutoverthegreenswardatthebottom.

Accordingly,nextmorningafterbreakfastwe set out,without impartingourplanstoanyone,andwithgreatlabourdraggedthetroughtothewater.Itwasabox-shaped thing, about twenty feet long and two feetwide at thebottomandthreeatthetop.Wewerealsoprovidedwiththreejavelins,oneforeachofus,frommybrother'sextensivearmoury.

Hehadaboutthattimebeenreadingancienthistory,andfiredwiththestoryofoldwarswhenmenfoughthandtohand,hehaddroppedgunsandpistolsforthe moment and set himself with furious zeal to manufacture the ancientweapons—bowsandarrows,pikes,shield,battle-axesandjavelins.Theselastweresticksaboutsixfeet long,nicelymadeofpine-wood—hehadnodoubtbribedthecarpentertomakethemforhim—andpointedwitholdknife-bladessix or seven inches long, ground to a fearful sharpness. Such formidableweapons were not required for our purpose: they would have served wellenoughifwehadbeengoingoutagainstDonAnastacio'sfierceandpowerfulswine;butitwashisorder,andtohiswildandwarlikeimaginationthetoad-likecreatureswerethewarriorsofsomehostiletribeopposingus,IforgetifinAsiaorAfrica,whichhadtobeconqueredandextirpated.

Nosoonerhadwegotintoourlong,awkwardly-shapedboatthanitcapsizedandthrewusallintothewater;thatwasbutthefirstofsomedozensofupsetsandfreshdrenchingsweexperiencedduringtheday.However,wesucceededincircumnavigating the lakeandcrossing it twoor three times fromside toside,andinslayingseventyoreightyoftheenemywithourjavelins.

Atlength,whentheshort,mid-winterdaywasinitsdecline,andwewereallfeeling stiff and cold and half-famished, our commander thought proper to

bring thegreat lakebattle,with awful slaughterofourbarbarian foes, to anend,andwewearilytrudgedhomeinoursoakingclothesandsqueakingshoes.Weweretootiredtopaymuchheedtothelittlesermonwehadexpected,andgladtogetintodryclothesandsitdowntofoodandtea.Thentositbythefireas close aswe could get to it, until we all began to sneeze and to feel ourthroats getting sore and our faces burning hot. And, finally, whenwewentburningandshiveringwithcoldtobedwecouldnotsleep;andhark!thegrandnightlychoruswasgoingonjustasusual.No, inspiteof thegreatslaughterwe had not exterminated the enemy; on the contrary, they appeared to berejoicingoveragreatvictory,especiallywhenhighabovethedeepharshnotesthelong-drawn,organ-likesoundsoftheleaderswereheard.

How I thenwished,when tossing and burning feverishly in bed, that I hadrebelledandrefusedtotakepartinthatday'sadventure!Iwastooyoungforit,and again and again, when thrusting one of the creatures through with myjaveline, I hadexperiencedahorribledisgust and shrinkingat the spectacle.Now inmywakeful hours,with that tremendous chanting inmy ears, it allcamebacktomeandwaslikeanightmare.

CHAPTERXIII

APATRIARCHOFTHEPAMPAS

Thegrandoldmanoftheplains—DonEvaristoPenalva,thePatriarch—Myfirst sightofhisestanciahouse—DonEvaristodescribed—Ahusbandof sixwives—Howhewasesteemedand lovedbyeveryone—On leavinghome IlosesightofDonEvaristo—Imeethimagainafter sevenyears—His failinghealth—His old first wife and her daughter, Cipriana—The tragedy ofCipriana—DonEvaristodiesandIlosesightofthefamily.

Patriarchswerefairlycommoninthelandofmynativity:grave,dignifiedoldmenwithimposingbeards,ownersoflandandcattleandmanyhorses,thoughmanyofthemcouldnotspelltheirownnames;handsometoo,someofthemwithregularfeatures,descendantsofgoodoldSpanishfamilieswhocolonizedthewide pampas in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. I do notthinkIhavegotoneof thissort in theprecedingchapterswhichtreatofourneighbours,unlessitbeDonAnastacioBuenavidaofthecorkscrewcurlsandquainttasteinpigs.Certainlyhewasoftheoldlandowningclass,andinhisrefinedfeaturesanddelicatelittlehandsandfeetgaveevidenceofgoodblood,butthemarksofdegenerationwereequallyplain;hewasaneffeminate,futile

person,andnotproperlytoberankedwiththepatriarchs.Hisuglygrotesqueneighbourofthepiebaldhorseswasmorelikeone.Idescribedthepeoplethatlivednearesttous,ournext-doorneighbourssotospeak,becauseIknewthemfromchildhoodandfollowedtheirfortuneswhenIgrewup,andwasthusableto give their complete history. The patriarchs, the grand old gauchoestancieros, I came to know,were scattered all over the land, but,with oneexception,Ididnotknowthemintimatelyfromchildhood,andthoughIcouldfillthischapterwiththeirportraitsIprefertogiveitalltotheoneIknewbest,DonEvaristoPenalva,averyfinepatriarchindeed.

I cannot now remember when I first made his acquaintance, but I was notquitesix, thoughverynear it,whenIhadmyfirstviewofhishouse. In thechapteron"SomeEarlyBirdAdventures,"Ihavedescribedmyfirstlongwalkontheplains,whentwoofmybrotherstookmetoariversomedistancefromhome,whereIwasenchantedwithmyfirstsightof thatgloriouswaterfowl,theflamingo.Now,aswestoodonthebrinkoftheflowingwater,whichhadawidthofabouttwohundredyardsatthatspotwhentheriverhadoverfloweditsbanks,oneofmyelderbrotherspointedtoalonglowhouse,thatchedwithrushes,about three-quartersofamiledistantontheothersideof thestream,andinformedmethatitwastheestanciahouseofDonEvaristoPenalva,whowasoneoftheprincipallandownersinthatpart.

Thatwasoneoftheimagesmymindreceivedonthatadventurousdaywhichhavenotfaded—thelong,low,mudbuilthouse,standingonthewide,empty,treeless plain, with three ancient, half-dead, crooked acacia trees growingclose to it,anda little furtherawayacorralorcattle-enclosureandasheep-fold.Itwasapoor,naked,dreary-lookinghousewithoutgardenorshade,andI dare say a little English boy six years old would have smiled, a littleincredulous, tobe told that itwas theresidenceofoneof theprincipal land-ownersinthatpart.

Then,aswehaveseen,Igotmyhorse,andbeingdeliveredfromthefearofevil-mindedcowswith long,sharphorns,Ispentagooddealofmytimeontheplain,where Imade the acquaintanceof other small boysonhorseback,whotookmetotheirhomesandintroducedmetotheirpeople.InthiswayIcametobeavisitortothatlonely-lookinghouseontheothersideoftheriver,andtoknowalltheinterestingpeopleinit,includingDonEvaristohimself,itslord andmaster.Hewas amiddle-agedmanat thatdate, ofmediumheight,very white-skinned, with long black hair and full beard, straight nose, finebroad forehead,with large dark eyes.Hewas slow and deliberate in all hismovements,grave,dignified,andceremoniousinhismannerandspeech;butinspiteofthisloftyairhewasknowntohaveasweetandgentledispositionand was friendly towards every one, even to small boys who are naturally

naughty andanuisance to their elders.And so it cameabout that evenas averysmallshyboy,astrangerinthehouse,IcametoknowthatDonEvaristowasnotonetobeafraidof.

Ihopethatthereader,forgettingallhehaslearntaboutthedomesticlifeofthepatriarchs of an older time,will not begin to feel disgusted atDonEvaristowhenIproceedtosaythathewasthehusbandofsixwives,alllivingwithhimatthatsamehouse.Thefirst,theonlyonehehadbeenpermittedtomarryinachurch,was old as or rather older than himself; shewas very dark andwasgettingwrinkles,andwasthemotherofseveralgrown-upsonsanddaughters,somemarried.Theotherswereofvariousages,theyoungesttwoaboutthirty;andtheseweretwinsisters,bothnamedAscension,fortheywerebothbornonAscensionDay.SomuchalikeweretheseAscensionsinfaceandfigurethatoneday,whenIwasabigboy,Iwent into thehouseandfindingoneof thesisterstherebeganrelatingsomething,whenshewascalledout.Presentlyshecameback,asIthought,andIwentonwithmystoryjustwhereIhadleftoff,andonlywhenIsawthelookofsurpriseandinquiryonherfacedidIdiscoverthatIwasnowtalkingtotheothersister.

How was this man with six wives regarded by his neighbours? He wasesteemedandbelovedabovemostmen inhisposition. Ifanypersonwas introubleordistress,orsufferingfromawoundorsomesecretmalady,hewouldgo to Don Evaristo for advice and assistance and for such remedies as heknew;andifhewassickuntodeathhewouldsendforDonEvaristotocometohimtowritedownhis lastwillandtestament.ForDonEvaristoknewhisletters and had the reputation of a learned man among the gauchos. Theyconsideredhimbetterthananyonecallinghimselfadoctor.Irememberthathis cure for shingles, a common and dangerous ailment in that region, wasregarded as infallible. The malady took the form of an eruption, likeerysipelas, on the middle of the body and extending round the waist till itformed a perfect zone. "If the zone is not complete I can cure the disease,"DonEvaristowouldsay.Hewouldsendsomeonedowntotherivertoprocureagood-sizedtoad,thencausingthepatienttostrip,hewouldtakepenandinkand write on the skin in the space between the two ends of the inflamedregion,instoutletters,thewords,InthenameoftheFather,etc.Thisdone,hewouldtakethetoadinhishandandgentlyrubitontheinflamedpart,andthetoad,enragedatsuchtreatment,wouldswellhimselfupalmosttoburstingandexudeapoisonousmilkysecretionfromhiswartyskin.Thatwasall,andthemangotwell!

If itpleasedsuchamanasthat tohavesixwivesinsteadofoneitwasrightandproperforhimtohavethem;nopersonwouldpresumetosaythathewasnotagoodandwiseandreligiousmanonthataccount.Itmaybeaddedthat

DonEvaristo,likeHenryVIII,whoalsohadsixwives,wasastrictlyvirtuousman. The only differencewas thatwhen he desired a freshwife he did notbarbarouslyexecuteorputawaytheone,ortheothers,healreadypossessed.

IlostsightofDonEvaristowhenIwassixteen,havinggonetoliveinanotherdistrictabout thirtymilesfrommyoldhome.Hewas then justat theendofthemiddleperiodoflife,withafewgreyhairsbeginningtoshowinhisblackbeard,buthewasstillastrongmanandmorechildrenwerebeingaddedtohisnumerousfamily.SometimelaterIheardthathehadacquiredasecondestatea longday's journeyonhorsebackfromthefirst,and thatsomeofhiswivesandchildrenhademigratedtothenewesctanciaandthathedividedhistimebetween the two establishments. But his people were not wholly separatedfromeachother;fromtimetotimesomeofthemwouldtakethelongjourneyto visit the absent ones and therewould be an exchange of homes betweenthem.For,incredibleasitmayseem,theywereinspirit,orappearedtobe,aunitedfamily.

SevenyearshadpassedsinceIlostsightofthem,whenitchancedthatIwastravellinghomefromthesouthernfrontier,withonlytwohorsestocarryme.One gave out, and Iwas compelled to leave him on the road. I put up thatevening at a little wayside pulperia, or public-house, and was hospitablyentertainedbythelandlord,whoturnedouttobeanEnglishman.Buthehadlived so long among thegauchos, having left his countrywhenveryyoung,that he had almost forgotten his own language.Again and again during theeveninghestartedtalkinginEnglishasifgladoftheopportunitytospeakhisnativetongueoncemore;butafterasentenceortwoawordwantedwouldnotcome, and it would have to be spoken in Spanish, and gradually he wouldrelapse into unadulterated Spanish again, then, becoming conscious of therelapse,hewouldmakeafreshstartinEnglish.

AswesattalkingaftersupperIexpressedmyintentionofleavingearlyinthemorningsoastogetoverafewleagueswhileitwasfresh,astheweatherwasveryhotandIhadtoconsidermyonehorse.Hewassorrynot tobeabletoprovidemewithanother,butatoneofthelargeestanciasIwouldcometonextmorningIwouldnodoubtbeabletogetone.HethenmentionedthatinaboutanhourandahalfortwohoursIshouldarriveatanestancianamedLaPajaBrava,wheremanyriding-horseswerekept.

Thiswas good news indeed! La PajaBravawas the name of the estatemyancientfriendandneighbour,DonEvaristo,hadboughtsomanyyearsbefore:nodoubtIshouldfindsomeofthefamily,andtheywouldgivemeahorseandanythingIwanted.

Thehouse,whenIapproacheditnextmorning,stronglyremindedmeof the

oldhomeofthefamilymanyleaguesaway,onlyitwasifpossiblemorelonelyanddrearyinappearance,withoutevenanoldhalf-deadacaciatreetomakeitlessdesolate.Theplainall roundas farasonecouldseewasabsolutely flatand treeless, the short grass burnt by the January sun to a yellowish-browncolour;while at the largewatering-well, half amile distant, the cattleweregatheringinvastnumbers,bellowingwiththirstandraisingcloudsofdustintheirstrugglestogettothetrough.

I foundDonEvaristohimself in thehouse,andwithhimhis firstandoldestwife,withseveralofthegrown-upchildren.Iwasgrievedtoseethechangeinmyoldfriend;hehadagedgreatlyinsevenyears;hisfacewasnowwhiteasalabaster,andhis fullbeardand longhairquitegrey.Hewassuffering fromsome internal malady, and spent most of the day in the large kitchen andliving-room,restinginaneasy-chair.Thefireburntalldayinthehearthinthemiddleoftheclayfloor,andthewomenservedmateanddidtheirworkinaquietway, talking thewhile; and all day long the youngmen and big boyscameandwent,comingin,oneortwoatatime,tosipmate,smoke,andtellthenews—thestateofthewell,thetimethewaterwouldlast,theconditionofthecattle,ofhorsesstrayed,andsoon.

The old first wife had also aged—her whole dark, anxious face had beencovered with little interlacing wrinkles; but the greatest change was in theeldest child, her daughter Cipriana, whowas living permanently at La PajaBrava.Theoldmotherhadadashofdarkornegrinebloodinherveins,andthis strain came out strongly in the daughter, a tall woman with lustrelesscrinkledhairofawrought-ironcolour,largevoluptuousmouth,paledarkskin,andlargedarksadeyes.

Irememberedthattheyhadnotalwaysbeensad,forIhadknownherinherfull bloom—an imposing woman, her eyes sparkling with intense fire andpassion,who,despitehercoarsefeaturesanddarkskin,hadakindofstrangewildbeautywhichattractedmen.Unhappilysheplacedheraffectionsonthewrongperson,adashingyounggauchowho,albeitlandlessandpoorincattle,madeabraveappearance,especiallywhenmountedandwhenmanandhorseglitteredwithsilverornaments.IrecalledhowoneofmylastsightsofherhadbeenonaSundaymorninginsummerwhenIhadriddentoaspotontheplainwhereitwasovergrownwithgiantthistles,standingabouttenfeethigh,infullflowerandfillingthehotairwiththeirperfume.There,inasmallopengrassyspaceIhaddismountedtowatchahawk,inhopesoffindingitsnestconcealedsomewhereamongthethistlescloseby.Andpresentlytwopersonscameataswiftgallopbythenarrowpaththroughthethistles,andburstingoutintothatsmallopenspotIsawthatitwasCipriana,inawhitedress,onabigbayhorse,andherlover,whowasleadingtheway.Catchingsightofmetheythrewmea

"Goodmorning"andgallopedon,laughinggailyattheunexpectedencounter.I thought that in her white dress, with the hot sun shining on her, her faceflushedwith excitement, on her big spirited horse, she looked splendid thatmorning.

But she gave herself too freely to her lover, and by and by there was adifference,andherodeawaytoreturnnomore.Itwashardforherthentofaceherneighbours,andeventuallyshewentawaywithhermother to liveat thenewestancia;butevennowatthisdistanceoftimeitisapaintorememberherwhenherimagecomesbacktomymindasIsawheronthatchancevisittoLaPajaBrava.

Every evening duringmy stay, aftermate had been served and therewas alongvacantintervalbeforenight,shewouldgooutfromthegatetoadistanceoffiftyorsixtyyards,whereanoldlogwaslyingonapieceofwastegroundovergrown with nettles, burdock, and redweed, now dead and brown, andsittingonthelog,herchinrestingonherhand,shewouldfixhereyesonthedustyroadhalfamileaway,andmotionlessinthatdejectedattitudeshewouldremainforaboutanhour.Whenyoulookedcloselyatheryoucouldseeherlipsmoving, and ifyoucamequitenearheryoucouldhearher talking inaverylowvoice,butshewouldnotlifthergazefromtheroadnorseemtobeawareofyourpresence.Thefitordreamover,shewouldgetupandreturntothe house, where she would quietly set to work with the other women inpreparingthegreatmealoftheday—thelatesupperofroastandboiledmeat,whenallthemenwouldbebackfromtheirworkwiththecattle.

ThatwasmylastsightofCipriana;whatherendwasIneverheard,norwhatwas done with the Paja Brava after the death of Don Evaristo, who wasgathered to his fathers a year or so aftermy visit. I only know that the oldplacewhereasachildIfirstknewhim,wherehiscattleandhorsesgrazedandthe stream where they were watered was alive with herons and spoonbills,black-necked swans, glossy ibises in clouds, and great blue ibises withresoundingvoices, isnowpossessedbyaliens,whodestroyallwildbirdlifeandgrowcornonthelandforthemarketsofEurope.

CHAPTERXIV

THEDOVECOTE

A favourite climbing tree—The desire to fly—Soaring birds—A peregrine

falcon—The dovecote and pigeon-pies—The falcon's depredations—Asplendidaerialfeat—Asecretenemyofthedovecote—Ashort-earedowlinaloft—My father and birds—A strange flower— The owls' nesting-place—Greatowlvisitations.

Bythesideofthemoatatthefarendoftheenclosedgroundtheregrewabigred willow, the tree already mentioned in a former chapter as the secondlargestintheplantation.Ithadathickroundtrunk,wide-spreadinghorizontalbranches,androughbark.Initsshape,whenthethinfoliagewasgone,itwasmorelikeanoldoakthanaredwillow.ThiswasmyfavouritetreewhenIhadoncemasteredthedifficultanddangerousartofclimbing.Itwasfarthestfromthehouseofallthetrees,onawasteweedyspotwhichnooneelsevisited,andthismade it an idealplace forme, andwhenever Iwas in thewildarborealmoodIwouldclimbthewillowtofindagoodstoutbranchhighuponwhichtospendanhour,withagoodviewofthewidegreenplainbeforemeandthesight of grazing flocks and herds, and of houses and poplar groves lookingblueinthedistance.Here,too,inthistree,Ifirstfeltthedesireforwings,todreamofthedelightitwouldbetocircleupwardstoagreatheightandfloatontheairwithouteffort,likethegullandbuzzardandharrierandothergreatsoaringlandandwaterbirds.ButfromthetimethisnotionanddesirebegantoaffectmeIenviedmostthegreatcrestedscreamer,aninhabitantthenofallthemarshesinourvicinity.Forherewasabirdasbigorbiggerthanagoose,asheavyalmostasIwasmyself,who,whenhewishedtofly,roseoffthegroundwithtremendouslabour,andthenashegothigherandhigherflewmoreandmoreeasily,untilherosesohighthathelookednobiggerthanalarkorpipit,andatthatheighthewouldcontinuefloatingroundandroundinvastcirclesforhours,pouringoutthosejubilantcriesatintervalswhichsoundedtoussofarbelowlikeclarionnotesinthesky.IfIcouldonlygetoffthegroundlikethatheavybirdandriseashigh,thentheblueairwouldmakemeasbuoyantand letme float all daywithout pain or effort like the bird!This desire hascontinuedwithmethroughmylife,yetIhaveneverwishedtoflyinaballoonorairship,sinceIshouldthenbetiedtoamachineandhavenowillorsoulofmyown.Thedesirehasonlybeengratifiedaveryfewtimes in thatkindofdream called levitation, when one rises and floats above the earth withouteffortandislikeaballofthistledowncarriedbythewind.

My favourite red willow was also the chosen haunt of another being, aperegrine falcon, a large handsome female that used to spend somemonthseachyearwithus,andwouldsitforhourseverydayinthetree.Itwasanidealtree for the falcon, too, not only because itwas a quiet spotwhere it coulddoze the hot hours away in safety, but also on account of the numbers ofpigeonsweusedtokeep.Thepigeon-house,around,tower-shapedbuilding,whitewashed outside, with a small door always kept locked, was usually

tenanted by four or five hundred birds. These cost us nothing to keep, andwere never fed, as they picked up their own living on the plain, and beingstrong fliers andwell used to thedangers of theopen country abounding inhawks, they ranged far fromhome,goingout in smallpartiesof adozenormore to their various distant feeding-grounds.When out riding we used tocomeontheseflocksseveralmilesfromhome,andknewtheywereourbirdssince no one else in that neighbourhood kept pigeons. They were highlyvalued, especially by my father, who preferred a broiled pigeon to muttoncutletsforbreakfast,andwasalsofondofpigeon-pies.Onceortwiceeveryweek,according to theseason,eighteenor twentyyoungbirds, just ready toleave thenest,were takenfromthedovecote tobeput intoapieofgiganticsize,andthiswasusuallythegrandestdishonthetablewhenwehadalotofpeopletodinnerorsupper.

Every day the falcon, during themonths she spentwith us, took toll of thepigeons,andthoughthesedepredationsannoyedmyfatherhedidnothing tostopthem.Heappearedtothinkthatoneortwobirdsadaydidn'tmattermuchasthebirdsweresomany.Thefalcon'scustomwas,afterdozingafewhoursin the willow, to fly up and circle high in the air above the buildings,whereuponthepigeons, losing theirheads in their terror,wouldrushup inacloudtoescapetheirdeadlyenemy.Thiswasexactlywhattheirenemywantedthemtodo,andnosoonerwouldtheyrisetotheproperheightthanshewouldmakeherswoop,andsinglingouthervictimstrikeitdownwithablowofherlacerating claws; down like a stone it would fall, and the hawk, after amoment'spauseinmid-air,woulddropdownafteritandcatchitinhertalonsbeforeittouchedthetree-tops,thencarryitawaytofeedonatleisureoutontheplain. Itwas amagnificent spectacle, and althoughwitnessed sooften italwaysgreatlyexcitedme.

One daymy father went to the galpon, the big barn-like building used forstoringwood,hides,andhorse-hair,andseeinghimgouptheladderIclimbedupafterhim.Itwasanimmensevacantplacecontainingnothingbutanumberof empty cases on one side of the floor and empty flour-barrels, standingupright,ontheother.Myfatherbeganwalkingaboutamongthecases,andbyandbycalledmetolookatayoungpigeon,apparentlyjustkilled,whichhehadfoundinoneoftheemptyboxes.Now,howcameittobethere?heasked.Rats, no doubt, but how strange and almost incredible it seemed that a rat,howeverbig,hadbeenabletoscalethepigeon-house,killapigeonanddragitbackadistanceoftwenty-fiveyards,thenmountwithittotheloft,andafterall that labour to leave it uneaten!Thewondergrewwhenhebegan to findmoreyoungpigeons,allyoungbirdsalmostofanagetohaveleftthenest,andonlyoneortwooutofhalfadozenwithanyflesheaten.

Here was an enemy to the dovecote who went about at night and did hiskillingquietly,unseenbyanyone,andwastentimesmoredestructivethanthefalcon,whokilledheradultoldpigeondailyinsightofalltheworldandinamagnificentway!

I left him pondering over themystery, graduallyworking himself up into arage against rats, andwentoff to explore among the emptybarrels standinguprightontheothersideoftheloft.

"Anotherpigeon!" I shoutedpresently, filledwithprideat thediscoveryandfishing the bird up from the bottom. He came over to me and began toexamine the dead bird, his wrath still increasing; then I shouted gleefullyagain, "Another pigeon!" and altogether I shouted "Another pigeon!" aboutfivetimes,andbythattimehewasinaquitefurioustemper."Rats—rats!"heexclaimed, "killing all these pigeons and dragging them up here just to putthemaway inemptybarrels—whoeverheardof sucha thing!"No strongerlanguagedidheuse.Like thevicar'swonderfully sober-mindeddaughter, asdescribedbyMarjoryFleming,"heneversaidasingledam,"forthatwasthesortofmanhewas,buthewentbackfumingtohisboxes.

Meanwhile I continued my investigations, and by and by, peering into anemptybarrelreceivedoneofthegreatestshocksIhadeverexperienced.Downatthebottomofthebarrelwasabigbrown-and-yellowmottledowl,oneofakindIhadneverseen,standingwithitsclawsgraspingadeadpigeonanditsfaceturnedupinalarmatmine.Whatafaceitwas!—aroundgreydisc,withblacklineslikespokesradiatingfromthecentre,wherethebeakwas,andthetwowide-openstaringorange-colouredeyes,thewheel-likeheadsurmountedbyapairofear-orhorn-likeblackfeathers!Forafewmomentswestaredatoneanother,thenrecoveringmyselfIshouted,"Father—anowl!"ForalthoughIhadneverseenits likebeforeIknewitwasanowl.Notuntil thatmomenthadIknownanyowlexceptthecommonburrowing-owloftheplain,asmallgrey-and-white bird, half diurnal in its habits,with a pretty dove-like voicewhenithootedroundthehouseofanevening.

Inafewmomentsmyfathercamerunningovertomyside,anironbarinhishand, and looking into the barrel began a furious assault on the bird. "Thisthenistheculprit!"hecried."Thisistheratthathasbeendestroyingmybirdsbythescore!Nowhe'sgoingtopayforit;"andsoon,strikingdownwiththebarwhilethebirdstruggledfranticallytoriseandmakeitsescape;butintheenditwaskilledandthrownoutonthefloor.

ThatwasthefirstandonlytimeIsawmyfatherkillabird,andnothingbuthisextreme anger against the robber of his precious pigeonswould havemadehimdoa thingsocontrary tohisnature.Hewasquitewilling tohavebirds

killed—young pigeons, wild ducks, plover, snipe, whimbrel, tinamou orpartridge,andvariousotherswhichhelikedtoeat—butthekillingalwayshadtobedonebyothers.Hehatedtoseeanybirdkilledthatwasnotforthetable,and that was why he tolerated the falcon, and even allowed a pairofcaranchos,orcarrion-eagles—birdsdestructivetopoultry,andkillerswhenthey got the chance of newly-born lambs and sucking- pigs—to have theirhuge nest in one of the old peach-trees for several years. I never saw himangrierthanoncewhenavisitorstayinginthehouse,goingoutwithhisgunone day suddenly threw it up to his shoulder and brought down a passingswallow.

That was my first encounter with the short-eared owl, a world- wanderingspecies, known familiarly to the sportsman in England as the October orwoodcock owl; an inhabitant of the whole of Europe, also of Asia, Africa,America,Australasia,andmanyAtlanticandPacificislands.Nootherbirdhasso vast a range; yet nobody in the house could tell me anything about it,exceptingthatitwasanowl,whichIknew,andnosuchbirdwasfoundinourneighbourhood.Severalmonths laterIfoundoutmoreabout it,andthiswaswhenIbegantorambleabouttheplainonmypony.

Oneofthemostattractivespotstomeatthattime,whenmyexpeditionswerenotyetveryextended,wasa low-lyingmoiststretchofgroundaboutamileandahalffromhome,whereonaccountofthemoistureitwasalwaysavividgreen. Inspring itwas likeamoistmeadow inEngland,aperfectgardenofwild flowers, and as it was liable to become flooded in wet winters it wasavoidedbythevizcachas, thebigrodentsthatmaketheirwarrensorvillagesof huge burrows all over the plain. Here I used to go in quest of themostcharming flowers which were not found in other places; one, a specialfavouriteonaccountof itsdeliciousfragrance,being thesmall lilycalledbythenativesLagrimasde laVirgin—Tearsof theVirgin.Hereatonespot thegroundtotheextentofanacreorsowasoccupiedbyoneplantofapeculiarappearance,tothecompleteexclusionofthetallgrassesandherbageinotherparts.Itgrewinlittletussockslikebushes,eachplantcomposedoftwentyorthirty stalks of awoody toughness and about two and a half feet high. Thestemswerethicklyclothedwithroundleaves,softasvelvettothetouchandsodarkagreen that at a littledistance they lookedalmostblackagainst thebright green of the moist turf. Their beauty was in the blossoming season,wheneverystemproduced itsdozenormoreflowersgrowingsinglyamongtheleaves,insizeandshapelikedog-roses,thepetalsofthepurest,loveliestyellow.Astheflowersgrewclosetothestalk,togatherthemitwasnecessarytocutthestalkattherootwithallitsleavesandflowers,andthisIsometimesdid to take it tomymother, who had a great love of wild flowers. But nosooner would I start with a bunch of flowering stalks inmy hand than the

lovelydelicatepetalswouldbegintodropoff,andbeforeIwashalfwayhometherewouldnotbe apetal left.This extreme frailtyor sensitivenessused toinfectmewith the notion that this flowerwas somethingmore than amereflower, something like a sentientbeing, and that it hada feeling in itwhichcaused it todrop itsshiningpetalsandperishwhenremovedfromitsparentrootandhome.

One day in the plant's blossoming time, I was slowly walking my ponythroughthedarkbottle-greentufts,whenabigyellowish-tawnyowlgotupayardorsofromthehoofs,andIinstantlyrecognizeditasthesamesortofbirdas ourmysterious pigeon-killer.And there on the groundwhere it had beenwasitsnest,justaslightdepressionwithafewdrybentsbywayofliningandfiveroundwhiteeggs.FromthattimeIwasafrequentvisitortotheowls,andfor three summers they bred at the same spot in spite of the anxiety theysufferedonmyaccount,andIsawandgrewfamiliarwiththeirquaint-lookingyoung,clothedinwhitedownandwithlongnarrowpointedheadsmoreliketheheadsofaquaticbirdsthanofround-headedflat-facedowls.

Later, I became even better acquaintedwith the short-eared owl. A year orseveralyearswouldsometimespasswithoutonebeingseen, thenallatoncetheywouldcomeinnumbers,andthiswasalwayswhentherehadbeenagreatincreaseinfieldmiceandothersmallrodents,andtheowlpopulationalloverthecountryhadinsomemysteriouswaybecomeawareoftheabundanceandhadcometogettheirshareofit.Atthesetimesyoucouldseetheowlsabroadinthelateafternoon,beforesunset,inquestofprey,quarteringthegroundlikeharriers,anddroppingsuddenlyintothegrassatintervals,whileatdarktheairresounded with their solemn hooting, a sound as of a deep-voiced mastiffbayingatagreatdistance.

AsIhavementionedourfamouspigeon-pies,whendescribingthedovecote,Imayaswellconcludethischapterwithafulleraccountofourwayoflivingastofood,afascinatingsubjecttomostpersons.Thepsychologiststellusasadtruthwhentheysaythattaste,beingthelowestorleastintellectualofourfivesenses, is incapableofregisteringimpressionsonthemind;consequentlywecannotrecallorrecovervanishedflavoursaswecanrecover,andmentallyseeandhear, longpast sightsandsounds.Smells, too,whenweceasesmelling,vanishandreturnnot,onlywerememberthatblossomingorangegrovewhereweoncewalked,andbedsofwildthymeandpenny-royalwhenwesatonthegrass,alsofloweringbeanandlucernefields,filledandfedus,bodyandsoul,withdeliciousperfumes.Inlikemannerwecanrecollect thegoodthingsweconsumed longyearsago—the thingswecannoteatnowbecausewearenolonger capable of digesting and assimilating them; it is like recalling pastperilousadventuresbylandandwaterinthebraveyoungdayswhenweloved

danger for its own sake. There was, for example, the salad of cold slicedpotatoes and onions, drenched in oil and vinegar, a glorious dishwith coldmeattogotobedon!Alsohotmaize-mealcakeseatenwithsyrupatbreakfast,and other injudicious cakes. As a rule it was a hot breakfast and middaydinner;anafternoontea,withhotbreadandsconesandpeach-preserve,andalatecold supper.Forbreakfast,muttoncutlets, coffee, and thingsmadewithmaize.Eggswereplentiful—eggsoffowl,duck,goose,andwildfowl'seggs—wild duck and plover in their season. In spring—August toOctober—weoccasionally had an ostrich or rhea's egg in the form of a huge omelette atbreakfast, and it was very good. The common nativeway of cooking it bythrustingarodheatedredthroughtheegg,thenburyingitinthehotashestocompletethecooking,didnotcommenditself tous.FromtheendofJulytotheendofSeptemberwefeastedonplovers'eggsatbreakfast.Inappearanceand taste they were precisely like our lapwings' eggs, only larger, theArgentine lapwing being a bigger bird than its European cousin. In thosedistant days the birdswere excessively abundant all over the pampaswheresheepwerepastured, forat that time therewere few toshootwildbirdsandnobodyever thoughtofkilling a lapwing for the table.Thecountryhadnotthenbeenoverrunbybird-destroyingimmigrantsfromEurope,especiallybyItalians. Outside of the sheep zone in the exclusively cattle-raising country,where the rough pampas grasses and herbage had not been eaten down, theploverweresparselydistributed.

I remember thatoneday,when Iwas thirteen, Iwentoutonemorningafterbreakfast tolookforplovers'eggs, justat thebeginningofthelayingseasonwhenall theeggsonefoundwerepracticallynew-laid.Myplanwasthatofthe native boys, to go at a fast gallop over the plain andmark the spot faraheadwherealapwingwasseentoriseandflystraightawaytosomedistance.Forthismethodsometrainingisnecessarytosuccess,asinmanycasesmorebirdsthanone—sometimesasmanyasthreeorfour—wouldbeseentoriseatvarious points and distances, and one had tomark and keep inmemory theexactspotstovisitthemsuccessivelyandfindthenests.TheEnglishmethodof going out and quartering the ground in search of a nest in likely placeswherethebirdsbreedwastooslowforus.

ThenestsIfoundthatmorningcontainedoneortwoandsometimesthreeeggs—veryrarelythefullclutchoffour.BeforemiddayIhadgotbackwithabagofsixty-foureggs;andthatwasthelargestnumberIevergatheredatonetime.

Our dinner consisted ofmeat and pumpkin, boiled or baked,maize "in themilk"initsseasonandsweetpotatoes,besidestheothercommonvegetablesand salads.Maize-meal puddings and pumpkin pies and tartswere commonwithus,butthesweetwelovedbestwasapeach-pie,madelikeanapple-pie

withacrust,andthesecameinaboutthemiddleofFebruaryandlasteduntilApril or evenMay, when our late variety, whichwe called "winter peach,"ripened.

Mymotherwasacleverandthriftyhousekeeper,andIthinkshemademoreofthe peach than any other resident in the countrywho possessed an orchard.Herpeachpreserves,which lastedus theyear round,werecelebrated inourneighbourhood.Peachpreserveswere inmostEnglishhouses,butourhousewasaloneinmakingpickledpeaches:Ithinkthiswasaninventionofherown;Idonotknow if it has takenon,butwealwayshadpickledpeacheson thetableandpreferredthemtoallotherkinds,andsodideverypersonwhotastedthem.

Ihererecallanamusingincidentwithregardtoourpickledpeaches,andwillrelate it just because it serves to bring in yet another of our old nativeneighbours.Ineverthoughtofhimwhendescribingtheothers,ashewasnotso near us andwe saw little of him and his people.His namewasBenturaGutierres, and he called himself an estanciero—a landowner and head of acattleestablishment;buttherewasverylittlelandleftandpracticallynocattle—only a few cows, a few sheep, a few horses. His estate had been longcrumblingawayandtherewashardlyanythingleft;buthewasabravespiritandhadagenial,breezymanner,anddressedwellintheEuropeanmode,withtrousersandcoatandwaistcoat—this lastgarmentbeingof satinandaverybrightblue.Andhetalkedincessantlyofhispossessions:hishouse,histrees,his animals, hiswife and daughters. And hewas immensely popular in theneighbourhood, no doubt because he was the father of four rather good-looking,marriageablegirls;andashekeptopenhousehiskitchenwasalwaysfull ofvisitors,mostlyyoungmen,who sippedmateby thehour, andmadethemselvesagreeabletothegirls.

OneofDonVentura'smostdelightfultraits—thatis,tousyoungpeople—washis loud voice. I think it was a convention in those days for estancieros orcattlementoraisetheirvoicesaccordingtotheirimportanceinthecommunity.Whenseveralgauchosaregallopingovertheplain,chasinghorses,huntingormarkingcattle,theonewhoisheadofthegangshoutshisdirectionsatthetopof his voice. Probably in this way the habit of shouting at all times bylandownersandpersonsinauthorityhadbeenacquired.Andsoitpleasedusvery much when Don Ventura came one evening to see my father andconsentedtositdowntopartakeofsupperwithus.Welovedtolistentohisshoutedconversation.

Myparentsapologizedforhavingnothingbutcoldmeatstoputbeforehim—cold shoulder of mutton, a bird, and pickles, cold pie and so on. True, hereplied, coldmeat is never or rarely eaten byman on the plains. People do

havecoldmeatinthehouse,butthatasaruleiswheretherearechildren,forwhenachildishungry,andcriesforfood,hismothergiveshimaboneofcoldmeat, just as in other countries where bread is common you give a child apieceofbread.

However,hewouldtrycoldmeatforonce.It lookedtohimas if therewereother things to eat on the table. "And what is this?" he shouted, pointingdramaticallyatadishoflarge,verygreen-lookingpickledpeaches.Peaches—peachesinwinter!Thisisstrangeindeed!

Itwas explained to him that theywere pickled peaches, and that itwas thecustomofthehousetohavethemonthetableatsupper.Hetriedonewithhiscoldmutton,andwaspresentlyassuringmyparentsthatneverinhislifehadhepartakenofanythingsogood—sotasty,soappetizing,andwhetherornotitwas because of the pickled peaches, or some quality in our mutton whichmadeitunlikeallothermutton,hehadneverenjoyedamealasmuch.Whathewantedtoknowwashowthethingwasdone.Hewastoldthatlarge,soundfruit, just ripening, must be selected for pickling; when the finger dents apeachitistooripe.Theselectedpeachesarewashedanddriedandputintoacask,thenboilingvinegar,withahandfulofclovesispouredintill itcoversthe fruit, thecaskclosedand left foracoupleofmonths,bywhich time thefruitwouldbeproperlypickled.Twoorthreecasks-fullwerepreparedinthiswayeachseasonandservedusfortheentireyear.

Itwasarevelation,hesaid,andlamentedthatheandhispeoplehadnotthissecret before. He, too, had a peach orchard, andwhen the fruit ripened hisfamily, assisted by all their neighbours, feasted from morning till night onpeaches, and hardly left room in their stomachs for roastmeatwhen itwasdinner-time.Theconsequencewasthatinaveryfewweeks—hecouldalmostsaydays—thefruitwasallgone,andtheyhadtosay,"Nomorepeachesforanothertwelvemonths!"Allthatwouldnowbechanged.Hewouldcommandhiswifeanddaughters topicklepeaches—acask-full,or twoor three ifonewould not be enough. He would provide vinegar—many gallons of it, andclovesbythehandful.Andwhentheyhadgottheirpickledpeacheshewouldhavecoldmuttonforsuppereverydayalltheyearround,andenjoyhislifeashehadneverdonebefore!

This amused us very much, as we knew that poor Don Ventura,notwithstandinghis loudcommandingvoice,had littleornoauthority inhishouse;thatitwasruledbyhiswife,assistedbyacounciloffourmarriageabledaughters, whose present objects in life were little dances and otheramusements,andloverswithcourageenoughtomarrythemorcarrythemoff.

CHAPTERXV

SERPENTANDCHILD

My pleasure in bird life—Mammals at our new home—Snakes and howchildrenaretaughttoregardthem—Acolonyofsnakesinthehouse—Theirhissing confabulations—Finding serpent sloughs—A serpent's saviour—AbriefhistoryofourEnglishneighbours,theBlakes.

It is not an uncommon thing, I fancy, for a child or boy to bemore deeplyimpressedandstirredatthesightofasnakethanofanyothercreature.Thisatalleventsismyexperience.Birdscertainlygavememorepleasurethanotheranimals,andthistooisnodoubtcommonwithchildren,andItakethereasonofittobenotonlybecausebirdsexceedinbeauty,butalsoonaccountoftheintensityof life theyexhibit—a life sovivid, sobrilliant, as tomake thatofother beings, such as reptiles and mammals, seem a rather poor thing bycomparison.Butwhilebirdsweremorethanallotherbeingstome,mammalstoo had a great attraction. I have already spoken of rats, opossums, andarmadillos; also of the vizcacha, the big burrowing rodent that made hisvillagesallovertheplain.Oneofmyearlyexperiencesisofthetremendousoutcry these animalswouldmake at nightwhen suddenly startledby a veryloud noise, as by a clap of thunder. When we had visitors from town,especially persons new to the countrywho did not know the vizcacha, theywould be taken out after supper, a little distance from the house, when theplain was all dark and profoundly silent, and after standing still for a fewminutestogivethemtimetofeelthesilence,agunwouldbedischarged,andafter twoor threeseconds the reportwouldbe followedbyanextraordinaryhullabaloo,awildoutcryofhundredsandthousandsofvoices,fromalloverthe plain for miles round, voices that seemed to come from hundreds ofdifferent speciesof animals, sovaried theywere, from thedeepestboomingsoundstothehighshrieksandsquealsofshrill-voicedbirds.Ourvisitorsusedtobefilledwithastonishment.

Anotheranimal that impressedusdeeplyandpainfullywas the skunk.Theywere fearless littlebeastsand in theeveningwouldcomequiteboldlyaboutthehouse,and if seenandattackedbyadog, theywoulddefend themselveswiththeawful-smellingliquidtheydischargeatanadversary.Whenthewindbrought awhiff of it into the house,when all the doors andwindows stoodopen, itwouldcreate apanic, andpeoplewouldgetup from table feelingalittle sea-sick, and go in search of some room where the smell was not.Anotherpowerful-smellingbutverybeautifulcreaturewasthecommondeer.I

begantoknowit fromtheageoffive,whenwewent toournewhome,andwhere we children were sometimes driven with our parents to visit someneighboursseveralmilesaway.Therewerealwaysherdsofdeeronthelandswherethecardoonthistleflourishedmost,anditwasadelighttocomeuponthemand tosee theiryellowfiguresstandingamong thegrey-greencardoonbushes, gazing motionless at us, then turning and rushing away with awhistlingcry,andsendingoutgustsoftheirpowerfulmuskysmell,whichthewindsometimesbroughttoournostrils.

Buttherewasasomethingintheserpentwhichproducedaquitedifferentandastrongereffectonthemindthanbirdormammaloranyothercreature.Thesight of itwas always startling, and however often seen always produced amixedsenseofamazementandfear.Thefeelingwasnodoubtacquiredfromourelders.Theyregardedsnakesasdeadlycreatures,andasachildIdidnotknowthattheyweremostlyharmless,thatitwasjustassenselesstokillthemas tokillharmlessandbeautifulbirds. Iwas told thatwhen I sawa snake ImustturnandrunformylifeuntilIwasalittlebigger,andthenonseeingasnakeIwastogetalongstickandkillit;anditwasfurthermoreimpressedonmethatsnakesareexceedinglydifficulttokill,thatmanypersonsbelievethatasnakeneverreallydiesuntilthesunsets,thereforewhenIkilledasnake,inordertomakeitpowerlesstodoanyharmbetweenthetimeofkillingitandsunset,itwasnecessarytopoundittoapulpwiththeaforesaidlongstick.

With such teaching itwas not strange that even as a small boy I became apersecutorofsnakes.

Snakes were common enough about us; snakes of seven or eight differentkinds, green in the green grass, and yellow and dusky-mottled in dry andbarrenplacesandinwitheredherbage,sothatitwasdifficulttodetectthem.Sometimestheyintrudedintothedwelling-rooms,andatallseasonsanestorcolonyofsnakesexistedinthethickoldfoundationsofthehouse,andundertheflooring. Inwinter theyhibernated there, tangled together inaclusternodoubt;andinsummernightswhentheywereathome,coiledattheireaseorglidingghost-likeabouttheirsubterraneanapartments,Iwouldlieawakeandlisten to them by the hour. For although it may be news to some closetophiologists,serpentsarenotallsomuteaswethinkthem.Atalleventsthiskind,thePhilodryasaestivus—abeautifulandharmlesscolubrinesnake,twoandahalftothreefeetlong,markedalloverwithinkyblackonavividgreenground—not only emitted a sound when lying undisturbed in his den, butseveralindividualswouldholdaconversationtogetherwhichseemedendless,forIgenerallyfellasleepbeforeitfinished.Ahissingconversationitistrue,but not unmodulated or without considerable variety in it; a long sibilationwould be followed by distinctly-heard ticking sounds, as of a husky-ticking

clock,andaftertenortwentyorthirtyticksanotherhiss,likealongexpiringsigh, sometimeswitha tremble in it asof adry leaf swiftlyvibrating in thewind.Nosoonerwouldoneceasethananotherwouldbegin;andsoitwouldgoon,demandand response, stropheandantistrope;andat intervals severalvoiceswoulduniteinakindoflowmysteriouschorus,death-watchandflutterandhiss;whileI,lyingawakeinmybed,listenedandtrembled.Itwasdarkintheroom,andtomyexcitedimaginationtheserpentswerenolongerunderthefloor,butout,glidinghitherandthitheroverit,withupliftedheadsinakindofmysticdance;andIoftenshiveredtothinkwhatmybarefeetmighttouchifIweretothrustalegoutandletithangdownoverthebedside.

"I'm shut in a dark roomwith the candle blown out," pathetically cried oldFarmerFleming,whenheheardofhisbeautifuldaughterDahlia'sclandestinedeparturetoadistantlandwithanamelesslover."I'veheardofasortoffearyouhaveinthatdilemma,lestyoushouldlayyourfingersonedgesofsharpknives,andifIthinkastep—ifIgothinkingastep,andfeelmyway,Idocutmyself, and I bleed, I do."Only in a comparatively snakeless country couldsuch fancies be born and such metaphors used—snakeless and highlycivilized,wherethebladesofSheffieldarecheapandabundant.Inruderlands,whereophidiansabound,asinIndiaandSouthAmerica,inthedarkonefearsthecoldlivingcoilanddeadlysuddenfang.

Serpentswere fearful things tome at that period; butwhatsoever is terribleand dangerous, or so reported, has an irresistible attraction for the mind,whether of child orman; itwas therefore always a pleasure to have seen asnakeintheday'srambles,althoughthesightwasastartlingone.Alsointhewarmseasonitwasakeenpleasuretofindthecastsloughofthefearedandsubtlecreature.Herewassomethingnottheserpent,yetsomuchmorethanamerepictureofit;adeadandcast-offpartofit,butinitscompleteness,fromthe segmentedmaskwith thebrightunseeingeyes, to the finewhip-like tailend,soliketheserpentitself;Icouldhandleit,handletheserpentasitwere,yet be in no danger from venomous tooth or stinging tongue. True, it wascolourless,butsilverybright,softassatintothetouch,crinklingwhenhandledwithasoundthattothestartledfancyrecalledthedangerouslivinghissfromthedryrustlinggrass!Iwouldclutchmyprizewithafearful joy,as ifIhadpickedup a strange feather dropped in passing from thewingof oneof thefallenbutstillbeautifulangels.Anditalwaysincreasedmysatisfactionwhen,onexhibitingmytreasureathome,thefirstsightofitcausedavisiblestartoranexclamationofalarm.

Whenmy courage and strengthwere sufficient I naturally began to take anactivepartinthepersecutionofserpents;forwasnotIalsooftheseedofEve?NorcanIsaywhenmyfeelingstowardsourbruisedenemybegantochange;

butanincidentwhichIwitnessedatthistime,whenIwasabouteight,had,Ithink,aconsiderableinfluenceonme.Atalleventsitcausedmetoreflectonasubject which had not previously seemed one for reflection. I was in theorchard,followingintherearofapartyofgrown-uppersons,mostlyvisitorsto thehouse;whenamongtheforemost thereweresuddenscreams,gesturesof alarm, and aprecipitate retreat: a snakehadbeendiscovered lying in thepath and almost trodden upon. One of the men, the first to find a stick orperhaps the most courageous, rushed to the front and was about to deal akilling blow when his arm was seized by one of the ladies and the blowarrested.Then, stooping quickly, she took the creature up in her hands, andgoing away to some distance from the others, released it in the long greengrass,greenincolourasitsglitteringskinandascooltothetouch.Longagoasthishappeneditisjustasvividtomymindasifithadhappenedyesterday.I can see her coming back to us through the orchard trees, her face shiningwithjoybecauseshehadrescuedthereptilefromimminentdeath,herreturngreeted with loud expressions of horror and amazement, which she onlyansweredwitha little laughand thequestion,"Whyshouldyoukill it?"Butwhywassheglad,soinnocentlygladasitseemedtome,asifshehaddonesome meritorious and no evil thing? My young mind was troubled at thequestion,andtherewasnoanswer.Nevertheless,Ithinkthatthisincidentborefruit later, and taughtme toconsiderwhether itmightnotbebetter to sparethantokill;betternotonlyfortheanimalspared,butforthesoul.

And the woman who did this unusual thing and in doing it unknowinglydroppedaminuteseedintoaboy'smind,whowasshe?Perhapsitwouldbeaswelltogiveabriefaccountofher,althoughIthoughtthatIhadfinishedwiththe subject of our neighbours.She andher husband, amannamedMatthewBlake,wereoursecondnearestEnglishneighbours,buttheylivedagooddealfurther than the Royds and were seldom visited by us. To me there wasnothinginterestinginthemandtheirsurroundings,astheyhadnofamilyandnopeoplebutthenativepeonsaboutthem,and,aboveall,noplantationwherebirds could be seen. Theywere typical English people of the lowermiddleclass, who read no books and conversed, with considerable misuse of theaspirate,aboutnothingbuttheirownandtheirneighbours'affairs.PhysicallyMr.Blakewasaverybigman,beingsixfeet three inheightandpowerfullybuilt. He had a round ruddy face, clean-shaved except for a pair of side-whiskers, and pale-blue shallow eyes. He was invariably dressed in blackcloth,hisgarmentsbeinghome-madeandtoolargeforhim,thebaggytrousersthrust into his long boots.Mr.Blakewas nothing to us but a huge, serious,somewhatsilentmanwhotooknonoticeofsmallboys,andwasclumsyandawkward and spoke very bad Spanish. He was well spoken of by hisneighbours,andwasregardedasahighlyrespectableanddignifiedperson,buthehadnointimatesandwasoneofthoseunfortunatepersons,notrareamong

theEnglish,whoappeartostandbehindahighwalland,whethertheydesireitornot,havenopowertoapproachandmixwiththeirfellow-beings.

I thinkhewasabout forty-five to fiftyyearsoldwhenIwaseight.Hiswifelookedolderandwasashortungracefulwomanwithastoop,wearingasun-bonnet and sack and a faded gownmade by herself.Her thin hairwas of ayellowish-grey tint,hereyespaleblue, and therewasa sunburnt rednessonhercheeks,butthefacehadafadedandwearylook.Butshewasbetterthanhergianthusbandandwasgladtoassociatewithherfellows,andwasalsoalover of animals—horses, dogs, cats, and any and every wild creature thatcameinherway.

TheBlakeshadbeenmarriedaquarterofacenturyorlongerandhadspentatleasttwentyyearsoftheirchildlesssolitarylifeinamud-builtranch,sheep-farmingonthepampas,andhadslowlyaccumulatedasmallfortune,untilnowtheywerepossessedofaboutasquare leagueof landwith25,000or30,000sheep, andhadbuilt themselves abiguglybrickhouse to live in.Theyhadthus secured theprize forwhich theyhadgone somany thousandsofmilesandhadtoiledforsomanyyears,buttheywerecertainlynothappy.PoorMr.Blake,cutofffromhisfellow-creaturesbythatwallthatstoodbeforehim,hadfound companionship in the bottle, and was seen less and less of by hisneighbours;andwhenhiswifecame tous tospend twoor threedays"forachange,"althoughherhomewasonlyacoupleofhours'rideaway,thereasonprobablywasthatherhusbandwasinoneofhisboutsandhadmadetheplaceintolerabletoher.Irememberthatshealwayscametouswithasad,depressedlookonherface,butafterafewhoursshewouldrecoverherspiritsandgrowquite cheerful and talkative. And of an evening when there was music shewouldsometimesconsent,aftersomepersuasion,togivethecompanyasong.Thatwasajoytousyoungsters,asshehadathincrackedvoicethatalwaysatthe high noteswent off into a falsetto.Her favourite airwas "Home, sweetHome,"andherrenderinginherwailingcrackedvoicewasasgreatafeasttousasthestrangelaughofourgrotesqueneighbourGandara.

AndthatisallIcansayabouther.ButnowwhenIrememberthatepisodeofthesnakeintheorchard,shelookstomenotunbeautifulinmemory,andhervoiceinthechoirinvisiblesoundssweetenough.

CHAPTERXVI

ASERPENTMYSTERY

A new feeling about snakes—Common snakes of the country—A barrenweedy patch—Discovery of a large black snake—Watching for itsreappearance—Seen going to its den—The desire to see it again—A vainsearch—Watchingabat—Theblackserpentreappearsatmyfeet—Emotionsand conjectures—Melanism—My baby sister and a strange snake—Themysterysolved.

Itwasnotuntilaftertheepisoderelatedinthelastchapterandthediscoverythat a serpent was not necessarily dangerous to human beings, therefore acreaturetobedestroyedatsightandpoundedtoapulplestitshouldsurviveand escape before sunset, that I began to appreciate its unique beauty andsingularity. Then, somewhat later, I met with an adventure which producedanotherandanewfeelinginme,thatsenseofsomethingsupernatural intheserpentwhich appears to have been universal among peoples in a primitivestate of culture and still survives in some barbarous or semi-barbarouscountries, and in others, like Hindustan, which have inherited an ancientcivilization.

The snakes I was familiar with as a boy up to this time were all ofcomparatively small size, the largestbeing the snake-with-a-cross, describedinanearlychapter.ThebiggestspecimenIhaveeverfoundof thisophidianwas under four feet in length; but the body is thick, as in all the pit vipers.Then, therewas the green-and-black snake described in the last chapter, aninhabitantofthehouse,whichseldomexceededthreefeet;andanotherofthesamegenus,themostcommonsnakeinthecountry.Oneseldomtookawalkorrideontheplainwithoutseeingit.Itwasinsizeandshapelikeourcommongrass-snake, and was formerly classed by naturalists in the same genus,Coronella. It is quite beautiful, the pale greenish-grey body, mottled withblack, beingdecoratedwith twoparallel bright red lines extending from thenecktothetipofthefine-pointedtail.Oftheothersthemostinterestingwasastillsmallersnake,brightlycoloured,thebellywithalternatebandsofcrimsonand bright blue. This snake was regarded by every one as exceedinglyvenomousandmostdangerousonaccountofitsirascibletemperandhabitofcomingatyouandhissingloudly,itsheadandneckraised,andstrikingatyourlegs.Butthiswasallswaggeronthesnake'spart:itwasnotvenomousatall,andcoulddonomoreharmbybitingthanayoungdoveinitsnestbypuffingitselfupandstrikingatanintrusivehandwithitssoftbeak.

ThenonedayIcameuponasnakequiteunknowntome:Ihadneverheardoftheexistenceofsuchasnakeinourparts,andIimagineitsappearancewouldhave strongly affected any one in any land, even in those abounding in bigsnakes.Thespot, too, inourplantation,whereI found it, served tomake itssingularappearancemoreimpressive.

Thereexistedatthattimeasmallpieceofwastegroundabouthalfanacreinextent,where therewereno trees andwherenothingplantedbymanwouldgrow.Itwasatthefarendoftheplantation,adjoiningthethicketoffennelandthebigredwillowtreeontheedgeofthemoatdescribedinanotherchapter.Thisgroundhadbeenploughedanddugupagainandagain,andplantedwithtreesandshrubsofvariouskindswhichweresupposed togrowonanysoil,buttheyhadalwayslanguishedanddied,andnowonder,sincethesoilwasahard white clay resembling china clay. But although trees refused to growthereitwasalwaysclothedinavegetationofitsown;all thehardiestweedswerethere,andcoveredtheentirebarrenareatothedepthofaman'sknees.These weeds had thin wiry stalks and small sickly leaves and flowers, andwoulddie each summer longbefore their time.This barrenpieceof groundhadagreatattractionformeasasmallboy,andIvisiteditdailyandwouldroamabout itamong themiserablehalf-deadweedswith thesun-bakedclayshowingbetweenthebrownstalks,asifitdelightedmeasmuchasthealfalfafield,blueandfragrantinitsflowering-timeandswarmingwithbutterflies.

OnehotdayinDecemberIhadbeenstandingperfectlystillforafewminutesamong thedryweedswhena slight rustling soundcame fromnearmy feet,andglancingdownIsawtheheadandneckofa largeblackserpentmovingslowlypastme.Inamomentortwotheflatheadwaslosttosightamongtheclose-growing weeds, but the long body continued moving slowly by—soslowlythatithardlyappearedtomove,andasthecreaturemusthavebeennotless than six feet long, andprobablymore, it tookavery long time,while Istood thrilledwith terror,notdaring tomake theslightestmovement,gazingdownuponit.Althoughsolongitwasnotathicksnake,andasitmovedonover thewhiteground it had the appearanceof a coal-black current flowingpastme—acurrentnotofwaterorother liquidbutofsomesuchelementasquicksilvermovingoninarope-likestream.Atlastitvanished,andturningIfled fromtheground, thinking thatneveragainwould Iventure intoornearthatfrightfullydangerousspotinspiteofitsfascination.

Nevertheless I did venture. The image of that blackmysterious serpentwasalways inmymind from themoment ofwaking in themorning until I fellasleepatnight.YetIneversaidawordaboutthesnaketoanyone:itwasmysecret,andIknewitwasadangeroussecret,butIdidnotwanttobetoldnottovisitthatspotagain.AndIsimplycouldnotkeepawayfromit;thedesiretolookagainatthatstrangebeingwastoostrong.Ibegantovisittheplaceagain,dayafterday,andwouldhangaboutthebordersofthebarrenweedygroundwatching and listening, and still no black serpent appeared. Then one day Iventured, though in fearand trembling, togoright inamong theweeds,andstill finding nothing began to advance step by step until I was right in themiddle of the weedy ground and stood there a long time, waiting and

watching.All Iwantedwas just tosee itoncemore,and Ihadmadeupmymindthatimmediatelyonitsappearance,ifitdidappear,Iwouldtaketomyheels. It was when standing in this central spot that once again that slightrustlingsound,likethatofafewdaysbefore,reachedmystrainingsenseandsent an icy chill down my back. And there, within six inches of my toes,appeared the black head and neck, followed by the long, seemingly endlessbody.Idarednotmove,sincetohaveattemptedflightmighthavebeenfatal.Theweedswerethinnesthere,andtheblackheadandslow-movingblackcoilcouldbefollowedbytheeyeforalittledistance.Aboutayardfrommetherewasaholeinthegroundaboutthecircumferenceofabreakfast-cupatthetop,andintothisholetheserpentputhisheadandslowly,slowlydrewhimselfin,whileIstoodwaitinguntil thewholebodytothetipofthetailhadvanishedandalldangerwasover.

Ihadseenmywonderfulcreature,myblackserpentunlikeanyserpentintheland,andtheexcitementfollowingthefirstthrillofterrorwasstillonme,butIwasconsciousofanelementofdelightinit,andIwouldnotnowresolvenottovisit thespotagain.Still, Iwas in fear,andkeptaway threeor fourdays.Thinkingabout thesnakeIformedtheconclusionthat theholehehadtakenrefugeinwashisden,wherehelived,thathewasoftenoutroamingaboutinsearch of prey, and could hear footsteps at a considerable distance, and thatwhenIwalkedaboutatthatspotmyfootstepsdisturbedhimandcausedhimtogostraighttohisholetohidehimselffromapossibledanger.ItstruckmethatifIwenttothemiddleofthegroundandstationedmyselfnearthehole,Iwouldbe sure to seehim. Itwould indeedbedifficult to seehimanyotherway,sinceonecouldneverknowinwhichdirectionhehadgoneouttoseekfor food. But no, it was too dangerous: the serpent might come upon meunawaresandwouldprobablyresentalwaysfindingaboyhangingabouthisden.Still,IcouldnotenduretothinkIhadseenthelastofhim,anddayafterdayIcontinuedtohauntthespot,andgoingafewyardsintothelittleweedywilderness would stand and peer, and at the slightest rustling sound of aninsectorfallingleafwouldexperienceathrilloffearfuljoy,andstilltheblackmajesticalcreaturefailedtoappear.

One day in my eagerness and impatience I pushed my way through thecrowded weeds right to the middle of the ground and gazed with a mixeddelightandfearatthehole:wouldhefindmethere,asonaformeroccasion?Wouldhecome?Iheldmybreath,Istrainedmysightandhearinginvain,thehopeandfearofhisappearancegraduallydiedout,andIlefttheplacebitterlydisappointed and walked to a spot about fifty yards away, where mulberrytreesgrewontheslopeofthemoundinsidethemoat.

LookingupintothemassesofbigclusteringleavesovermyheadIspiedabat

hangingsuspended froma twig.Thebats, Imustexplain, in thatpartof theworld,thatillimitableplainwheretherewerenocavernsandoldbuildingsandotherdarkplacestohideinbyday,arenotsointolerantofthebrightlightasinotherlands.Theydonotcomeforthuntilevening,butbydaytheyarecontenttohitchthemselvestothetwigofatreeunderathickclusterofleavesandrestthereuntilitisdark.

Gazingupatthisbatsuspendedunderabiggreenleaf,wrappedinhisblackandbuff-colouredwingsasinamantle,Iforgotmydisappointment,forgottheserpent,andwassoentirelytakenupwiththebatthatIpaidnoattentiontoasensationlikeapressureoradullpainontheinstepofmyrightfoot.ThenthefeelingofpressureincreasedandwasverycuriousandwasasifIhadaheavyobjectlikeacrowbarlyingacrossmyfoot,andatlengthIlookeddownatmyfeet, and to my amazement and horror spied the great black snake slowlydrawing his long coil acrossmy instep! I dared notmove, but gazed downfascinatedwith the sight of that glistening black cylindrical body drawn soslowlyovermyfoot.Hehadcomeoutofthemoat,whichwasriddledatthesideswithrat-holes,andhadmostprobablybeentherehuntingforratswhenmy wandering footsteps disturbed him and sent him home to his den; andmaking straight for it, as hiswaywas, he came tomy foot, and instead ofgoingrounddrewhimselfoverit.AfterthefirstspasmofterrorIknewIwasperfectlysafe,thathewouldnotturnuponmesolongasIremainedquiescent,andwouldpresentlybegonefromsight.Andthatwasmylastsightofhim;invain Iwatched andwaited for him to appearonmany subsequent days: butthatlastencounterhadleftinmeasenseofamysteriousbeing,dangerousonoccasionaswhenattackedorinsulted,andableinsomecasestoinflictdeathwith a sudden blow, but harmless and even friendly or beneficent towardsthosewhoregardeditwithkindlyandreverentfeelingsinplaceofhatred.Itisinpart thefeelingof theHindoowithregard to thecobrawhich inhabitshishouseandmayonedayaccidentlycausehisdeath,butisnottobepersecuted.

Possiblysomethingof that feelingabout serpentshas survived inme;but intime,asmycuriosityaboutallwildcreaturesgrew,asIlookedmoreonthemwiththenaturalist'seyes,themysteryofthelargeblacksnakepressedforananswer.Itseemedimpossibletobelievethatanyspeciesofsnakeoflargesizeand black as jet or anthracite coal in colour could exist in any inhabitedcountrywithoutbeingknown,yetnopersonIinterrogatedonthesubjecthadever seenorheardof suchanophidian.Theonlyconclusionappeared tobethatthissnakewasthesoleoneofitskindintheland.EventuallyIheardofthephenomenonofmelanism inanimals, less rare insnakesperhaps than inanimals of other classes, and I was satisfied that the problem was partlysolved.Myserpentwasablackindividualofaspeciesofsomeothercolour.Butitwasnotoneofourcommonspecies-notoneofthoseIknew.Itwasnot

a thick blunt-bodied serpent like our venomous pit-viper, our largest snake,andthoughinshapeitconformedtoourtwocommonharmlessspeciesitwastwiceasbigasthebiggestspecimensIhadeverseenofthem.ThenIrecalledthat two years beforemy discovery of the black snake, our house had beenvisitedbyalargeunknownsnakewhichmeasuredtwoorthreeinchesoversixfeetandwassimilar in form tomyblackserpent.Thecolourof thisstrangeand unwelcome visitor was a pale greenish grey, with numerous dull blackmottlingsandsmallspots.Thestoryofitsappearanceisperhapsworthgiving.

IthappenedthatIhadababysisterwhocouldjusttoddleaboutontwolegs,havingpreviouslygoneon all-fours.Onemidsummerday shewas takenupandputonarugintheshadeofatree,twenty-fiveyardsfromthesitting-roomdoor,andleftalonetheretoamuseherselfwithherdollsandtoys.Afterhalfanhourorsosheappearedat thedoorof thesitting-roomwherehermotherwasatwork,andstandingtherewithwide-openastonishedeyesandmovingher hand and armas if to point to theplace she came from, sheuttered themysterious word ku-ku. It is a wonderful word which the southern SouthAmericanmotherteachesherchildfromthemomentitbeginstotoddle,andisuseful in a desert and sparsely inhabited countrywherebiting, stinging, andotherinjuriouscreaturesarecommon.Forbabieswhentheylearntocrawlandtowalkareeagertoinvestigateandhavenonaturalsenseofdanger.Takeasanillustrationthecaseofthegigantichairybrownspider,whichisexcessivelyabundantinsummerandhasthehabitofwanderingaboutasifalwaysseekingsomething— "something it cannot find, it knows not what"; and in thesewanderingsitcomesinat theopendoorandramblesabout theroom.Atthesightofsuchacreaturethebabyissnatchedupwiththecryofku-kuandtheintruder slainwith a broomor otherweapon and thrownout.Ku-kumeansdangerous,andtheterrifiedgesturesandtheexpressionofthenurseormotherwhenusingthewordsinkintotheinfantmind,andwhenthatsoundorwordisheard there is an instant response, as in the case of a warning note or cryutteredbyaparentbirdwhichcausestheyoungtoflyawayorcrouchdownandhide.

Thechild'sgesturesandtheworditusedcausedhermothertoruntothespotwhere it had been left in the shade, and to her horror she saw there a hugeserpentcoiledupinthemiddleoftherug.Hercriesbroughtmyfatheronthescene,andseizingabigstickhepromptlydispatchedthesnake.

Thechild,saideverybody,hadhadamarvellousescape,andasshehadneverpreviouslyseenasnakeandcouldnotintuitivelyknowitasdangerous,orku-ku,itwasconjecturedthatshehadmadesomegestureorattemptedtopushthesnake awaywhen it cameon to the rug, and that it had reared its head andstruckviciouslyather.

RecallingthisincidentIconcludedthatthisunknownserpent,whichhadbeenkilledbecause itwanted tosharemybabysister's rug,andmyblackserpentwereoneandthesamespecies—possiblytheyhadbeenmates—andthattheyhad strayed a distance away from their native place or else were the lastsurvivorsofacolonyoftheirkindinourplantation.ItwasnotuntiltwelveorfourteenyearslaterthatIdiscoveredthatitwasevenasIhadconjectured.Atadistanceofaboutfortymilesfrommyhome,orratherfromthehomeofmyboyhood where I no longer lived, I found a snake that was new to me,thePhilodryas scotti of naturalists, a not uncommon Argentine snake, andrecognized it as the same species as the one found coiled up on my littlesister's rug and presumably as my mysterious black serpent. Some of thespecimenswhichImeasuredexceededsixfeetinlength.

CHAPTERXVII

ABOY'SANIMISM

The animistic faculty and its survival in us—A boy's animism and itspersistence—Impossibility of seeing our past exactly as it was—SergeAksakoff's history of his childhood—The child's delight in nature purelyphysical—First intimations of animism in the child—How it affectedme—Feeling with regard to flowers—A flower and my mother— History of aflower—Animismwithregardtotrees—Locust-treesbymoonlight—Animismand nature-worship—Animistic emotion not uncommon—Cowper and theYardley oak—The religionist's fear of nature—Pantheistic Christianity—Survival of nature-worship in England—The feeling for nature—Wordsworth'spantheismandanimisticemotioninpoetry.

Theseserpentmemories,particularlytheenduringimageofthatblackserpentwhich when recalled restores most vividly the emotion experienced at thetime,servetoremindmeofasubjectnotyetmentionedinmynarrative:thisisanimism, or that sense of something in nature which to the enlightened orcivilizedman is not there, and in the civilizedman's child, if it be admittedthathehasitatall,isbutafaintsurvivalofaphaseoftheprimitivemind.AndbyanimismIdonotmeanthetheoryofasoulinnature,butthetendencyorimpulse or instinct, in which all myth originates, to animate all things; theprojection of ourselves into nature; the sense and apprehension of anintelligencelikeourownbutmorepowerfulinallvisiblethings.Itpersistsandlives inmanyofus, I imagine,more thanwe like to think,ormore thanweknow,especiallyinthosebornandbredamidstruralsurroundings,wherethere

are hills and woods and rocks and streams and waterfalls, these being theconditionswhicharemostfavourabletoit—thesceneswhichhave"inheritedassociations" for us, as Herbert Spencer has said. In large towns and allpopulousplaces,wherenaturehasbeen tameduntil it appears like apart ofman'swork,almostasartificialasthebuildingsheinhabits,itwithersanddiesso early in life that its faint intimations are soon forgotten andwe come tobelievethatwehaveneverexperiencedthem.Thatsuchafeelingcansurviveinanyman,orthattherewaseveratimesincehisinfancywhenhecouldhaveregarded this visibleworld as anything butwhat it actually is—the stage towhichhehasbeensummonedtoplayhisbriefbutimportantpart,withpaintedblueandgreensceneryforbackground—becomesincredible.Nevertheless, Iknow that inme, old as I am, this sameprimitive facultywhichmanifesteditself in my early boyhood, still persists, and in those early years was sopowerfulthatIamalmostafraidtosayhowdeeplyIwasmovedbyit.

Itisdifficult,impossibleIamtold,foranyonetorecallhisboyhoodexactlyas itwas. It could not have beenwhat it seems to the adultmind, sincewecannotescapefromwhatweare,howevergreatourdetachmentmaybe;andingoingbackwemusttakeourpresentselveswithus: themindhastakenadifferentcolour,andthisisthrownbackuponourpast.Thepoethasreversedthe order of things when he tells us that we come trailing clouds of glory,whichmeltawayandarelostasweproceedonourjourney.Thetruthisthatunlesswebelong to theorderof thosewhocrystallizeor lose their soulsontheir passage, the clouds gather about us as we proceed, and as cloud-compellerswetravelontotheveryend.

Another difficulty in the way of those who write of their childhood is thatunconsciousartistrywillstealorsneakintoeraseunseemlylinesandblots,toretouch, and colour, and shade and falsify the picture. The poor, miserableautobiographernaturallydesires tomakehispersonalityas interesting to thereader as it appears to himself. I feel this strongly in reading other men'srecollections of their early years. There are, however, a few notableexceptions, the best one I know being Serge Aksakoff's History of HisChildhood; and inhis case thepicturewasnot falsified, simplybecause thetemper,andtastes,andpassionsofhisearlyboyhood—hisintenseloveofhismother,ofnature,ofallwildness,andofsport—enduredunchangedinhimtotheendandkepthimaboy inheart, ableafter longyears to revive thepastmentally,andpictureitinitstrue,fresh,originalcolours.

AndIcansayofmyselfwithregard to thisprimitivefacultyandemotion—thissenseofthesupernaturalinnaturalthings,asIhavecalledit—thatIamon safe ground for the same reason; the feeling has never been whollyoutlived. And I will add, probably to the disgust of some rigidly orthodox

reader,thatthesearechildishthingswhichIhavenodesiretoputaway.

The first intimations of the feeling are beyond recall; I only know thatmymemorytakesmebacktoatimewhenIwasunconsciousofanysuchelementin nature, when the delight I experienced in all natural things was purelyphysical. I rejoicedincolours,scents,sounds, in tasteandtouch: theblueofthesky,theverdureofearth,thesparkleofsunlightonwater,thetasteofmilk,offruit,ofhoney,thesmellofdryormoistsoil,ofwindandrain,ofherbsandflowers; themere feel of a blade of grassmademe happy; and there werecertainsoundsandperfumes,andaboveallcertaincoloursinflowers,andinthe plumage and eggs of birds, such as the purple polished shell of thetinamou'segg,whichintoxicatedmewithdelight.When,ridingontheplain,Idiscovered a patch of scarlet verbenas in full bloom, the creeping plantscovering an area of several yards, with a moist, green sward sprinkledabundantly with the shining flower-bosses, I would throw myself from myponywith a cryof joy to lieon the turf among themand feastmy sightontheirbrilliantcolour.

Itwasnot,Ithink,tillmyeighthyearthatIbegantobedistinctlyconsciousofsomethingmore than thismere childish delight in nature. Itmay have beenthere all the time from infancy—Idon't know;butwhen Ibegan toknow itconsciouslyitwasasifsomehandhadsurreptitiouslydroppedsomethingintothehoneyedcupwhichgaveitatcertaintimesanewflavour.Itgavemelittlethrills, often purely pleasurable, at other times startling, and there wereoccasions when it became so poignant as to frighten me. The sight of amagnificentsunsetwassometimesalmostmorethanIcouldendureandmademewishtohidemyselfaway.Butwhenthefeelingwasrousedbythesightofasmallandbeautifulorsingularobject,suchasaflower,itssoleeffectwastointensifytheobject'sloveliness.Thereweremanyflowerswhichproducedthiseffectinbutaslightdegree,andasIgrewupandtheanimisticsenselostitsintensity,thesetoolosttheirmagicandwerealmostlikeotherflowerswhichhadneverhadit.TherewereotherswhichneverlostwhatforwantofabetterwordIhavejustcalledtheirmagic,andoftheseIwillgiveanaccountofone.

Iwasaboutnineyearsold,perhapsamonthortwomore,whenduringoneofmy rambles on horseback I found at a distance of two or threemiles fromhome,a flower thatwasnewtome.Theplant,a littleovera foot inheight,was growing in the shelter of some large cardoon thistle, orwild artichoke,bushes. Ithad threestalksclothedwith long,narrow,sharply-pointed leaves,whichweredowny, soft to the feel like the leavesofourgreatmullein, andpalegreen incolour.All threestemswerecrownedwithclustersof flowers,thesinglefloweralittlelargerthanthatoftheredvalerian,ofapaleredhueandapeculiarshape,aseachsmallpointedpetalhadafoldortwistattheend.

Altogetheritwasslightlysingularinappearanceandpretty,thoughnottobecomparedwithscoresofotherflowersoftheplainsforbeauty.Neverthelessithadanextraordinaryfascinationforme,andfromthemomentofitsdiscoveryitbecameoneofmysacredflowers.Fromthattimeonwards,whenridingontheplain, Iwasalwayson the look-out for it, andasa rule I found threeorfour plants in a season, but never more than one at any spot. They wereusuallymilesapart.

OnfirstdiscoveringitItookaspraytoshowtomymother,andwasstrangelydisappointed that sheadmired itmerelybecause itwasapretty flower, seenfor the first time. I had actually hoped to hear from her some word whichwouldhaverevealedtomewhyIthoughtsomuchofit:nowitappearedasifitwasnomoretoherthananyotherprettyflowerandevenlessthansomeshewaspeculiarlyfondof,suchasthefragrantlittlelilycalledVirgin'sTears,thescentedpurewhiteandtherose-colouredverbenas,andseveralothers.Strangethat shewho alone seemed always to knowwhatwas inmymind andwholovedallbeautifulthings,especiallyflowers,shouldhavefailedtoseewhatIhadfoundinit!

Years later,when shehad leftusandwhen Ihadgrownalmost tomanhoodand we were living in another place, I found that we had as neighbour aBelgian gentleman who was a botanist. I could not find a specimen of myplanttoshowhim,butgavehimaminutedescriptionofitasanannual,withvery large, tough, permanent roots, also that it exuded a thick milky juicewhen the stem was broken, and produced its yellow seeds in a long,cylindrical, sharply-pointed pod full of bright silvery down, and I gave himsketches of flower and leaf. He succeeded in finding it in his books: thespecies had been known upwards of thirty years, and the discoverer, whohappened to be an Englishman, had sent seed and roots to the BotanicalSocietiesabroadhecorrespondedwith;thespecieshadbeennamedafterhim,and it was to be found now growing in some of the Botanical Gardens ofEurope.

Allthisinformationwasnotenoughtosatisfyme;therewasnothingaboutthemaninhisbooks.SoIwenttomyfathertoaskhimifhehadeverknownorheard of an Englishman of that name in the country. Yes, he said, he hadknownhimwell;hewasamerchantinBuenosAyres,anicegentle-manneredman, a bachelor and something of a recluse in his private house, where helivedaloneandspentallhisweek-endsandholidaysroamingabouttheplainswithhisvasculuminsearchofrareplants.Hehadbeenlongdead—oh,quitetwentyortwenty-fiveyears.

Iwas sorry thathewasdead, andwashauntedwith adesire to findouthisresting-place so as to plant the flower that bore his name on his grave.He,

surely, when he discovered it, must have had that feeling which I hadexperiencedwhenIfirstbehelditandcouldneverdescribe.Andperhapsthepresenceof thosedeepever-livingrootsnearhisbones,andof theflower inthesunshineabovehim,wouldbringhimabeautifulmemory inadream, ifeveradreamvisitedhim,inhislongunawakeningsleep.

No doubt in cases of this kind, when a first impression and the emotionaccompanying it endures through life, the feeling changes somewhat withtime; imagination has worked on it and has had its effect; nevertheless theenduranceof the imageandemotionserves toshowhowpowerful themindwasmovedinthefirstinstance.

I have related this case because there were interesting circumstancesconnected with it; but there were other flowers which produced a similarfeeling,which,when recalled, bringback theoriginal emotion; and Iwouldgladly travel many miles any day to look again at any one of them. Thefeeling,however,wasevokedmorepowerfullybytreesthanbyeventhemostsupernaturalofmyflowers;itvariedinpoweraccordingtotimeandplaceandtheappearanceofthetreeortrees,andalwaysaffectedmemostonmoonlightnights.Frequently,afterIhadfirstbeguntoexperienceitconsciously,Iwouldgooutofmywaytomeetit,andIusedtostealoutofthehousealonewhenthemoonwasat its full to stand, silent andmotionless, near somegroupoflarge trees, gazing at the dusky green foliage silvered by the beams; and atsuchtimesthesenseofmysterywouldgrowuntilasensationofdelightwouldchangetofear,andthefearincreaseuntilitwasnolongertobeborne,andIwouldhastilyescapetorecoverthesenseofrealityandsafetyindoors,wherethere was light and company. Yet on the very next night I would steal outagain and go to the spotwhere the effectwas strongest,whichwas usuallyamong the large locust or white acacia trees, which gave the name of LasAcacias to our place. The loose feathery foliage onmoonlight nights had apeculiar hoary aspect that made this tree seem more intensely alive thanothers,moreconsciousofmypresenceandwatchfulofme.

I never spoke of these feelings to others, not even to my mother,notwithstandingthatshewasalwaysinperfectsympathywithmewithregardtomyloveofnature.Thereasonofmysilencewas,Ithink,mypowerlessnesstoconveyinwordswhatIfelt;butI imagineitwouldbecorrect todescribethesensationexperiencedonthosemoonlightnightamongthetreesassimilartothefeelingapersonwouldhaveifvisitedbyasupernaturalbeing,ifhewasperfectlyconvincedthatitwasthereinhispresence,albeitsilentandunseen,intentlyregardinghim,anddiviningeverythoughtinhismind.Hewouldbethrilledtothemarrow,butnotterrifiedifheknewthatitwouldtakenovisibleshapenorspeaktohimoutofthesilence.

This facultyor instinctof thedawningmind isorhasalways seemed tomeessentially religious in character; undoubtedly it is the root of all nature-worship,fromfetishismtothehighestpantheisticdevelopment.Itwasmoretome in those early days than all the religious teaching I received from mymother.Whatever she toldmeaboutour relationswith theSupremeBeing Ibelieved implicitly, just as I believed everything else she toldme, and as Ibelievedthattwoandtwomakefourandthattheworldisroundinspiteofitsflatappearance;alsothatitistravellingthroughspaceandrevolvingroundthesun instead of standing still, with the sun going round it, as one wouldimagine.Butapartfromthefactthatthepowersabovewouldsavemeintheend from extinction,whichwas a great consolation, these teachings did nottouch my heart as it was touched and thrilled by something nearer, moreintimate,innature,notonlyinmoonlittreesorinaflowerorserpent,but,incertain exquisite moments and moods and in certain aspects of nature, in"everygrass"andinallthings,animateandinanimate.

It isnotmywishtocreate the impressionthatIamapeculiarpersonin thismatter;on thecontrary, it ismybelief that theanimistic instinct, ifamentalfacultycanbesocalled,existsandpersistsinmanypersons,andthatIdifferfromothersonly in lookingsteadilyat it and taking it forwhat it is, also inexhibiting it to the reader naked and without a fig-leaf expressed, to use aBaconianphrase.WhenthereligiousCowperconfessesintheopeninglinesofhisaddresstothefamousYardleyoak,thatthesenseofaweandreverenceitinspired inhimwouldhavemadehimbowhimselfdownandworship itbutforthehappyfactthathismindwasilluminedwiththeknowledgeofthetruth,heisbutsayingwhatmanyfeelwithoutinmostcasesrecognizingtheemotionforwhatitis—thesenseofthesupernaturalinnature.Andiftheyhavegrownup, as was the case with Cowper, with the image of an implacableanthropomorphicdeityintheirminds,abeingwhoiseverjealouslywatchingthemtonotewhichwaytheirwanderingthoughtsaretending,theyrigorouslyrepresstheinstinctivefeelingasa temptationof theevilone,orasa lawlessthought born of their own inherent sinfulness. Nevertheless it is notuncommon tomeet with instances of persons who appear able to reconciletheir faith in revealed religion with their animistic emotion. I will give aninstance.Oneof themost treasuredmemoriesofanold ladyfriendofmine,recentlydeceased,wasofhervisits,somesixtyyearsormoreago,toagreatcountry-housewhere shemetmanyof thedistinguishedpeopleof that time,andofherhost,whowas thenold, theheadofanancientanddistinguishedfamily,andofhisreverentialfeelingforhistrees.Hisgreatestpleasurewastositoutofdoorsofaneveninginsightof thegrandoldtreesinhispark,andbeforegoinginhewouldwalkroundtovisitthem,onebyone,andrestinghishand on the bark he would whisper a goodnight. He was convinced, heconfided to his young guest, who often accompanied him in these evening

walks,thattheyhadintelligentsoulsandknewandencouragedhisdevotion.

Thereisnothingsurprisingtomeinthis;itistoldhereonlybecausetheonewhocherishedthisfeelingandbeliefwasanorthodoxChristian,aprofoundlyreligious person; also because my informant herself, who was also deeplyreligious,lovedthememoryofthisoldfriendofherearlylifemainlybecauseofhis feeling for trees,whichshe toocherished,believing,assheoften toldme,thattreesandalllivingandgrowingthingshavesouls.Whathassurprisedme is that a formof tree-worship is still foundexisting amonga fewof theinhabitantsinsomeofthesmallrusticvillagesinout-of-the-worlddistrictsinEngland.Notsuchsurvivalsastheappletreefolk-songsandceremoniesofthewest,whichhavelongbecomemeaningless,butsomethingliving,whichhasameaningforthemind,asurvivalsuchasouranthropologistsgototheendoftheearthtoseekamongbarbarousandsavagetribes.

Theanimismwhichpersistsintheadult inthesescientifictimeshasbeensomuchactedonandchangedbydrylightthatitisscarcelyrecognizableinwhatis somewhat loosely or vaguely called a "feeling for nature": it has becomeintertwinedwiththeaestheticfeelingandmaybetracedinagooddealofourpoetic literature,particularly fromthe timeof the firstappearanceofLyricalBallads, which put an end to the eighteenth-century poetic convention andmade the poet free to express what he really felt. But the feeling, whetherexpressed or not, was always there. Before the classic period we find inTraherneapoetrywhichwasdistinctlyanimistic,withChristianitygraftedonit. Wordsworth's pantheism is a subtilized animism, but there are momentswhenhisfeelingislikethatofthechildorsavagewhenheisconvincedthattheflowerenjoystheairitbreathes.

Imustapologizetothereaderforhavinggonebeyondmylast,sinceIamnotastudentofliterature,norcatholicinmyliterarytastes,andonsuchsubjectscan only say just what I feel. And this is, that the survival of the sense ofmystery,orofthesupernatural,innature,istomeinourpoeticliteraturelikethatingredientofasaladwhich"animatesthewhole";thattheabsenceofthatemotion hasmade a great portion of the eighteenth century poetic literaturealmostintolerabletome,sothatIwishthelittlebigmanwhodominatedhisage(andtillafewmonthsagostillhadinMr.Courthopeonefolloweramongus)hademigratedwestwhen stillyoung, leavingWindsorForest as his onlymonumentandsoleandsufficienttitletoimmortality.

CHAPTERXVIII

THENEWSCHOOLMASTER

Mr.Triggrecalled—Hissuccessor—FatherO'Keefe—Hismildruleand loveofangling—Mybrotherisassistedinhisstudiesbythepriest—Happyfishingafternoons—The priest leaves us—How he had been working out his ownsalvation—We run wild once more—My brother's plan for a journal to becalled The Tin Box—Our imperious editor's exactions—My little brotherrevolts—TheTinBoxsmashedup—Thelossitwastome.

TheaccountofourschoolingdaysunderMr.Triggwasgivensofarbackinthishistorythatthereaderwillhavelittlerecollectionofit.Mr.TriggwasinasmallwayasortofJekyllandHyde,allpleasantnessinoneofhisstatesandallblacklooksandtruculenceintheother;sothatoutofdoorsandattablewechildrenwouldsay toourselves inastonishment, "Is thisour schoolmaster?"butwheninschoolwewouldask,"IsthisMr.Trigg?"But,asIhaverelated,hehadbeenforbiddentoinflictcorporalpunishmentonus,andwasfinallygotridofbecauseinoneofhisdemoniacalmoodshethrashedusbrutallywithhishorsewhip.When this occurredwe, to our regret, were not permitted to goback to our aboriginal condition of young barbarians: some restraint, someteachingwasstillimposeduponusbyourmother,whotook,orrathertriedtotake,thisadditionalburdenonherself.Accordingly,wehadtomeetwithourlesson-booksandspendthreeorfourhourseverymorningwithher,orintheschoolroomwithouther,forshewasconstantlybeingcalledaway,andwhenpresentaportionofthetimewasspentinalittletalkwhichwasnotconcernedwithourlessons.Forwemovedandbreathedandhadourbeinginastrangemoralatmosphere,wherelawlessactswerecommonandevilandgoodwerescarcely distinguishable, and all this made her more anxious about ourspiritualthanourmentalneeds.

My twoelderbrothersdidnot attend, as theyhad longdiscovered that theironlysafeplanwastobetheirownschoolmasters,anditwasevenmorethanshecouldmanageverywell tokeepthefoursmalleronestotheir tasks.Shesympathizedtoomuchwithourimpatienceatconfinementwhensunandwindandthecriesofwildbirdscalledinsistentlytoustocomeoutandbealiveandenjoyourselvesinourownway.

AtthisstageasuccessortoMr.Trigg,arealschoolmaster,wasunexpectedlyfoundforusinthepersonofFatherO'Keefe,anIrishpriestwithoutacureandwithnothingtodo.Somefriendsofmyfather,ononeofhisperiodicalvisitsto Buenos Ayres, mentioned this person to him-this priest who in hiswanderingsabout theworldhaddriftedhitherandwasanxious tofindsomeplacetostayatoutontheplainswhilewaitingforsomethingtoturnup.Ashe

waswithoutmeanshesaidhewouldbegladofthepositionofschoolmasterinthehouseforatime,thatitwouldexactlysuithim.

FatherO'Keefe,whonowappearedonthescene,wasveryunlikeMr.Trigg;hewas a verybigman inblackbut rusty clerical garments.He alsohad anextraordinarilybigheadandface,allofadull,reddishcolour,usuallycoveredwithathreeorfourdays'growthofgrizzlyhair.Althoughhislargefacewasunmistakably, intensely Irish, it was not the gorilla-like countenance socommon in the Irish peasant- priest—the priest one sees every day in thestreetsofDublin.Hewas,perhaps,ofabetterclass,ashis featureswereallgood.Aheavymanaswellasabigone,hewasnotsoamusingandsofluentatalkeroutofschoolashispredecessor,nor,asweweredelightedtodiscover,soexactingandtyrannicalinschool.Onthecontrary,inandoutofschoolhewasalwaysthesame,mildandplacidintemper,withagentlesortofhumour,andhewasalsoveryabsent-minded.Hewouldforgetallaboutschoolhours,roamabout thegardensandplantations,get into longconversationswith theworkmen,andeventually,whenhefoundthathewassomewhattoocasualtopleasehisemployer,heenjoinedusto"lookhimup"andlethimknowwhenitwas school-time. Looking him up usually took a good deal of time. Histeaching was not very effective. He could not be severe nor even passablystrict, andneverpunishedus inanyway.When lessonswerenot learnedhewould sympathizewithandcomfortusby sayingwehaddoneourbestandmorecouldnotbeexpected.Hewasalsogladofanyexcusetoletusoffforhalf-a-day.Wefoundoutthathewasexceedinglyfondoffishing—thatwitharod and line in his hand he would spend hours of perfect happiness, evenwithoutabitetocheerhim,andonanyfinedaythatcalledustotheplainwewouldtellhimthatitwasaperfectdayforfishing,andaskhimtoletusofffor the afternoon. At dinner time he would broach the subject and say thechildrenhadbeenveryhardattheirstudiesallthemorning,andthatitwouldbeamistaketoforcetheiryoungmindstoomuch,thatallworkandnoplaymakesJackadullboy,andsoonandsoforth,andthatheconsidereditwouldbebestforthem,insteadofgoingbacktomorelessonsintheafternoon,togoforaride.Healwaysgainedhispoint,anddinneroverwewouldrushouttocatchandsaddleourhorses,andoneforFatherO'Keefe.

The younger of our two elder brothers, the sportsman and fighter, and ourleaderandmasterinallouroutdoorpastimesandperegrinations,hadtakentothestudyofmathematicswithtremendousenthusiasm,thesametemperwhichhedisplayedineverysubjectandexercisethatengagedhim—fencing,boxing,shooting, hunting, and so on; and on Father O'Keefe's engagement he wasanxious toknowif thenewmasterwouldbeanyuse tohim.Thepriesthadsent a most satisfactory reply; he would be delighted to assist the younggentlemanwith hismathematics, and to help himover all his difficulties; it

was accordingly arranged that my brother was to have an early hour eachmorning with the master before school hours, and an hour or two in theevening.Very soon it began to appear that the studieswere not progressingsmoothly; the priest would come forth as usual with a smiling, placidcountenance,mybrotherwithablackscowlonhisface,andgaininghisroom,hewouldhurlhisbooksdownandprotestinviolentlanguagethattheO'Keefewasaperfect fraud, thatheknewasmuchof the infinitesimal calculus as agauchoonhorsebackorawildIndian.Then,beginningtoseeitinahumorouslight, he would shout with laughter at the priest's pretentions to knowanything,andwouldsayhewasonlyfittoteachbabiesjustoutofthecradleto say their ABC. He only wished the priest had also pretended to someacquaintancewiththemanlyart,sothattheycouldhaveafewboutswiththegloves on, as it would have been a great pleasure to bruise that bighumbuggingfaceblackandblue.

Themathematical lessonssoonceasedaltogether,butwheneveranafternoonoutingwasarrangedmybrotherwould throwasidehisbooks to joinusandtake the lead. The ride to the river, he would say, would give us theopportunity for a little cavalry training and lance- throwing exercise. In thecane-brakehewouldcutlong,straightcanesforlances,whichatthefishing-groundwouldbe cut down to aproper length for rods.Then,mounting,wewouldsetoff,O'Keefeahead,absorbedasusualinhisownthoughts,whileweatadistanceofahundredyardsorsowouldforminlineandgothroughourevolutions, chasing the flying enemy, O'Keefe; and at intervals ourcommander would give the order to charge, whereupon we would dashforwardwithashout,andwhenaboutfortyyardsfromhimwewouldallhurlourlancessoastomakethemfalljustatthefeetofhishorse.Inthiswaywewouldchargehimadozenor twenty timesbeforegetting toourdestination,butneveroncewouldheturnhisheadorhaveanyinklingofourcarryings-onintherear,evenwhenhishorselashedoutviciouslywithhishindlegsatthelanceswhentheyfelltoonearhisfeet.

Weenjoyed the advantageof theO'Keefe regime for about ayear, thenoneday, in his usual casualmanner,without a hint as to howhis private affairswere going, he said that he had to go somewhere to see some one aboutsomething,andwesawhimnomore.However,newsofhismovementsandagooddealofinformationabouthimreachedusincidentally,fromallwhichitappearedthatduringhistimewithus,andforsomemonthspreviously,FatherO'Keefehadbeenworkingouthisownsalvationinaquietwayinaccordancewith a rather elaborate plan which he had devised. Before he became ourteacherhehadlivedinsomepriestlyestablishmentinthecapital,andhadbeenahanger-onattheBishop'spalace,waitingforabeneficeorforsomeoffice,andatlength,tiredofwaitinginvain,hehadquietlywithdrawnhimselffrom

this society and had got into communication with one of the Protestantclergymen of the town. He intimated or insinuated that he had long beentroubled with certain scruples, that his conscience demanded a little morelibertythanhischurchwouldallowitsfollowers,andthishadcausedhimtocastawistfuleyeonthatotherchurchwhosefollowerswere,alas!accordedalittlemorelibertythanwasperhapsgoodfortheirsouls.Buthedidn'tknow,andinanycasehewouldliketocorrespondontheseimportantmatterswithone on the other side. This lettermetwith awarm response, and therewasmuch correspondence and meetings with other clerics-Anglican orEpiscopalian, I forget which. But there were also Presbyterians, Lutherans,andMethodistministers, allwith churchesof theirown in the town, andhemayhaveflirtedalittlewithallofthem.Thenhecameforhisyearofwaitingtous,duringwhichheamusedhimselfbyteachingthelittleones,smoothingtheway formymathematicalbrother, and fishing.But theauthoritiesof thechurchhadnot got rid of him; theyheardnot infrequently fromhim, and itwasnotpleasanthearing.Hehadcome,hetoldthem,aRomanCatholicpriestto aRomanCatholic country, andhad foundhimself a stranger in a strangeland. He had waited patiently for months, and had been put off with idlepromisesor thrustaside,whileeverygreedypushingpriest thatarrivedfromSpain and Italywas receivedwith open arms and a place provided for him.Then, when his patience and private means had been exhausted, he hadaccidently been thrown among those who were not of the Faith, yet hadreceived him with open arms. He had been humiliated and pained at thedisinterestedhospitalityandChristiancharityshowntohimby thoseoutsidethepale,afterthetreatmenthehadreceivedfromhisfellow-priests.

Probablyhesaidmorethanthis:foritisafactthathehadbeenwarmlyinvitedtopreachinoneortwooftheProtestantchurchesinthetown.Hedidnotgosofarastoacceptthatoffer:hewaswiseinhisgeneration,andeventuallygothisreward.

Ourschoolmastergone,wewereoncemorebackintheoldway;wedidjustwhat we liked. Our parents probably thought that our life would be on theplains,withsheepandcattle-breedingforonlyvocations,andthatshouldanyoneofus,likemymathematical-mindedbrother,takesomelineofhisown,hewould findout thewayof it forhimself: hisown sense, the lightofnature,would be his guide. I had no inclination to do anythingwith booksmyself:bookswerelessons, thereforerepellent,andthatanyoneshouldreadabookforpleasurewasinconceivable.Theonlyattempttoimproveourmindsatthisperiod came, oddly enough, from my masterful brother who despised ourbabyish intellects—especiallymine.However,onedayheannounced thathehadagrandschemetoputbeforeus.Hehadheardorreadofafamilyofboyslivingjust likeusinsomewildisolatedlandwheretherewerenoschoolsor

teachersandnonewspapers,whoamusedthemselvesbywritinga journaloftheirown,whichwasissuedonceaweek.Therewasabluepitcheronashelfinthehouse,andintothispitchereveryboydroppedhiscontribution,andoneof them—of course the most intelligent one—carefully went through them,selectedthebest,andcopiedthemalloutinonelargesheet,andthiswastheirweekly journal calledTheBluePitcher, and itwas read and enjoyedby thewholehouse.Heproposedthatweshoulddothesame;he,ofcourse,wouldedit the paper and write a large portion of it; it would occupy two or foursheets of quarto paper, all in his beautiful handwriting, which resembledcopper-plate,anditwouldbeissuedforallofustoreadeverySaturday.Weallagreed joyfully,andas the titlehad takenourfancywestartedhuntingforabluepitcheralloverthehouse,butcouldn'tfindsuchathing,andfinallyhadto put up with a tin box with a wooden lid and a lock and key. Thecontributions were to be dropped in through a slit in the lid which thecarpentermadeforus,andmybrothertookpossessionofthekey.Thetitleofthepaperwas tobeTheTinBox, andwewere instructed towrite about thehappeningsoftheweekandanythinginfactwhichhadinterestedus,andnottobesuchlittleassesastotrytodealwithsubjectsweknewnothingabout.Iwastosaysomethingaboutbirds:therewasneveraweekwentbyinwhichIdidn'ttellthemawonderfulstoryofastrangebirdIhadseenforthefirsttime:well,Icouldwriteaboutthatstrangebirdandmakeit justaswonderfulasIliked.

Wesetaboutourtaskatoncewithgreatenthusiasm,tryingforthefirsttimeinourlivestoputourthoughtsintowriting.Allwentwellforafewdays.Thenoureditorcalledustogethertohearanimportantcommunicationhewishedtomake.Firstheshowedus,butwouldnotallowustoreadorhandle,afaircopyofthepaper,oroftheportionhehaddone,justtoenableustoappreciatethecarehewas takingover it.Hethenwentontosaythathecouldnotgivesomuchtimeto the taskandpayforstationeryaswellwithoutasmallweeklycontributionfromus.Thiswouldonlybeabout three-halfpenceor twopencefromourpocket-money,andwouldnotbemuchmissed.Tothisweallagreedat once exceptmyyoungerbrother, aged about seven at that time.Then, hewas told, hewould not be allowed to contribute to the paper.Verywell, hewouldn'tcontribute to it,hesaid. Invainweall tried tocoaxhimoutofhisstubborn resolve: hewould not partwith a copper of hismoney andwouldhavenothingtodowithTheTinBox.ThentheEditor'swrathbrokeout,andhesaidhehadalreadywrittenhiseditorial,butwouldnow,asaconcludingarticle,write a secondone in order to showup the personwhohad tried towreck the paper, in his true colours.Hewould exhibit him as themeanest,mostcontemptibleinsectthatevercrawledonthesurfaceoftheearth.

In the middle of this furious tirade my poor little brother burst out crying.

"Keep yourmiserable tears till the paper is out," shouted the other, "as youwillhavegoodreasontoshedthemthen.Youwillbeamarkedbeing,everyonewillthenpointthefingerofscornatyouandwonderhowhecouldeverhavethoughtwellofsuchapitifullittlewretch."

Thiswasmorethanthelittlefellowcouldstand,andhesuddenlyfledfromtheroom,stillcrying;thenwealllaughed,andtheangryeditorlaughedtoo,proudoftheeffecthiswordshadproduced.

Our little brother did not join us at play that afternoon: he was in hidingsomewhere,keepingwatchonthemovementsofhisenemy,whowasnodoubtengaged already in writing that dreadful article which would make him amarkedbeingfortherestofhislife.

Induetimetheeditor,histaskfinished,cameforth,andmountinghishorse,gallopedoff;andthelittlewatchercameout,andstealingintotheroomwheretheTinBoxwaskept,carrieditoff tothecarpenter'sshop.Therewithchiselandhammerhe broke the lid to pieces, and takingout all the papers, set toworktotearthemupintotheminutestfragments,whichwerecarriedoutandscatteredallovertheplace.

Whenthebigbrothercamehomeanddiscoveredwhathadbeendonehewasinamightyrage,andwentoffinsearchoftheavariciouslittlerebelwhohaddaredtodestroyhiswork.Butthelittlerebelwasnottobecaught;attherightmoment he fled from the coming tempest to his parents and claimed theirprotection.Thenthewholematterhadtobeinquiredinto,andthebigboywastoldthathewasnottothrashhislittlebrother,thathehimselfwastoblameforeverything on account of the extravagant language he had used, which thepoor little fellow had taken quite seriously. If he actually believed The TinBoxarticlewasgoingtohavethatdisastrouseffectonhim,whocouldblamehimfordestroyingit?

ThatwastheendofTheTinBox;notawordaboutstartingitafreshwassaid,andfromthatdaymyelderbrothernevermentionedit.ButyearslaterIcameto think it a great pity that the scheme hadmiscarried. I believe, from laterexperience,thatevenifithadlastedbutafewweeksitwouldhavegivenmethehabitofrecordingmyobservations,andthatisahabitwithoutwhichthekeenest observation and themost faithfulmemory are not sufficient for thefieldnaturalist.Thus,throughthedestructionoftheTinBox,IbelieveIlostagreatpartof the resultof sixyearsof lifewithwildnature, since itwasnotuntil six years after my little brother's rebellious act that I discovered thenecessityofmakinganoteofeveryinterestingthingIwitnessed.

CHAPTERXIX

BROTHERS

Ourthirdandlastschoolmaster—Hismanyaccomplishments—Hisweaknessand final breakdown—My important brother—Four brothers, unlike ineverythingexceptthevoice—Astrangemeeting—JacktheKiller,hislifeandcharacter—A terrible fight—My brother seeks instructions from Jack—Thegaucho'swayoffightingandJack'scontrasted—Ourshamfightwithknives—Awoundandtheresult—MyfeelingaboutJackandhiseyes—Bird-lore—Mytwoelderbrothers'practicaljoke.

Thevanishingof theunholypriest fromourken leftus justaboutwherewehadbeenbeforehis large red facehad lifted itself aboveourhorizon.Atalleventstheilluminationhadnotbeengreat.Andthereafteritwasholidayoncemore for a goodish time until yet a third tutor came upon the scene:—yetanotherstrangerinastrangelandwhohadfallenintolow(andhot)waterandwaswilling to fill a vacant time in educating us. Just as in the case of theO'Keefe, he was thrust upon my good-natured and credulous father by hisfriendsinthecapital,whohadthisgentlemanwiththemandwereanxioustoget him off their hands. He was, they assured my father, just the man hewanted,afinefellowofgoodfamily,highlyeducatedandallthat;buthehadbeenabitwild,andallthatwaswantedtobringhimroundwastogethimoutagooddistancefromthecapitalanditstemptationsandintoaquiet,peacefulhomelikeours.Strangetosay,heactuallyturnedouttobealltheyhadsaid,andmore.Hehadstudiedhardatcollegeandwhenreadingforaprofession;he was a linguist, a musician, he had literary tastes, and was well read inscience, and above all he was a first-rate mathematician. Naturally, to mystudiousbrotherhecameasanangelbeautifulandbright,withnosuggestionofthefiendinhim;fornotonlywasheamathematician,buthewasalsoanaccomplished fencer and boxer.And so the twowere soon fast friends, andworkedhard togetherover theirbooks,andwould thenrepair foranhourortwoeverydaytotheplantationtofenceandboxandpractisewithpistolandrifleatthetarget.Healsotooktothehumblertaskofteachingtherestofuswithconsiderablezeal, and succeeded in rousingacertainenthusiasm inus.Wewere,he toldus,grossly ignorant—simplyyoungbarbarians;buthehadpenetratedbeneaththethickcrustthatcoveredourminds,andwaspleasedtofindthattherewerepossibilitiesofbetterthings;thatifwewouldbutsecondhis efforts and throw ourselves, heart and soul, into our studies, we shouldeventually develop from the grub condition to that of purple-wingedbutterflies.

Our new teacher was tremendously eloquent, and it looked as if he hadsucceededinconqueringthatwildnessorweaknessorwhateveritwaswhichhadbeenhisundoinginthepast.Thencameatimewhenhewouldaskforahorseandgoforalongride.HewouldmakeacallatsomeEnglishestancia,and drink freely of the wine or spirits hospitably set on the table. And theresultwouldbethathewouldcomehomeravinglikealunatic:—averylittlealcoholwoulddrivehimmad.Thenwouldfollowadayortwoofrepentanceandblackmelancholy;thenrecoveryandafreshfairstart.

All thiswassomewhatupsettingtoallofus: tomymother itwaspeculiarlydistressing,andbecamemoresowhen,inoneofhisrepentantfitsandtouchedby her words, he gave her a packet of his mother's letters to read:—thepathetic letters of a broken-heartedwoman to her son, her only and adoredchild,losttoherforeverinadistantcountry,thousandsofmilesfromhome.Thesesadappealsonlymademymothermoreanxioustosavehim,anditwasnodoubtherinfluencethatforawhiledidsaveandmakehimabletosucceedinhis efforts to overcomehis fatalweakness.But hewasof too sanguine atemper,andbyandbybegantothinkthathehadconquered,thathewassafe,thatitwastimeforhimtodosomethinggreat;andwithsomebrilliantschemehehadhatchedinhismind,heleftusandwentbacktothecapitaltoworkitout.But alas! beforemanymonths,when hewas getting seriously towork,withfriendsandmoneytohelphimandeveryprospectofsuccess,hebrokedownoncemore,sohopelesslythatoncemorehehadtobegotridof,andhewassentoutof thecountry,butwhetherback tohisownpeopleor to someother remote district in Argentina I do not remember, nor do I know whatbecameofhim.

Thusdisastrouslyendedthethirdandlastattemptmyfathermadetohaveusinstructed at home.Nor couldhe sendus to town,where therewasbut oneEnglishschoolforboys,runbyaweak,sicklygentleman,whosehousewasanestoffeversandeverysortofailmentincidentaltoboysherdedtogetherinan unhealthy boarding-school. ProsperousEnglish people sent their childrenhome to be educated at that time, but itwas enormously expensive andwewerenotwelloffenough.Alittlelateranexceptionhadtobemadeinthecaseofmyelderbrother,whowouldnotsettledowntosheep-farmingoranyotheroccupation out on the pampas, but had set his heart on pursuing his studiesabroad.

At thisperiodofmylife thisbrotherwasso importantaperson tomethat Ishallhave togiveevenmorespace tohimin thischapter thanhehad in thelastone.Yetofmybrothershewasnot theonenearest tomyheart.Hewasfivefullyearsmysenior,andnaturallyassociatedwithanelderbrother,whilewetwosmalleroneswerelefttoamuseourselvestogetherinourownchildish

way.With a younger brother for only playmate, I prolongedmy childhood,andwhen Iwas tenmybrotherof fifteenappearedayoungman tome.Wewereallfourextremelyunlikeincharacteraswellasappearance,andalikeinone thing only—the voice, inherited from our father; but just as ourrelationshipappeared in thatonephysicalcharacter, so I think thatunderallthediversities in ourminds and temperaments therewas a hiddenquality, asomethingofthespirit,whichmadeusone;andthis,Ibelieve,camefromthemother'sside.

Thatfamilylikenessinthevoicewasbroughthometousinacuriouswayjustabout this time,when Iwas inmy tenth year.My brotherwent one day toBuenosAyres,andarrivingatthestablewhereourhorseswerealwaysputup,long after dark, he left his horse, and on going out called to the stableman,giving him some direction. As soon as he had spoken, a feeble voice washeard from the open door of a dark room near the gate, calling, "That's aHudsonthatspoke!Fatherorson—whoisit?"

Mybrotherturnedbackandgropedhiswayintothedarkroom,andreplied:"Yes,I'maHudson—Edwin'smyname.Whoareyou?"

"Oh,I'mgladyou'rehere!I'myouroldfriendJack,"returnedtheother,anditwas a happy meeting between the boy in his sixteenth year and the grey-headedoldbatteredvagabondandfighter,knownfarandwideinourpartofthecountryasJacktheKiller,andbyotherdreadfulnicknames,bothEnglishand Spanish. Now he was lying there alone, friendless, penniless, ill, on aroughbedthestablemanhadgivenhiminhisroom.Mybrothercamehomefullofthesubject,sadatpooroldJack'sbroken-downconditionandrejoicingthathehadbychancefoundhimthereandhadbeenabletogivehimhelp.

JacktheKillerwasoneofthosestrangeEnglishmenfrequentlytobemetwithinthosedays,whohadtakentothegaucho'smanneroflife,whenthegauchohadmorelibertyandwasamorelawlessbeingthanheisnoworcaneverbeagain, unless that vast level area of the pampas should at some future timebecomedispeopledandgobacktowhatitwasdowntohalfacenturyago.Hehad drifted into that outlandish place when young, and finding the nativesystemof life congenialhadmadehimself asmuchofanativeashecould,anddressedlikethemandtalkedtheirlanguage,andwashorse-breaker,cattle-drover, andmany other things by turn, and like any other gaucho he couldmakehisownbridleandwhipandhorse-gearandlassoandbolasoutofrawhide.Andwhennotworkinghecouldgambleanddrinklikeanygauchotothemanner born—and fight too. But here there was a difference. Jack couldaffiliatewiththenatives,yetcouldneverbejustlikethem.Thestampoftheforeigner, of the Englishman, was never wholly eradicated. He retained acertaindignity,areserve,almostastiffness,inhismannerwhichmadehima

markedman among them, andwouldhavemadehimabutt to thewits andbulliesamonghiscomradesbutforhisprideanddeadlypower.Tobemockedasaforeigner,agringo,aninferiorbeing,waswhathecouldnotstand,andtheresultwas thathehad to fight,and it thencameasadisagreeable revelationthatwhen Jack fought he fought to kill. Thiswas considered bad form; forthoughmenwereoftenkilledwhenfighting,thegaucho'sideaisthatyoudonot fight with that intention, but rather to set yourmark upon and conqueryour adversary, and so give yourself fame and glory. Naturally, they wereangrywithJackandbecameanxioustogetridofhim,andbyandbyhegavethemanexcuse.Hefoughtwithandkilledaman,afamousyoungfighter,whohadmany relationsand friends,andsomeof thesedetermined toavengehisdeath.AndonenightabandofninemencametotheranchowhereJackwassleeping, and leaving two of their number at the door to kill him if heattemptedtoescapethatway,theothersburstintohisroom,theirlongknivesintheirhands.AsthedoorwasthrownopenJackwoke,andinstantlydiviningthecauseoftheintrusion,hesnatcheduptheknifenearhispillowandspranglikeacatoutofhisbed;andthenbeganastrangeandbloodyfight,oneman,stark naked, with a short-bladed knife in his hand, against sevenmen withtheirlongfacons,inasmallpitch-darkroom.TheadvantageJackhadwasthathis bare feet made no sound on the clay floor, and that he knew the exactpositionof a fewpiecesof furniture in the room.Hehad, too, amarvellousagility, and the intensedarknesswasall inhis favour, as theattackerscouldhardlyavoidwoundingoneanother.Atallevents,theresultwasthatthreeofthemwerekilledandtheotherfourwounded,allmoreorlessseriously.Andfromthat timeJackwasallowedtoliveamongthemasaharmless,peacefulmember of the community, so long as no person twitted him with being agringo.

Quite naturally,mybrother regarded Jack as oneof his greatest heroes, andwhenever he heard of his being in our neighbourhood he wouldmount hishorse and go off in search of him, to spend long hours in his company andpersuade him to talk about that awful fight in a dark room with so manyagainst him. One result of his intimacy with Jack was that he becamedissatisfiedwithhisownprogressinthemanlyartofself-defence.Itwasallverywelltomakehimselfproficientwiththefoilsandasaboxer,andtobeagoodshot,buthewaslivingamongpeoplewhohadtheknifeforsoleweapon,andifbychancehewereattackedbyamanwithaknife,andhadnopistolorother weapon, he would find himself in an exceedingly awkward position.Therewas then nothing to do but to practisewith the knife, and hewantedJack,whohadbeensosuccessfulwiththatweapon,togivehimsomelessonsinitsuse.

Jack shook his head. If his boy friend wanted to learn the gaucho way of

fightinghecouldeasilydoso.Thegauchowrappedhisponchoonhisleftarmtouseitasashield,andflourishedhisfacon,orknifewithasword-likebladeandaguard to thehandle.Thiswhirlingaboutof theknifewasquiteanart,andhad a fine lookwhen twoaccomplished fighters stoodup to eachotherandmadetheirweaponslooklikeshiningwheelsorrevolvingmirrorsinthesun. Meanwhile, the object of each man was to find his opportunity for asweepingblowwhichwould layhisopponent's faceopen.Nowall thatwaspretty to lookat,but itwasmereplayingat fightingandheneverwanted topractiseit.Hewasnotafighterbyinclination;hewantedtolivewithandbeonewith the gauchos, but not to fight. Therewere numbers ofmen amongthemwhoneverfoughtandwereneverchallengedtofight,andhewouldbeofthose if they would let him. He never had a pistol, he wore a knife likeeverybodyelse,butashortknifeforuseandnottofight.Butwhenhefoundthat,afterall,hehadtofightorelseexistonsufferanceasadespisedcreatureamongthem,thebuttofeveryfoolandbully,hedidfightinawaywhichhehadneverbeentaughtandcouldnotteachtoanother.Itwasnature:itwasinhim. When the dangerous moment came and knives flashed out, he wasinstantly transformed into a different being. Hewas on springs, he couldn'tkeepstillorinoneplaceforasecond,orafractionofasecond;hewaslikeacat, like india rubber, like steel—like anything you like, but something thatflew round and about his opponent and was within striking distance onesecondandadozenyardsawaythenext,andwhenanonsetwaslookedforitnevercamewhereitwasexpectedbutfromanotherside,andintwominuteshisopponentbecameconfused,andstruckblindlyathim,andhisopportunitycame,nottoslashandcutbuttodrivehisknifewithallhispowertotheheartintheother'sbodyandfinishhimforever.Thatwashowhehadfoughtandhadkilled,andbecauseofthatwayoffightinghehadgothisdesireandhadbeen permitted to live in peace and quiet until he had grown grey, and nofighterorswashbucklerhadsaidtohim,"Doyoustillcountyourselfakillerofmen?thenkillmeandproveyourrighttothetitle,"andnoonehadjeeredatorcalledhim"gringo."

Inspiteofthisdiscouragementmybrotherwasquitedeterminedtolearntheart of defending himself with a knife, and he would often go out into theplantation and practise for an hour with a tree for an opponent, and try tocaptureJack'sunpremeditatedartofdartinghitherandthitherabouthisenemyandmakinghisdeadlystrokes.Butasthetreestoodstillandhadnoknifetooppose him, it was unsatisfactory, and one day he proposed tome andmyyoungerbrothertohaveafightwithknives,justtofindoutifhewasmakinganyprogress.He tookus out to the far endof the plantation,where noonewouldseeus,andproduced threeverybigknives,withblades likebutchers'knives, and asked us to attack him with all our might and try our best towoundhim,whilehewouldactsolelyonthedefensive.Atfirstwedeclined,

andremindedhimthathehadpunishedusterriblywithglovesandfoilsandsinglestick, and that itwouldbe evenworsewithknives-hewouldcutus inpieces!No,hesaid,hewouldnotdreamofhurtingus:itwouldbeabsolutelysafeforus,andforhimtoo,ashedidn'tforamomentbelievethatwecouldtouch himwith ourweapons, nomatter how hardwe tried. And at last wewere persuaded, and taking off our jackets and wrapping them, gaucho-fashion,onourleftarmsasaprotection,weattackedhimwiththebigknives,andgettingexcitedweslashedandlungedathimwithallourpower,whilehedancedandjumpedandflewaboutalaJacktheKiller,usinghisknifeonlytoguard himself and to try and knock ours out of our hands; but in one suchattemptatdisarmingmehisweaponwenttoofarandwoundedmyrightarmabout three inches below the shoulder. The blood rushed out and dyedmysleeve red, and the fight came to an end. He was greatly distressed, and'runningofftothehouse,quicklyreturnedwithajugofwater,sponge,towel,and linen tobind thewoundedarm.Itwasadeep longcut,and thescarhasremainedtothisday,sothatIcanneverwashinthemorningwithoutseeingitand remembering that old fight with knives. Eventually he succeeded instopping the flow of blood, and bindingmy arm tightly round; and then hemadethedespondingremark,"Ofcourse theywillhave toknowallabout itnow."

"Oh no," I returned, "why should they?My arm has stopped bleeding, andtheywon'tfindout.IftheynoticethatIcan'tuseit—well,IcanjustsayIhadaknock."

Hewasimmenselyrelieved,andsopleasedthathepattedmeontheback—thefirsttimehehadeverdoneso—andpraisedmeformymanlinessintakingitthatway;andtobepraisedbyhimwassucharareandpreciousthingthatIfeltveryproud,andbegantothinkIwasalmostasgoodasafightermyself.And when all traces of blood had been removed and we were back in thehouse and at the supper- table, I was unusually talkative and hilarious, notonly to prevent any one from suspecting that I had just been seriouslywounded ina fightwithknives,butalso toprove tomybrother that Icouldtake these knocks with proper fortitude. No doubt he was amused; but hedidn'tlaughatme,hewastoodelightedtoescapebeingfoundout.

Therewerenomorefightswithknives,althoughwhenmywoundwashealedhedidbroachthesubjectagainontwoorthreeoccasions,andwasanxioustoconvincemethatitwouldbegreatlytoouradvantagetoknowhowtodefendourselveswithaknifewhile livingamongpeoplewhowerealwaysasreadyonanyslightprovocationtodrawaknifeonyouasacatwastounsheatheitsclaws.NorcouldallhetoldusaboutthebloodyandgloriousdeedsofJackelMatadorarouseanyenthusiasminme;andthoughinhisspeechandmanner

Jack was as quiet and gentle a being as one could meet, I could neverovercome a curious shrinking, an almost uncanny feeling, in his presence,particularlywhenhe lookedstraightatmewith those fineeyesofhis.Theywere light grey in colour, clear and bright as in a young man, but theexpressionpainedme; itwas toopiercing, tooconcentrated,andit remindedmeofthelookinacat'seyeswhenitcrouchesmotionlessjustbeforemakingitsdashatabird.

Nevertheless,thefightandwoundhadonegoodresultforme;mybrotherhadallatoncebecomelessmasterful,ortyrannical,towardsme,andevenbeganto show some interest in my solitary disposition and tastes. A little birdincidentbroughtoutthisfeelinginawaythatwasveryagreeabletome.OneeveningItoldhimandoureldestbrotherthatIhadseenastrangethinginabirdwhichhadledmetofindoutsomethingnew.Ourcommonestspecieswastheparasiticcowbird,whichlaiditseggsanywhereinthenestsofalltheothersmallbirds.Itscolourwasadeepglossypurple,almostblack;andseeingtwoof thesebirds flyingovermyhead, Inoticed that theyhadasmallchestnut-colouredspotbeneaththewing,whichshowedthattheywerenotthecommonspecies. It had then occurred tome that I had heard a peculiar note or cryutteredbywhat I took tobe thecowbird,whichwasunlikeanynoteof thatbird; and following this clue, I had discovered that we had a bird in ourplantationwhichwaslikethecowbirdinsize,colour,andgeneralappearance,butwas a different species. They appeared amused bymy story, and a fewdays later they closely interrogatedme on three consecutive evenings as towhat I had seen thatwas remarkable that day, in birds especially, andweredisappointedbecauseIhadnothinginterestingtotellthem.

Thenextdaymybrothersaidhehadaconfessiontomaketome.Heandtheelder brother had agreed to play a practical joke on me, and had snared acommoncowbirdanddyedorpainteditstailabrilliantscarlet,thenliberatedit,expectingthatIshouldmeetwithitinmyday'sramblesandbird-watchingintheplantationandwouldbegreatlyexcitedat thediscoveryofyeta thirdpurplecowbird,withascarlettail,butotherwisenotdistinguishablefromthecommonone.Now,onreflection,hewasgladIhadnotfoundtheirbirdandgiven them their laugh, and hewas ashamed at having tried to play such ameantrickonme!

CHAPTERXX

BIRDINGINTHEMARSHES

Visitingthemarshes—PajonalesandJuncales—Abundantbirdlife—ACoots'metropolis—FrighteningtheCoots—GrebeandPaintedSnipecolonies—Thehaunt of the Social Marsh Hawk—The beautiful Jacana and its eggs—ThecolonyofMarshTrupials—Thebird'smusic—TheaquaticplantDurasmillo—The Trupial's nest and eggs—Recalling a beauty that has vanished—Ourgameswithgauchoboys—Iaminjuredbyabadboy—Theshepherd'sadvice—Gettingmyrevengeinatreacherousmanner—Wasitrightorwrong?—ThegameofHuntingtheOstrich.

Atthistimeofmyboy-lifemostofthedaylighthourswerespentoutofdoors,aswhennotwatchingthebirdsinourplantationoraskedtogoandlookattheflock grazing somewhere a mile or so from home, in the absence of theshepherdorhisboy,Iwasalwaysawaysomewhereontheplainwithmysmallbrother on egg-hunting or other expeditions. In the spring and summer weoften visited the lagoons ormarshes, themost fascinating places I knewonaccountoftheirabundantwildbirdlife.Therewerefouroftheselagoons,allindifferentdirectionsandallwithintwoorthreemilesfromhome.Theywereshallow lakelets, called lagunas, each occupying an area of three or fourhundredacres,withsomeopenwaterandtherestovergrownwithbrightgreensedges in dense beds, called pajonales, and immense beds of bulrushes,calledjuncales.Theselastwerealwaysthebesttoexplorewhenthewaterwasnot deeper than the saddle-girth, and where the round dark polished stems,crownedwith theirbrightbrown tufts,werehigher thanourheadswhenweurgedourhorsesthroughthem.Thesewerethebreeding-placesofsomesmallbirds that had their beautifully-made nests a couple of feet or so above thewater,attachedinsomecasestosingle,inotherstotwoorthree,rushstems.And here, too, we found the nests of several large species— egret, night-heron, cormorant, and occasionally a hawk—birds which build on trees inforestdistricts,buthereonthetreelessregionofthepampastheymadetheirnestsamongtherushes.Thefourthlakelethadnorush-orsedge-bedsandnoreeds, and was almost covered with a luxuriant growth of thefloating camalote, a plant which at a distance resembles the wild musk ormimulus in itsmasses of bright green leaves and brilliant yellow blossoms.This,too,wasafascinatingspot,asitswarmedwithbirds,someofthembeingkindswhichdidnotbreedinthereedsandrushes.Itwasasortofmetropolisofthecoots,andbeforeandafterthebreedingseasontheywouldcongregateinflocksofmanyhundredsonthelowwetshore,wheretheirblackformshada singular appearance on the moist green turf. It looked to me like areproduction in small size of a scene I hadwitnessed—the vast level greenpampawithascatteredherdoftwoorthreethousandblackcattlegrazingonit, on a large cattle estate where only black beasts were bred. We alwaysthoughtitgreatfunwhenwefoundabigassemblyofcootsatsomedistancefromthemargin.Whippingupourhorses,wewouldsuddenlychargetheflock

tosee themrunand fly inapanic to the lakeand rushover theopenwater,strikingthesurfacewiththeirfeetandraisingaperfectcloudofspraybehindthem.

Coots, however, were common everywhere, but this water was the onlybreeding-place of the grebe in our neighbourhood; yet here we could findscoresofnestsanyday—scoreswitheggsandastillgreaternumberoffalsenests, and we could never tell which had eggs in it before pulling off thecovering ofwetweeds.Another bird rarely seen at any other spot than thiswasthepaintedsnipe,aprettily-markedspecieswithagreencurvedbill.Ithascuriouslysluggishhabits,risingonlywhenalmosttroddenupon,andgoingoffin a wild sacred manner like a nocturnal species, then dropping again intohidingatashortdistance.Thenativescallitdormilon—sleepy-head.Ononesideofthelagoon,wherethegroundwasswampyandwet,therewasalwaysabreeding-colonyofthesequaintbirds;ateveryfewyardsonewouldspringupclose to thehoofs,anddismountingwewould find the littleneston thewetgroundunderthegrass,alwayswithtwoeggssothicklyblotchedalloverwithblackastoappearalmostentirelyblack.

Therewereotherrushylagoonsatagreaterdistancewhichwevisitedonlyatlong intervals, and one of these I must describe, as it was almost moreattractivethananyoneoftheothersonaccountofitsbirdlife.Here,too,thereweresomekindswhichweneverfoundbreedingelsewhere.

ItwassmallerthantheotherlagoonsIhavedescribedandmuchshallower,sothatthebigbirds,suchasthestork,wood-ibis,crestedscreamer,andthegreatblue ibis, called vanduria, and the roseate spoonbill, couldwade almost alloveritwithoutwettingtheirfeathers.Itwasoneofthoselakeswhichappeartobedryingup,andwasprettywellcoveredwithagrowthofcamaloteplant,mixedwithreed,sedge,andbulrushpatches.Itwastheonlywaterinourpartof the country where the large water-snail was found, and the snails hadbrought the bird that feeds on them—the large social marsh hawk, a slate-colouredbirdresemblingabuzzardinitssizeandmannerofflight.Butbeingexclusively a feeder on snails, it lives in peace and harmonywith the otherbird inhabitantsof themarsh.Therewasalwaysacolonyoffortyorfiftyofthesebighawks tobeseenat thisspot.Astillmore interestingbirdwas thejacana, as it is spelt in books, but pronounced ya-sa-NA by the Indians ofParaguay,aquaint rail-likebird supposed tobe related to theplover family:blackandmaroon-redincolour, thewing-quillsashininggreenishyellow, ithasenormouslylongtoes,spursonitswings,andyellowwattlesonitsface.HereIfirstsawthisstrangebeautifulfowl,andheretomydelightIfounditsnest in three consecutive summers, with three or four clay-coloured eggsspottedwithchestnut-red.

Here,too,wasthebreeding-placeofthebeautifulblack-and-whitestilt,andofother species toomany tomention. But my greatest delight was in findingbreedinginthisplaceabirdIlovedmorethanalltheothersIhavenamed—aspeciesofmarshtrupial,abirdaboutthesizeofthecommoncowbird,andlikeit,ofauniformdeeppurple,butwithacapofchestnut-colouredfeathersonitshead.Ilovedthisbirdforitssong—thepeculiardelicatetenderopeningnotesand trills. In spring and autumn large flocks would occasionally visit ourplantation, and the birds in hundreds would settle on a tree and all singtogether,producingamarvellousandbeautifulnoise,asofhundredsofsmallbellsallringingatonetime.ItwasbythewaterIfirstfoundtheirbreeding-place, where about three or four hundred birds had their nests quite neartogether,andnestsandeggsand theplantsonwhich theywereplaced,withthe solicitous purple birds flying round me, made a scene of enchantingbeauty. The nesting-sitewas on a low swampy piece of ground grown overwith a semi-aquatic plant calleddurasmillo in the vernacular. It has a singlewhitestalk,woodyinappearance,twotothreefeethigh,andlittlethickerthanaman'smiddlefinger,withapalm-likecrownoflargelooselanceolateleaves,sothatitlookslikeaminiaturepalm,orratheranailanthustree,whichhasaslenderperfectlywhitebole.Thesolanaceousflowersarepurple,anditbearsfruitthesizeofcherries,blackasjet,inclustersofthreetofiveorsix.Inthisforestoftinypalmsthenestswerehanging,attachedtotheboles,wheretwoorthreegrewclosetogether;itwasalonganddeepnest,skilfullymadeofdrysedge leaves woven together, and the eggs were white or skim-milk bluespottedwithblackatthelargeend.

Thatenchantingpartofthemarsh,withitsforestofgracefulminiaturetrees,wherethesocialtrupialssangandwovetheirnestsandrearedtheiryoungincompany—that very spot is now, I dare say, one immense field of corn,lucerne,orflax,andthepeoplewhonowliveandlabourthereknownothingof its formerbeautiful inhabitants,norhave theyever seenorevenheardofthe purple- plumaged trupial, with its chestnut cap and its delicate trillingsong.AndwhenIrecallthesevanishedscenes,thoserushyandflowerymeres,withtheirvariedandmultitudinouswildbirdlife—thecloudofshiningwings,theheart-enliveningwildcries,thejoyunspeakableitwastomeinthoseearlyyears—IamgladtothinkIshallneverrevisitthem,thatIshallfinishmylifethousandsofmilesremovedfromthem,cherishingtotheendinmyhearttheimageofabeautywhichhasvanishedfromearth.

Myelderbrotheroccasionallyaccompaniedusonouregg-huntingvisitstothelagoons,andhealsojoinedusinourridestothetwoorthreestreamswhereweusedtogotobatheandfish;buthetooknopartinourgamesandpastimeswiththegauchoboys:theywerebeneathhim.Weranracesonourponies,andwhentherewererace-meetingsinourneighbourhoodmyfatherwouldgiveus

alittlemoneytogoandenterourponiesinaboys'race.Werarelywonwhentherewereanystakes,asthenativeboysweretoocleveronhorsebackforus,andhadallsortsoftrickstopreventusfromwinning,evenwhenourponieswere better than theirs. We also went tinamou, or partridge, catching, andsometimes we had sham fights with lances, or long canes with which wesuppliedtheothers.Thesegameswereveryrough,andonedaywhenwewerearmed,notwithcanesbutlongstraightpliantgreenpoplarboughswehadcutforthepurpose,wewerehavingarunningfight,whenoneoftheboysgotinaragewithmeforsomereasonand,droppingbehind,thencomingquietlyup,gavemeablowonthefaceandheadwithhisstickwhichsentmeflyingoffmy pony. They all dashed on, leaving me there to pick myself up, andmounting my pony I went home crying with pain and rage. The blow hadfallenonmyhead,butthepliantstickhadcomedownovermyfacefromtheforeheadtothechin,takingtheskinoff.OnmywaybackImetourshepherdandtoldhimmystory,andsaidIwouldgototheboy'sparentstotellthem.Headvisedmenottodoso;hesaidImustlearntotakemyownpart,andifanyoneinjuredmeandIwantedhimpunishedImustdothepunishingmyself.IfImade any fuss and complaint about it I should only get laughed at, and hewouldgoscotfree.What,then,wasItodo?Iasked,seeingthathewasolderandstrongerthanmyself,andhadhisheavywhipandknifetodefendhimselfagainstattack.

"Oh,don'tbeinahurrytodoit,"hereturned."Waitforanopportunity,evenifyouhavetowaitfordays;andwhenitcomes,dotohimjustwhathedidtoyou.Don'twarnhim,butsimplyknockhimoffhishorse,andthenyouwillbequits."

Nowthisshepherdwasagoodman,muchrespectedbyeveryone,andIwasgladthatinhiswisdomandsympathyhehadputsuchasimple,easyplanintomyhead,andIdriedmytearsandwenthomeandwashedthebloodfrommyface, andwhen asked how I had got that awfulwound that disfiguredme Imadelightofit.Twodayslatermyenemyappearedonthescene.Iheardhisvoiceoutsidethegatecallingtosomeone,andpeeringoutIsawhimsittingonhishorse.Hisguiltyconsciencemadehimafraidtodismount,buthewasanxioustofindoutwhatwasgoingtobedoneabouthistreatmentofme,also,ifhecouldseeme,todiscovermystateofmindaftertwodays.

Iwent out to the timber pile and selected a bamboo cane about twenty feetlong, not too heavy to be handled easily, and holding it up like a lance Imarched to thegate and started swinging it roundas I approachedhim, andshowingacheerfulcountenance."Whatareyougoingtodowiththatcane?"heshouted,alittleapprehensively."Waitandsee,"Ireturned."Somethingtomake you laugh." Then, after whirling it round half a dozen times more, I

suddenlybroughtitdownonhisheadwithallmyforce,anddidexactlywhatIhadbeencounselled todoby thewiseshepherd—knockedhimcleanoffhishorse.Buthewasnotstunned,andstartingupinascreechingfury,hepulledouthisknife tokillme.AndI, forstrategicreasons,retreated,ratherhastily.But his wild cries quickly brought several persons on the scene, and,recoveringcourage, Iwentbackandsaid triumphantly,"Nowwearequits!"Thenmyfatherwascalledandasked to judgebetweenus,andafterhearingboth sides he smiled and said his judgment was not needed, that we hadalready settled it all ourselves, and there was nothing now between us. Ilaughed,andheglaredatme,andmountinghishorse,rodeoffwithoutanotherword. Itwas, however, onlybecausehewas suffering from theblowonhishead;whenImethimweweregoodfriendsagain.

More than once during my life, when recalling that episode, I have askedmyselfifIdidrightintakingtheshepherd'sadvice?Wouldithavebeenbetter,whenIwentout tohimwith thebamboocane,andheaskedmewhatIwasgoingtodowithit,ifIhadgoneuptohimandshownhimmyfacewiththatbroadbandacrossitfromthechintothetemple,wheretheskinhadcomeoffandablackcrusthad formed,andhadsaid tohim:"This is themarkof theblow you gaveme the day before yesterday,when you knockedme offmyhorse;youseeitisontherightsideofmyfaceandhead;nowtakethecaneandgivemeanotherblowontheleftside"?Tolstoy(myfavouriteauthor,bytheway)wouldhaveanswered:"Yes,certainlyitwouldhavebeenbetterforyou—betterforyoursoul."Nevertheless,Istillaskmyself:"Wouldit?"andifthis incident should come before me half a second before my finaldisappearancefromearth,Ishouldstillbeindoubt.

One of our favourite games at this period—the only game on footwe everplayedwiththegauchoboys—washuntingtheostrich.Toplaythisgamewehadbolas,only theballs at theendof the thongwerenotof lead like thosewithwhichthegrown-upgauchohuntercapturestherealostrichorrhea.Weusedlightwoodtomakeballs,soasnottoinjureeachother.Thefastestboywaschosentoplaytheostrich,andwouldbesentofftoroamostrich-fashionon the plain, pretending to pick clover from the ground as he walked in astoopingattitude,ormakinglittlerunsandwavinghisarmsaboutlikewings,thenstandingerectandmimickingthehollowboomingsoundsthecockbirdemitswhencallingtheflocktogether.

The hunterswould then comeon the scene and the chase begin, the ostrichputting forth all his speed, doubling to this side and that, and occasionallythinking to escape by hiding, dropping upon the ground in the shelter of acardoon thistle, only to jumpup againwhen the shouts of the hunters drewnear,torushonasbefore.Atintervalsthebolaswouldcomewhirlingthrough

theair,andhewoulddodgeoravoidthembyaquickturn,buteventuallyhewould be hit and the thong would wind itself about his legs and down hewouldcome.

Thenthehunterswouldgatherroundhim,andpullingouttheirknivesbeginoperationsbycuttingoffhishead;thenthebodywouldbecutup,thewingsandbreastremoved,thesebeingthebestpartsforeating,andtherewouldbemuch talk about the condition and age of the bird, and so on. Thenwouldcomethemostexcitingpartoftheproceedings—thecuttingthegizzardopenandtheexaminationof itsvariedcontents;andbyandbytherewouldbeanexultantshout,andoneoftheboyswouldpretendtocomeonavaluablefind—abigsilvercoinperhaps,apatacon,andtherewouldbeagreatgabbleoveritandperhapsafightforitspossession,andtheywouldwrestleandrollonthegrass,strugglingfortheimaginarycoin.Thatfinished,thedeadostrichwouldgetupandplacehimselfamongthehunters,whiletheboywhohadcapturedhimwithhisbolaswouldthenplayostrich,andthechasewouldbeginanew.

When this gamewas played Iwas always chosen as first ostrich, as at thattime I could easily outrun and out-jump any ofmygauche playmates, eventhose who were three or four years older than myself. Nevertheless, thesegames—horse-racing, sham fights, and ostrich- hunting, and the like—gavemenoabiding satisfaction; theywereno soonerover than Iwouldgoback,almostwithasenseofrelief,tomysolitaryramblesandbird-watching,andtowishingthatthedaywouldcomewhenmymasterfulbrotherwouldallowmetouseagunandpractisetheonesportofwild-duckshootingIdesired.

Thatwassoontocome,andwillformthesubjectoftheensuingchapter.

CHAPTERXXI

WILD-FOWLINGADVENTURES

My sporting brother and the armoury—I attend him on his shootingexpeditions—AdventurewithGoldenPlover—AmorningafterWildDuck—Our punishment—I learn to shoot—My first gun—My firstwild duck—Myducking tactics—My gun's infirmities—Duck-shooting with a blunderbus—Ammunition runs out—An adventure with Rosy-bill Duck— Coarsegunpowder and home-made shot—The war danger comes our way—Wepreparetodefendthehouse—Thedangeroverandmybrotherleaveshome.

IhavesaidIwasnotallowedtoshootbeforetheageoften,butthedesirehad

comelongbeforethat;IwasnomorethansevenwhenIusedtowishtobeabig,oratalleventsabigger,boy,sothat,likemybrother,Itoomightcarryagunandshootbigwildbirds.Buthesaid"No"veryemphatically,and therewasanendofit.

He had virtually made himself the owner of all the guns and weaponsgenerallyinthehouse.Theseincludedthreefowling-pieces,arifle,anancientTowermusketwithaflint-lock—doubtlessdroppedfromthedeadhandsofaslainBritishsoldier inoneof the fights inBuenosAyres in1807or1808;apair of heavy horse pistols, and a ponderous, formidable-looking oldblunderbuss,wideatthemouthasatea-cupsaucer.His,too,weretheswords.To our native neighbours this appeared an astonishingly large collection ofweapons, for in those days they possessed no fire-arm except, in some rareinstances,acarbine,broughthomebya runawaysoldierandkeptconcealedlesttheauthoritiesshouldgetwindofit.

Asthenextbestthingtodoingtheshootingmyself,Iattendedmybrotherinhisexpeditions, toholdhishorseor topickupandcarry thebirds,andwasdeeplygrateful tohimforallowingmetoservehiminthishumblecapacity.Wehadsomeexcitingadventurestogether.Onesummerdayhecamerushinghometogethisgun,havingjustseenanimmenseflockofgoldenplovercomedownat a spot amileor so fromhome.Withhisgunanda sack toput thebirdsin,hemountedhispony,Iwithhim,asourponieswereaccustomedtocarrytwoandeventhreeatapinch.Wefoundtheflockwherehehadseenitalight—thousandsofbirdsevenlyscattered,runningaboutbusilyfeedingonthewetlevelground.

The bird I speak of is theCharadrius dominicanca, which breeds inArcticAmericaandmigratesinAugustandSeptembertotheplainsofLaPlataandPatagonia, so that it travels about sixteen thousand miles every year. Inappearanceitissolikeourgoldenplover,Charadriuspluvialis,astobehardlydistinguishablefromit.Thebirdswerequitetame:allourwildbirdswereifanything too tame, although not shockingly so as Alexander Selkirk foundthem on his island—the poet's, not the real Selkirk. The birds being soscattered,allhecoulddowas to lie flatdownandfirewith thebarrelofhisfowling-piecelevelwiththeflock,andtheresultwasthattheshotcutthroughthelooseflocktoadistanceofthirtyorfortyyards,droppingthirty-ninebirds,whichweput into the sack,and remountingourponysetoffhomeata fastgallop. We were riding barebacked, and as our pony's back had a forwardslopeweslippedfurtherandfurtherforwarduntilwewerealmostonhisneck,andI,sittingbehindmybrother,shoutedforhimtostop.Buthehadhisguninonehandandthesackintheother,andhadlostthereins;thepony,however,appearedtohaveunderstood,ashecametoadeadstopofhisownaccordon

theedgeofarain-pool,intowhichwewerepitchedheadlong.WhenIraisedmyheadIsawthebagofbirdsatmyside,andthegunlyingunderwateratalittledistance;aboutthreeyardsfurtheronmybrotherwasjustsittingup,withthewaterstreamingfromhislonghair,andalookofastonishmentonhisface.Butthepoolwasquiteclean,withthesoftgrassforbottom,andwewerenothurt.

However, we did sometimes get into serious trouble. On one occasion hepersuadedme and the little brother to accompany him on a secret shootingexpedition he had planned.Wewere to start on horseback before daybreak,ridetooneofthemarshesabouttwomilesfromhome,shootalotofduck,andget back about breakfast-time. Themain thingwas to keep the plan secret,thenitwouldbeallright,sincethesightofthenumberofwildduckweshouldhavetoshowonourreturnwouldcauseourescapadetobeoverlooked.

Intheevening,insteadofliberatingourponiesasusual,wetookandtetheredthem in the plantation, and next morning about three o'clock we creptcautiously out of the house and set off on our adventure. It was a wintermorning,mistyandcoldwhenthelightcame,andthebirdswereexcessivelywild at that hour. In vainwe followed the flocks,my brother stalking themthroughthesedges,abovehiskneesinthewater;notabirdcouldheget,andat lastwewereobligedtogobackempty-handedtofacethemusic.Athalf-pasttenwerodetothedoor,wetandhungryandmiserable,tofindthewholehouse in a state of commotion at our disappearance. When we were firstmissedinthemorning,oneoftheworkmenreportedthathehadseenustakingourhorses toconceal them in theplantationat a little afterdark, and itwasassumed thatwe had run away—thatwe had gone southwhere the countrywasmorethinlysettledandwildanimalsmoreabundant,inquestofnewandmorestirringadventures.Theyweregreatlyrelievedtoseeusback,butaswehadnoduckstoplacatethemwecouldnotbeforgiven,andasapunishmentwe had to go breakfastless that day, and our leader was in addition sternlylecturedandforbiddentouseagunforthefuture.

Wethoughtthisaveryhardthing,andforthefollowingdayswereinclinedtolookatlifeasarathertame,insipidbusiness;butsoon,toourjoy,thebanwasremoved.Inforbiddingustheuseofthegunsmyfatherhadpunishedhimselfaswellasus,sinceheneverthoroughlyenjoyedameal—breakfast,dinner,orsupper—unlesshehadabirdonthetable,wildduck,plover,orsnipe.Acoldroast duck was his favourite breakfast dish, and he was never quite happywhenhedidn'tgetit.

Still,Iwasnothappy,andcouldnotbesolongasIwasnotallowedtoshoot.Itwasaprivilegetobeallowedtoattend,butitseemedtomethatattheageoftenIwasquiteoldenoughtohaveagun.Ihadbeenarideronhorsebacksince

the age of six, and in some exercises I was not much behind my brother,althoughwhenwepractisedwiththefoilsorwiththegloveshepunishedmeinratherabarbarousmanner.Hewasmyguideandphilosopher,andhadalsobeenabetterfriendeversinceourfightwithknivesandthecowbirdepisode;nevertheless he still managed to dissemble his love, and when I revoltedagainsthistyrannyIgenerallygotwellpunishedforit.

About that timeanold friendof the family,who tookan interest inmeandwishedtodosomethingtoencouragemeinmynaturalhistorytastes,mademea present of a set of pen-and-ink drawings. Therewas, however, nothing inthesepicturestohelpmeinthelineIhadtaken:theyweremostlyarchitecturaldrawingsmadebyhimselfofbuildings—houses,churches,castles,andsoon,butmybrotherfellinlovewiththemandbegantotrytogetthemfromme.Hecouldnotrestwithoutthem,andwascontinuallyofferingmesomethingofhisowninexchangeforthem;butthoughIsoongrewtiredoflookingatthemIrefusedtopartwiththem,eitherbecausehisanxietytohavethemgavethemafictitiousvalue inmysight,orbecause itwaspleasing tobeable to inflictalittlepainonhiminreturnforthemanysmartsIhadsufferedathishands.Atlengthoneday,findingmestillunmoved,heallatonceofferedtoteachmetoshootandtoallowmetheuseofoneofthegunsinexchangeforthepictures.Icouldhardlybelievemygoodfortune: itwouldhavesurprisedme less ifhehadofferedtogivemehishorsewith"saddleandbridlealso."

As soon as thedrawingswere inhis handhe tookme toour gun-roomandgavemeaquiteunneeded lesson in the art of loadingagun—first somuchpowder,thenawadwellrammeddownwiththeoldobsoleteramrod;thensomuchshotandasecondwadandrammingdown;thenapercussioncaponthenipple.He then led theway to theplantation, and finding twowildpigeonssittingtogetherinatree,heorderedmetofire.Ifired,andonefell,quitedead,and that completedmy education, for nowhe declared hewas not going towasteanymoretimeonmyinstruction.

Thegunhehad toldme tousewasasingle-barrel fowling-piece,anancientconverted flintlock, the stockmade of an iron-hard black wood with silvermountings.WhenIstooditupandmeasuredmyselfbyitIfounditwasnearlytwo inches taller than Iwas, but itwas light to carry and servedmewell: Ibecameasmuchattachedtoitastoanylivingthing,anditwaslikealivingbeingtome,andIhadgreatfaithinitsintelligence.

Mychiefambitionwastoshootwildduck.Mybrothershottheminpreferenceto anything else: they were so much esteemed and he was so muchcommendedwhen he came inwith a few in his bag that I looked on duck-shootingasthegreatestthingIcouldgoinfor.Duckswerecommonenoughwithusandingreatvariety;Iknownotinwhatcountrymorekindsaretobe

found.Therewereno fewer than five speciesof teal, thecommonestadarkbrown birdwith blackmottlings; another, very common,was pale grey, theplumagebeautifullybarredandpencilledwithbrownandblack;thenwehadthe blue-winged teal, a maroon-red duck which ranges from Patagonia toCalifornia; the ringed teal, with salmon-coloured breast and velvet-blackcollar; the Brazilian teal, a lovely olive-brown and velvet-black duck, withcrimsonbeakand legs.Therewere twopintails,oneofwhichwas themostabundantspeciesinthecountry;alsoawidgeon,alakeduck,ashovellerduck,withredplumage,greyheadandneck,andbluewings;andtwospeciesofthelong-leggedwhistling or tree duck. Another common specieswas the rosy-billed duck, now to be seen on ornamental waters in England; andoccasionally we saw the wild Muscovy duck, called Royal duck by thenatives,butitwasararevisitorsofarsouth.Wealsohadgeeseandswans:theuplandgeesefromtheMegellanicStraitsthatcametousinwinter—thatistosay, ourwinter fromMay toAugust.And therewere two swans, the black-necked,whichhasblackfleshandisunfittoeat,andthewhiteorCoscorobaSwan,asgoodatablebirdasthereisintheworld.Andoddlyenoughthisbirdhasbeenknown to thenativesasa "goose" since thediscoveryofAmerica,and now after three centuries our scientific ornithologists have made thediscoverythatitisalinkbetweenthegeeseandswans,butismoregoosethanswan.Itisabeautifulwhitebird,withbrightredbillandlegs,thewingstippedwithblack;andhasaloudmusicalcryofthreenotes,thelastprolongednotewithafallinginflection.

Thesewere the birdswe sought after inwinter; butwe could shoot for thetablealltheyearround,fornosoonerwasittheduck'spairingandbreedingseasonthananotherbird-populationfromtheirbreeding-groundsinthearcticandsub-arcticregionscameonthescene—plover,sandpiper,godwit,curlew,whimbrel,—a host of northern species that made the summer-dried pampastheirwinterabode.

Myfirstattemptatduck-shootingwasmadeatapondnotmanyminutes'walkfromthehouse,whereIfoundapairofshovellerducks,feedingintheirusualwayintheshallowwaterwithheadandneckimmersed.Anxiousnottofailinthisfirst trial,Igotdownflatonthegroundandcrawledsnake-fashionforadistance of fifty or sixty yards, until Iwas less than twenty yards from thebirds,whenIfiredandkilledone.

Thatfirstduckwasagreatjoy,andhavingsucceededsowellwithmycarefultactics,Icontinuedinthesameway,confiningmyattentiontopairsorsmallparties of three or four birds, when by patiently creeping a long distancethrough the grass I could get very close to them. In this way I shot teal,widgeon, pintail, shovellers, and finally the noble rosy-bill, which was

esteemedforthetableabovealltheothers.

Mybrother,ambitiousofabigbag,invariablywentadistancefromhomeinquest of the large flocks, and despised my way of duck- shooting; but itsometimesvexedhimtofindonhisreturnfromaday'sexpeditionthatIhadsucceededingettingasmanybirdsashimselfwithouthavinggonemuchmorethanamilefromhome.

Somemonths after I had started shooting I began to have trouble withmybeloved gun, owing to aweakness it had developed in its lock—one of theinfirmitiesincidentaltoagewhichthegunsmithsofBuenosAyreswereneverabletocureeffectually.WheneveritgotbadIwaspermittedtoputitintothecartsenttotownperiodically,tohaveitrepaired,andwouldthengogunlessfor aweekor tendays.Ononeof theseoccasions Ioneday sawapartyofshoveller duck dibbling in a small rain-pool at the side of the plantation,within a dozen yards of the old moat which surrounded it. Ducks alwaysappearedtobeexceptionallytameandboldwhenIwaswithoutagun,buttheboldnessofthoseshovellerswasmorethanIcouldstand,andrunningtothehouseIgotouttheoldblunderbuss,whichIhadneverbeenforbiddentouse,since no one had ever thought it possible that I should want to use such amonsterof agun.But Iwasdesperate, and loading it for the first (and last)time,Iwentafterthoseshovellers.

I had once been told that it would be impossible to shoot wild duck oranythingwith theblunderbuss unless one couldgetwithin a dozenyards ofthem,onaccountofitstremendousscatteringpower.Well,bygoingalongthebottomofthemoat,whichwasluckilywithoutwaterjustthen,IcouldgetasnearthebirdsasIlikedandkillthewholeflock.WhenIarrivedabreastofthepoolIcreptupthegrassycrumblingoutsidebank,andrestingtheponderousbarrel on the top of the bank, fired at the shovellers at a distance of aboutfifteenyards,andkillednothing,butreceivedakickwhichsentmeflyingtothebottomof thefoss. ItwasseveraldaysbeforeIgotover thatpain inmyshoulder.

Laterontherewasaperiodoftroubleandscarcityintheland.Therewaswar,and thecity fromwhichweobtainedour supplieswasbesiegedbyanarmyfrom the "upper provinces" which had come down to break the power andhumble the pride of Buenos Ayres. Our elders missed their tea and coffeemost,butouranxietywas thatweshould soonbewithoutpowderandshot.Mybrotherconstantlywarnedmenottobesowasteful,althoughhefiredhalfa dozen shots tomyonewithout gettingmorebirds for the table.At lengththerecameadaywhentherewaslittleshotleft—justaboutenoughtofilloneshot-pouch—andknowing itwashis intention tohaveadayout, I sneakedintothegun-roomandloadedmyfowling-piecejusttohaveoneshotmore.He

wasgoingtotryforuplandgeesethatday,and,asIhadexpected,carriedoffalltheshot.

AfterhehadgoneItookmygun,andbeingdeterminedtomakethemostofmyoneshot,refusedtobetemptedbyanyofthesmallpartiesofduckIfoundin the pools near home, even when they appeared quite tame. At length Iencountered a good-sized flockof rosy-bills by the sideof amarshy streamabout twomiles fromhome. Itwasa still,warmday inmid-winter, and theducksweredozingonthegreenbankinabeautifulcrowd,andasthelandnearthemwascoveredwithlonggrass,Isawitwouldbepossibletogetquiteclosetothem.Leavingmyponyatagooddistance,Igotdownflatonthegroundandbeganmy long laboriouscrawl, andgotwithin twenty-fiveyardsof theflock.Neverhad Ihadsuchachancebefore!As Ipeeped through thegrassand herbage I imagined all sorts of delightful things—my brother far awayvainly firing long shots at thewary geese, and his return and disgust at thesightofmyheapofnoblerosy-bills,allobtainednearhomeatoneshot!

ThenIfiredjustasthebirds,catchingsightofmycap,raisedtheirlongnecksinalarm.Bang!Uptheyrosewithanoiseofwings,leavingnotonebehind!Vainly Iwatched the flock, thinking that some of the birds Imust have hitwouldsoonbeseentowaverintheircourseandthendroptoearth.Butnonewaveredorfell.Iwenthomeasmuchpuzzledasdisappointed.Lateinthedaymy brother returned with one upland goose and three or four ducks, andinquiredifIhadhadanyluck.Itoldhimmysadstory,whereuponheburstoutlaughingand informedme thathehad takencare todraw the shot frommygunbeforegoingout.Hewasuptomylittletricks,hesaid;hehadseenwhatIhaddone,andwasnotgoingtoallowmetowastethelittleshotwehadleft!

Our duck-shooting was carried on under difficulties during those days.Wesearchedforammunitionatallthehousesforsomeleaguesaround,andatonehousewe foundandpurchasedaquantityofexceedinglycoarsegunpowder,withgrainalmostthesizeofcanary-seed.Theytoldusitwascannon-powder,andtomakeitfitforuseinourfowling-pieceswegrounditfinewithglassandstonebottlesforrollersona tinplate.Shotwecouldnotfind,sohadtomakeitforourselvesbycuttingupplatesofleadintosmallsquarebitswithaknifeandhammer.

Eventually the civilwar,which had dragged on for a long time, brought anunexpected danger to our house and caused us to turn our minds to moreimportantthingsthanducks.Ihavesaidthatthecitywasbesiegedbyanarmyfrom the provinces, but away on the southern frontier of the province ofBuenos Ayres the besieged party, or faction, had a powerful friend in anestancierointhosepartswhowasfriendlywiththeIndians,andwhocollectedan army of Indians hungry for loot, and gauchos, mostly criminals and

deserters,who in thosedayswere accustomed to come fromall partsof thecountrytoputthemselvesundertheprotectionofthisgoodman.

Thishordeofrobbersandenthusiastswasnowadvancinguponthecapitaltoraise the siege, and eachdaybrought us alarming reports—whether trueorfalse we could not know—of depredations they were committing on theirmarch.Thegoodman,theircommander,wasnotasoldier,andtherewasnopretenceofdisciplineofanykind; themen, itwassaid,didwhat theyliked,swarmingoverthecountryonthelineofmarchinbands,sackingandburninghouses, killing or driving off the cattle, and so on. Our house wasunfortunatelyonthemainroadrunningsouthfromthecapital,anddirectlyinthewayofthecomingrabble.Thatthedangerwasarealandverygreatonewe could see in the anxious faces of our elders; besides, nothing was nowtalkedofbutthecomingarmyandofallwehadtofear.

AtthisjuncturemybrothertookituponhimselftomakepreparationsforthedefenceofthehouseOuroldestbrotherwasaway,shutupinthebesiegedcity,but the threeofus at homedetermined tomakeagood fight, andwe set towork cleaning and polishing up our firearms- the Tower musket, the awfulblunderbuss,thethreefowling-pieces,doubleandsingle-barrelled,andthetwobighorse-pistolsandanoldrevolver.Wecollectedall theold leadwecouldfind about the place andmade bullets in a couple of bullet-mouldswe hadfound—oneforounceandoneforsmallbullets,threetotheounce.Thefiretomelttheleadwasinashelterwehadmadebehindanouthouse,andhereoneday,inspiteofallourprecautions,wewerediscoveredatwork,withrowsandpyramidsofshiningbulletsroundus,andoursecretwasout.Wewerelaughedatasasetofyoungfoolsforourpains."Nevermind,"saidmybrother."Letthemmocknow;by andbywhen it comes to choosingbetweenhavingourthroats cut and defending ourselves, they will probably be glad the bulletsweremade."

But though they laughed, our work was not interfered with, and somehundredsofbulletswereturnedoutandmadequiteaprettyshow.

Meanwhilethebesiegerswerenotidle:theyhadintheirarmyacavalryofficerwho had had a long experience of frontier warfare and had always beensuccessfulinhisfightswiththepampasIndians;andthisman,withapickedforce composed of veteran fighters, was dispatched against the barbarians.TheyhadalreadycrossedtheSaladoriverandwerewithintwoorthreeeasymarchesofus,whenthesmalldisciplinedforcemetandgavethembattleandutterly routed them. Indians andgauchoswere sent flying south like thistle-downbeforethewind;butallbeingwell-mounted,notmanywerekilled.

Soendedthatdanger,andIthinkweboyswereallalittledisappointedthatno

usehadbeenmadeofourbrightbeautifulbullets.Iamsuremybrotherwas;but soon after that he left home for a distant country, and our shooting andotheradventurestogetherwereendedforever.

CHAPTERXXII

BOYHOOD'SEND

Thebook—TheSaledero,orkilling-grounds,andtheirsmell—Wallsbuiltofbullocks'skulls—Apestilentialcity—RiverwaterandAljibewater—Daysoflassitude—Novelscenes—Homeagain—Typhus—Myfirstdayout—Birthdayreflections—What I asked of life—A boy's mind—A brother's resolution—Endofour thousandandonenights—Areadingspell—Myboyhoodends indisaster.

Thisbookhasalreadyruntoagreaterlengththanwasintended;neverthelesstheremustbeyetanotherchapterortwotobringittoaproperending,whichIcanonlyfindbyskippingoverthreeyearsofmylife,andsogettingatoncetothe age of fifteen. For thatwas a time of great events and serious changes,bodilyandmental,whichpracticallybroughtthehappytimeofmyboyhoodtoanend.

Onlookingbackoverthebook,IfindthatonthreeorfouroccasionsIhaveplacedsomeincidentinthewrongchapterorgroup,thusmakingittakeplaceayearorsotoosoonortoolate.Thesesmallerrorsofmemoryare,however,notworthalteringnow:so longas thesceneorevent is rightly rememberedandpictureditdoesn'tmattermuchwhetherIwassixorseven,oreightyearsold at the time. I find, too, that I have omittedmany thingswhich perhapsdeserved a place in the book—scenes and events which are vividlyremembered, butwhichunfortunately did not comeup at the rightmoment,andsowereleftout.

Ofthesescenesunconsciouslyomitted,IwillnowgiveonewhichshouldhaveappearedinthechapterdescribingmyfirstvisittoBuenosAyrescity:placedhereitwillserveverywellasanintroductiontothislastchapter.

Inthosedays,andindeeddowntotheseventiesoflastcentury,thesouthsideof thecapitalwas thesiteof the famousSaladero,orkilling-grounds,wherethe fat cattle, horses and sheep brought in from all over the country wereslaughteredeveryday,sometosupplythetownwithbeefandmuttonandtomakecharque,orsun-driedbeef,forexportationtoBrazil,whereitwasused

to feed the slaves, but the greater number of the animals, including all thehorses,were killed solely for their hides and tallow.The grounds covered aspaceofthreeorfoursquaremiles,wheretherewerecattleenclosuresmadeofuprightpostsplacedclosetogether,andsomelowbuildingsscatteredaboutTothisspotweredrivenendlessflocksofsheep,halforwhollywildhorsesanddangerous-looking, long-horned cattle in herds of a hundred or so to athousand, each moving in its cloud of dust, with noise of bellowings andbleatingsand furiousshoutingof thedroversas theygallopedupanddown,urgingthedoomedanimalson.Whenthebeastsarrivedintoogreatnumberstobedealtwithinthebuildings,youcouldseehundredsofcattlebeingkilledin the open all over the grounds in the old barbarousway the gauchos use,every animal being first lassoed, then hamstrung, then its throat cut —ahideous and horrible spectacle,with a suitable accompaniment of sounds inthewild shouts of the slaughterers and the awful bellowings of the torturedbeasts.Justwheretheanimalwasknockeddownandkilled,itwasstrippedofitshideandthecarcasscutup,aportionofthefleshandthefatbeingremovedand all the rest left on the ground to be devoured by the pariah dogs, thecarrion hawks, and a multitude of screaming black-headed gulls always inattendance.Theblood so abundantly shed fromday today,mixingwith thedust,hadformedacrusthalfafootthickallovertheopenspace:letthereadertrytoimaginethesmellofthiscrustandoftonsofoffalandfleshandboneslyingeverywhereinheaps.Butno,itcannotbeimagined.Themostdreadfulscenes, the worst in Dante's Inferno, for example, can be visualized by theinnereye;andsounds,too,areconveyedtousinadescriptionsothattheycanbeheardmentally;but it isnotsowithsmells.Thereadercanonly takemyword for it that this smellwasprobably theworst ever knownon the earth,unlessheacceptsastruethestoryofTobitandthe"fishyfumes"bymeansofwhich that ancient hero defended himself in his retreat from the pursuingdevil.

Itwasthesmellofcarrion,ofputrifyingflesh,andofthatoldandever-newlymoistenedcrustofdustandcoagulatedblood.Itwas,orseemed,acuriouslysubstantialandstationarysmell; travellersapproachingor leaving thecapitalby the great south road,which skirted the killing-grounds,would hold theirnoses and ride a mile or so at a furious gallop until they got out of theabominablestench.

OneextraordinaryfeatureoftheprivatequintasororchardsandplantationsinthevicinityoftheSaladeroswasthewallsorhedges.Thesewerebuiltentirelyofcows'skulls,seven,eight,orninedeep,placedevenlylikestones,thehornsprojecting.Hundredsofthousandsofskullshadbeenthusused,andsomeoftheold,verylongwalls,crownedwithgreengrassandwithcreepersandwildflowersgrowingfromthecavitiesinthebones,hadastrangelypicturesquebut

somewhatuncanny appearance.As a rule therewere rowsof oldLombardypoplarsbehindthesestrangewallsorfences.

Inthosedaysboneswerenotutilized:theywerethrownaway,andthosewhowantedwallsinastonelessland,wherebricksandwoodforpalingsweredeartobuy,foundintheskullsausefulsubstitute.

The abomination I have describedwas but one ofmany—the principal andsublimestenchinacityofevilsmells,apopulouscitybuiltonaplainwithoutdrainageandwithoutwater-supplybeyondthatwhichwassoldbywatermenin buckets, each bucketful containing about half a pound of red clay insolution. It is true that the best houses had algibes, or cisterns, under thecourtyard,wheretherainwaterfromtheflatroofswasdeposited.Irememberthatwaterwell:youalwayshadoneortwotohalf-a-dozenscarletwrigglers,the larvae of mosquitoes, in a tumblerful, and you drank your water, quitecalmly,wrigglersandall!

Allthiswillservetogiveanideaoftheconditionofthecityofthattimefromthesanitarypointofview,andthisstateofthingslasteddowntothe'seventiesofthelastcentury,whenBuenosAyrescametobethechiefpestilentialcityoftheglobeandwasobligedtocallinengineersfromEnglandtodosomethingtosavetheinhabitantsfromextinction.

WhenIwasinmyfifteenthyear,beforeanychangeshadtakenplaceandthegreatoutbreaksofcholeraandyellowfeverwereyettocome,Ispentfourorfiveweeks in thecity,greatlyenjoying thenovel scenesandnew life.Afterabout ten or twelve days I began to feel tired and languid, and this feelinggrewonmedaybydayuntilitbecamealmostpainfultoexertmyselftovisiteven my most favoured haunts—the great South Market, where cage-birdswere to be seen in hundreds, green paroquets, cardinals, and bishop-birdspredominating;ortotheriverfront,whereIspentmuchtimefishingforlittlesilveryking-fishesfromtherocks;orfurtherawaytothequintasandgardensonthecliff,whereIfirstfeastedmyeyesonthesightoforangegrovesladenwithgoldenfruitamidst thevividgreenpolishedfoliage,andoldolive treeswithblackegg-shapedfruitshowingamongthegreyleaves.

Andthroughitallthefeelingoflassitudecontinued,andwas,Ithought,duetothe fact that Iwason foot insteadof onhorseback, andwalkingon a stonypavementinsteadofonagreenturf.Itneveroccurredtomethattheremightbeanothercause,thatIwasbreathinginapestilentialatmosphereandthatthepoisonwasworkinginme.

Leaving town I travelledby some conveyance to spend a night at a friend'shouse,andnextmorningsetoutforhomeonhorseback.Ihadabouttwenty-

sevenmiles across country to ride and never touched a road, and Iwas nosooneronmywaythanmyspiritsrevived;Iwaswellandunspeakablyhappyagain, on horsebackon thewide greenplain, drinking in the pure air like adraughtofeternallife.Itwasautumn,andtheplainasfarasonecouldseeoneverysideamoistbrilliantgreen,withacrystalblueskyabove,overwhichfloatedshiningwhiteclouds.Thehealthygladfeelinglastedthroughmyrideandforadayortwoafter,duringwhichIrevisitedmyfavouritehauntsinthegrounds,rejoicingtobewithmybelovedbirdsandtreesoncemore.

Then thehateful townfeelingof lassitudereturnedonmeandallmyvigourwasgone,allpleasureinlifeended.ThereafterforafortnightIspentthetimemopingaboutthehouse;thentherewasaspelloffrostyweatherwithableakcuttingwindtotellusthatitwaswinter,whicheveninthoselatitudescanbevery cold. One day after early dinner my mother and sisters went in thecarriagetopayavisittoaneighbouringestancia,andmybrothersbeingoutorabsentfromhomeIwasleftalone.TheverandahappearedtomethewarmestplaceIcouldfind,asthesunshoneonitwarmandbright,andthereIsettleddownonachairplacedagainstthewallatthesideofaheapofsacksofmealor somethingwhich had been left there, and formed a nice shelter from thewind.

Thehousewasstrangelyquiet,andthewesteringsunshiningfullonmemademefeelquitecomfortable,andinalittlewhileIfellasleep.Thesunsetanditgrew bitterly cold, but I did not wake, and when my mother returned andinquiredformeIcouldnotbefound.Finallythewholehouseholdturnedoutwithlanternsandsearchedformeupanddownthroughtheplantation,andthehuntwas still goingonwhen, about teno'clockatnight, someonehurryingalongtheverandahstumbledonmeinmyshelteredcornerbythesacks,stillinmychairbutunconsciousandinaburningfever.Itwasthedreadtyphus,analmostobsoletemaladyinEurope,andinfactinallcivilizedcountries,butnotuncommon at that date in the pestilential city. Itwaswonderful that I livedthroughitinaplacewherewewereoutofreachofdoctorsandapothecaries,with onlymymother's skill in nursing and her knowledge of such drugs aswerekeptinthehousetosaveme.Shenursedmedayandnightforthethreeweeksduringwhich thefever lasted,andwhenit leftme,amereshadowofmy former self, I was dumb-not even a little Yes or No could I articulatehowever hard I tried, and itwas at last concluded that Iwould never speakagain. However, after about a fortnight, the lost faculty came back, to mymother'sinexpressiblejoy.

Winterwasnearing its endwhenonemorning in late July Iventuredoutofdoorsforthefirsttime,thoughstillbutaskeleton,ashadowofmyformerself.Itwas awindydayof brilliant sunshine, a day I shall never forget, and the

effect of the air and the sun and smell of earth and early flowers, and thesoundsofwildbirds,withthesightoftheintenselygreenyounggrassandthevast crystal dome of heaven above, was like deep draughts of some potentliquor that made the blood dance in my veins. Oh what an inexpressible,immeasurablejoytobealiveandnotdead,tohavemyfeetstillontheearth,anddrinkinthewindandsunshineoncemore!ButthepleasurewasmorethanIcouldendureinthatfeeblestate;thechillywindpiercedmelikeneedlesofice, my senses swam, and I would have fallen to the ground if my elderbrotherhadnotcaughtmeinhisarmsandtakenmebacktothehouse.

InspiteofthatfaintingfitIwashappyagainwiththeoldhappiness,andfromdaytodayIregainedstrength,untilonedayinearlyAugustIwassuddenlyremindedthatitwasmyanniversarybymybrothersandsistersallcomingtomewithbirthdaypresents,whichtheyhadbeencarefultoprovidebeforehand,andcongratulationsonmyrecovery.

Fifteenyearsold!Thiswasindeedthemostmemorabledayofmylife,foronthateveningIbegantothinkaboutmyself,andmythoughtswerestrangeandunhappy thoughts to me-what I was, what I was in the world for, what Iwanted,whatdestinywasgoing tomakeofme!Orwas it forme todo justwhat Iwished, to shapemyowndestiny, asmy elder brothers haddone? Itwasthefirsttimesuchquestionshadcometome,andIwasstartledatthem.ItwasasthoughIhadonlyjustbecomeconscious;IdoubtthatIhadeverbeenfully conscious before. I had lived till now in a paradise of vivid sense-impressionsinwhichallthoughtscametomesaturatedwithemotion,andinthatmental state reflection is well-nigh impossible. Even the idea of death,whichhadcomeasasurprise,hadnotmademereflect.Deathwasaperson,amonstrous beingwho had sprung uponme inmy flowery paradise and hadinflicted a wound with a poisoned dagger inmy flesh. Then had come theknowledgeofimmortalityforthesoul,andthewoundwashealed,orpartlyso,foratimeatallevents;afterwhichtheonethoughtthatseriouslytroubledmewasthatIcouldnotalwaysremainaboy.Topassfromboyhoodtomanhoodwasnotsobadasdying;neverthelessitwasachangepainfultocontemplate.Thateverlastingdelightandwonder,risingtorapture,whichwasinthechildandboywouldwitherawayandvanish,and in itsplace therewouldbe thatdull low kind of satisfactionwhichmen have in the set task, the daily andhourlyintercoursewithothersofalikecondition,andineatinganddrinkingandsleeping.Icouldnot,forexample,thinkofsoadvancedanageasfifteenwithoutthekeenestapprehension.AndnowIwasactuallyat thatage-at thatpartingoftheways,asitseemedtome.

What,then,didIwant?-whatdidIasktohave?Ifthequestionhadbeenputtome then, and if I had been capable of expressingwhatwas inme, I should

havereplied:IwantonlytokeepwhatIhave;toriseeachmorningandlookout on the sky and the grassy dew-wet earth fromday to day, fromyear toyear. To watch every June and July for spring, to feel the same old sweetsurpriseanddelightattheappearanceofeachfamiliarflower,everynew-borninsect,everybirdreturnedoncemorefromthenorth.Tolisteninatranceofdelighttothewildnotesofthegoldenplovercomingoncemoretothegreatplain, flying, flying south, flock succeeding flock the whole day long. Oh,thosewild beautiful cries of the golden plover! I could exclaimwithHafiz,withbutonewordchanged:"Ifafterathousandyearsthatsoundshouldfloato'er my tomb, my bones uprising in their gladness would dance in thesepulchre!"ToclimbtreesandputmyhanddowninthedeephotnestoftheBiente-veoandfeelthehoteggs—thefivelongpointedcream-colouredeggswith chocolate spots and splashes at the larger end.To lieon agrassybankwith the bluewater betweenme and beds of tall bulrushes, listening to themysterious sounds of the wind and of hidden rails and coots and courlansconversing together in strange human-like tones; to let my sight dwell andfeast on the camalote flower amid its floatingmasses of moist vivid greenleaves—the large alamanda-like flower of a purest divine yellow thatwhenpluckedshedsitslovelypetals,toleaveyouwithnothingbutagreensteminyour hand. To ride at noon on the hottest days,when thewhole earth is a-glitterwithillusorywater,andseethecattleandhorsesinthousands,coveringtheplainattheirwatering-places;tovisitsomehauntoflargebirdsatthatstill,hot hour and see storks, ibises, grey herons, egrets of a dazzlingwhiteness,androse-colouredspoonbillsandflamingoes,standingintheshallowwaterinwhich their motionless forms are reflected. To lie onmy back on the rust-browngrassinJanuaryandgazeupatthewidehotwhitey-bluesky,peopledwith millions and myriads of glistening balls of thistle-down, ever, everfloatingby; to gaze andgazeuntil they are tome living things and I, in anecstasy,amwiththem,floatinginthatimmenseshiningvoid!

AndnowitseemedthatIwasabouttoloseit—thisglademotionwhichhadmade the world what it was to me, an enchanted realm, a nature at oncenaturalandsupernatural; itwouldfadeand lessen imperceptiblydaybyday,yearbyyear,asIbecamemoreandmoreabsorbedinthedullbusinessoflife,until it would be lost as effectually as if I had ceased to see and hear andpalpitate,andmywarmbodyhadgrowncoldandstiffindeath,and,likethedeadandtheliving,Ishouldbeunconsciousofmyloss.

Itwasnotauniquenorasingularfeeling:itisknowntootherboys,asIhavereadandheard;alsoIhaveoccasionallymetwithonewho,inararemomentofconfidence,hasconfessedthathehasbeentroubledattimesatthethoughtofallhewouldlose.ButIdoubtthatitwasevermorekeenlyfeltthaninmycase;Idoubt,too,thatitiscommonorstronginEnglishboys,consideringthe

conditions inwhich theyexist.For restraint is irksome toallbeings, fromablack-beetleoranearthwormtoaneagle,or,togohigherstillinthescale,toanorang-u-tanoraman;itisfeltmostkeenlybytheyoung,inourspeciesatallevents,and theBritishboysuffers thegreatest restraintduring theperiodwhenthecallofnature, the instinctsofplayandadventure,aremosturgent.Naturally, he looks eagerly forward to the time of escape, which he fondlyimagineswillbewhenhisboyhoodisoverandheisfreeofmasters.

Tocomeback tomyowncase: Ididnotandcouldnotknow that itwasanexceptional case, that my feeling for nature was something more than thesenseofpleasureinsunandrainandwindandearthandwaterandinlibertyof motion, which is universal in children, but was in part due to a facultywhichisnotuniversalorcommon.Thefear,then,wasanidleone,butIhadgoodreasonforitwhenIconsideredhowithadbeenwithmyelderbrothers,who had been as little restrained as myself, especially that masterfuladventurous one, now in a distant country thousands of miles from home,who,atabouttheageatwhichIhadnowarrived,hadmadehimselfhisownmaster,todowhathelikedwithhisownlife.Ihadseenhimathispartingoftheways,howresolutelyhehadabandonedhisopen-airhabits,everythinginfact thathadbeenhisdelight, tosettledowntosheerhardmentalwork,andthis at our homeon the pampaswhere therewere nomasters, and even thebooks and instruments required for his studies could only be procuredwithgreatdifficultyandafterlongdelays.Irememberoneafternoonwhenweweregatheredinthedining-roomfortea,hewasreading,andmymothercominginlookedoverhisshoulderandsaid,"Youarereadinganovel:don'tyouthinkallthatromanticstuffwilltakeyourmindoffyourstudies?"

Now he'll flare up, said I tomyself; he's so confoundedly independent andtouchy no one can say a word to him. It surprised me when he answeredquietly,"Yes,mother, Iknow,butImustfinish thisbooknow; itwillbe thelastnovelIshallreadforsomeyears."Andsoitwas,Ibelieve.

His resolution impressed us even more in another matter. He had anextraordinarytalentforinventingstories,mostlyofwarsandwildadventureswith plenty of fighting in them, and whenever we boys were all together,whichwasusuallyafterwehadgonetobedandputthecandleout,hewouldbegin one of his wonderful tales and go on for hours, we all wide awake,listening in breathless silence. At length towards midnight the flow of thenarrativewouldsuddenlystop,andafteranintervalwewouldallbegintocryouttohimtogoon."Oh,youareawake!"hewouldexclaim,withachuckleoflaughter. "Verywell, then,youknow justwhereweare inourhistory, toberesumedanotherday.Nowyoucangotosleep."Onthefollowingeveninghewouldtakeupthetale,whichwouldoftenlastanentireweek,tobefollowed

byanotherjustaslong,thenanother,andsoon-ourthousandandonenights.And this delightful yarn-spinningwas also dropped as he becamemore andmoreabsorbedinhismathematicalandotherstudies.

TothisdayIcanrecallportionsofthosetales,especiallythoseinwhichbirdsandbeastsinsteadofmenweretheactors,andsomuchdidwemissthemthatsometimes when we were all assembled of an afternoon we would startbegginghimforastory—-"justonemore,andthelongerthebetter,"wewouldsaytotempthim.Andhe,alittleflatteredatourkeenappreciationofhistalentasayarn-spinner,wouldappearinclinedtoyield."Well,now,whatstoryshallItellyou?"hewouldsay;andthen,justwhenweweresettlingdowntolisten,hewouldshout,"No,no,nomorestories,"andtoputthematterfromhimhewouldsnatchupabookandorderus toholdour tonguesorclearoutof theroom!

Itwasnotformetofollowhislead;Ihadnottheintellectorstrengthofwillforsuchtasks,andnotonlyonthatmemorableeveningofmyanniversary,butfor days afterwards I continued in a troubled state ofmind, ashamedofmyignorance, my indolence, my disinclination to any kind of mental work-ashamedeventothinkthatmydelightinnatureandwishfornootherthinginlifewasmerelyduetothefactthatwhiletheotherswereputtingawaychildishthingsastheygrewup,Ialonerefusedtopartwiththem.

TheresultofallthesedeliberationswasthatItemporized:Iwouldnot,Icouldnot,giveuptheridesandramblesthattookupmostofmytime,butIwouldtry to overcomemy disinclination to serious reading. There were plenty ofbooks in the house-it was always a puzzle tome howwe came to have somany. I was familiar with their appearance on the shelves-they had beenbeforemesinceIfirstopenedmyeyes—-theirshape,size,colour,eventheirtitles,andthatwasallIknewaboutthem.AgeneralNaturalHistoryandtwolittleworksbyJamesRonnieon thehabitsand facultiesofbirdswasall theliteraturesuitedtomywantsintheentirecollectionofthreeorfourhundredvolumes.Fortherest,Ihadreadafewstory-booksandnovels:butwehadnonovels;whenonecame into thehouse itwouldbe readand lent toournextneighbourfiveorsixmilesaway,andheinturnwouldlendtoanother,twentymilesfurtheron,andsoonuntilitdisappearedinspace.

ImadeabeginningwithRollin'sAncientHistoryintwohugequartovolumes;Ifancyitwasthelargecleartypeandnumerousplateswhichillustrateditthatdeterminedmychoice.Rollin, thegoodoldpriest, opened anewwonderfulworld tome, and insteadof the tedious task I had feared the readingwouldprove, itwas as delightful as it had formerly been to listen tomy brother'sendlesshistoriesofimaginaryheroesandtheirwarsandadventures.

Stillathirstforhistory,afterfinishingRollinIbeganfingeringotherworksofthatkind: therewasWhiston'sJosephus, tooponderousabook tobeheld inthe hands when read out of doors; and there was Gibbon in six statelyvolumes.Iwasnotyetabletoappreciatetheloftyartificialstyle,andsoonfellon something better suited to my boyish taste in letters—-a History ofChristianityin,Ithink,sixteenoreighteenvolumesofaconvenientsize.Thesimplenaturaldictionattractedme,andIwassoonconvincedthatIcouldnothavestumbledonmorefascinatingreadingthanthelivesoftheFathersoftheChurchincludedinsomeoftheearliervolumes,especiallythatofAugustine,thegreatestofall:howbeautifulandmarvelloushislifewas,andhismotherMonica's! what wonderful books he wrote!-his Confessions and City ofGodfromwhichlongexcerptsweregiveninthisvolume.

Thesebiographiessentmetoanotheroldbook,LelandonRevelation,whichtoldmemuch Iwas curious to knowabout themythologies and systemsofphilosophyoftheancients—theinnumerablefalsecultswhichhadflourishedinadarkenedworldbeforethedawnofthetruereligion.

NextcameCarlyle'sFrenchRevolutionandatlastGibbon,andIwasstilldeepin theDeclineandFallwhendisastercame tous:my fatherwaspracticallyruined,owing,asIhavesaidinaformerchapter, tohischildliketrust inhisfellow-men, and we quitted the home he had counted as a permanent one,which in due time would have become his property had he but made hispositionsecurebyaproperdeedonfirstconsentingtotakeovertheplaceinitsthenruinouscondition.

Thusended,sadlyenough,theenchantingyearsofmyboyhood;andhere,too,thebookshould finish:buthavinggone so far, Iwillventurea little furtherand give a brief account of what followed and the life which, for severalsucceeding years, was to bemine—the life, that is to say, of themind andspirit.

CHAPTERXXIII

ADARKENEDLIFE

A severe illness-Case pronounced hopeless-How it affected me-Religiousdoubts and a mind distressed-Lawless thoughts—Conversation with an oldgauchoaboutreligion—GeorgeCombeandthedesireforimmortality.

AfterwehadgonebackimpoverishedtoouroldhomewhereIfirstsawthe

light-whichwasstillmy father'spropertyandallhehad left-Icontinuedmyreading,andwassotakenupwiththeaffairsoftheuniverse,seenandunseen,thatIdidnotfeelthechangeinourpositionandcomfortstoogreatly.Itookmyshareintheroughworkandwasmuchout-of-doorsonhorsebacklookingafter the animals, and not unhappy. I was already very tall and thin at thattime, inmy sixteenth year, still growing rapidly, and though athletic, itwasprobablethatsomeweaknesshadbeenleftinmebythefever.Atallevents,Ihadscarcelysettleddowntothenewwayoflifebeforeafreshblowfelluponme,amaladywhich,thoughitfailedtokillme,yetmadeshipwreckofallmynew-bornearthlyhopesanddreams,andadismalfailureofmyafterlife.

Oneday Iundertook,unaided, todrivehomea small troopofcattlewehadpurchasedatadistanceofagoodmanyleagues,andwas in thesaddlefrommorning till after dark in a continuous flooding rain and violent wind. Thewindwasagainstme,andthebeastswereincessantlytryingtoturnandrushbacktotheplacetheyhadbeentakenfrom,andthefightwithwindandcattlewent wearily on, the driving rain gradually soaking through my woollenponcho,theftthroughmyclothestomyskin,andtricklingdownuntilmylongboots were full and slopping over at the knees. For the last half of thatmidwinterdaymyfeetand legsweredevoidof feeling.The resultof itwasrheumatic fever andyearsofbadhealth,with constant attacksof acutepainand violent palpitation of the heart whichwould last for hours at a stretch.FromtimetotimeIwassentortakentoconsultadoctorinthecity,andinthatwayfromfirsttolastIwasinthehandsofprettywellalltheEnglishdoctorsintheplace,buttheydidmenopermanentgood,nordidtheysayanythingtogivemeahopeofcomplete recovery.Eventuallywewere told that itwasapractically hopeless case, that I had "outgrown my strength," and had apermanentlybadheartandmightdropdownatanymoment.

Naturally thispronouncementhadamostdisastrouseffectonme.That theirdiagnosisprovedintheendtobewrongmatterednothing,sincetheinjuryhadbeendoneandcouldnotbeundoneifIlivedacentury.Fortheblowhadfallenat the most critical period in life, the period of transition when the newly-awakenedmind is in its freshest,most receptive stage, and ismost curious,most eager, when knowledge is most readily assimilated, and, aboveeverything,when the foundationsof character and theentire lifeof themanarelaid.

Ispeak,itwillbeunderstood,ofamindthathadnotbeentrainedorpressedinto amould or groove by schoolmasters and schools-of amind thatwas aforest wilding rather than a plant, one in ten thousand like it, grown underglassinapreparedsoil,inanursery.

ThatIhadtosaygood-byetoallthoughtsofacareer,allbrightdreamsofthe

futurewhichrecent readingshadput intomymind,wasnot feltas thechiefloss, itwas in facta smallmattercomparedwith thedreadful thought that Imustsoonresignthisearthlylifewhichwassomuchmoretome,asIcouldnot help thinking, than to most others. I was like that young man with aghastly face I had seen bound to a post in our barn; or like any wretchedcaptive,tiedhandandfootandlefttoliethereuntilitsuitedhiscaptortocomeback and cut his throat or thrust him throughwith a spear, or cut him intostrips with a sword, in a leisurely manner so as to get all the satisfactionpossibleoutoftheexerciseofhisskillandthespectacleofgushingbloodandhisvictim'sagony.

Norwasthisallnoreventheworstwhichhadbefallenme;Inowdiscoveredthat in spite of all my strivings after the religious mind, that old dread ofannihilationwhichIhadfirstexperiencedasasmallchildwasnotdeadasIhad fondly imagined,but still livedandworked inme.Thisvisibleworld—this paradise of which I had had so far but a fleeting glimpse-the sun andmoon and otherworlds peopling all spacewith their brilliant constellations,and still other suns and systems, so utterly remote, in such inconceivablenumbersastoappeartoourvisionasafaintluminousmistinthesky-allthisuniversewhichhadexistedformillionsandbillionsofages,orfrometernity,wouldhaveexistedinvain,sincenowitwasdoomedwithmylastbreath,mylastgleamofconsciousness,tocometonothing.Forthatwashowthethoughtofdeathpresenteditselftome.

AgainstthisappallingthoughtIstruggledwithallmypower,andprayedandprayedagain,morning,noonandnight,wrestlingwithGod,asthephrasewas,tryingas itwere towring something fromHishandswhichwould saveme,andwhichHe,fornoreasonthatIcoulddiscover,withheldfromme.

It was not strange in these circumstances that I became more and moreabsorbed in the religious literature ofwhichwe had a good amount on ourbookshelves—theology, sermons, meditations for every day in the year,TheWholeDutyofMan,ACalltotheUnconverted,andmanyotheroldworksofasimilarcharacter.

Among these I found one entitled, if I remember rightly,AnAnswer to theInfidel,andthiswork,whichItookupeagerlyintheexpectationthatitwouldallaythosemaddeningdoubtsperpetuallyrisinginmymindandbeahelpandcomforttome,onlyservedtomakemattersworse,atalleventsforatime.Forin thisbook Iwas firstmadeacquaintedwithmanyof theargumentsof thefreethinkers,bothoftheDeistswhowereopposedtotheChristiancreed,andofthosewhodeniedthetruthofallsupernaturalreligion.Andtheanswerstotheargumentswerenotalwaysconvincing.Itwasidle,then,toseekforproofsinthebooks.Thebooksthemselves,afteralltheirarguments,toldmeasmuch

when they said that only by faith could a man be saved. And to the sadquestion:"Howwas it tobeattained?" theonlyanswerwas,bystrivingandstrivinguntilitcame.AndastherewasnothingelsetodoIcontinuedstriving,withtheresultthatIbelievedanddidnotbelieve,andmysoul,orrathermyhopeofimmortality,trembledinthebalance.

This,fromfirsttolast,wastheonethingthatmattered;somuchwasittomethatinreadingoneofthereligiousbooksentitledTheSaints'EverlastingRest,inwhichthepiousauthor,RichardBaxter,expatiatesonandlabourstomakehisreadersrealizetheconditionoftheeternallydamned,Ihavesaidtomyself:"Ifanangel,oronereturnedfromthedead,couldcometoassuremethatlifedoesnotendwithdeath,thatwemortalsaredestinedtoliveforever,butthatformetherecanbenoblessedhereafteronaccountofmywantoffaith,andbecauseI lovedorworshippedNatureratherthantheAuthorofmybeing, itwould be, not amessage of despair, but of consolation; for in that dreadfulplacetowhichIshouldbesent,Ishouldbealiveandnotdead,andhavemymemoriesofearth,andperhapsmeetandhavecommuniontherewithothersoflikemindwithmyself,andwithrecollectionslikemine."

Thiswas but one ofmany lawless thoughtswhich assailedme at this time.Another,verypersistent,wastheviewItookofthesufferingsoftheSaviourofmankind.Why, Iasked,were theymadesomuchof?—-whywas it saidthatHesufferedasnomanhadsuffered?Itwasnothingbutthephysicalpainwhichthousandsandmillionshavehadtoendure!AndifIcouldbeassureofimmortalityasJesus,deathwouldbetomenomorethantheprickofathorn.Whatwould itmatter tobenailed toacrossandperish inaslowagony if Ibelievedthat,theagonyover,Ishouldsitdownrefreshedtosupinparadise?Theworstof itwas thatwhen I tried tobanish thesebitter, rebellious ideas,taking them tobe thewhisperingsof theEvilOne, as thebooks taught, thequickreplywouldcomethatthesupposedEvilOnewasnothingbutthevoiceofmyownreasonstrivingtomakeitselfheard.

But thecontestcouldnotbeabandoned;devilor reason,orwhatever itwas,mustbeovercome,else therewasnohope forme;andsuch is thepowerfuleffectoffixingallone'sthoughtsononeobject,assistednodoubtbythereflexeffectonthemindofprayer,thatinduetimeIdidsucceedinmakingmyselfbelieveallIwishedtobelieve,andhadmyreward,sinceaftermanydaysorweeksofmentalmiserytherewouldcomebeautifulintervalsofpeaceandofmorethanpeace,anewandsurprisingexperience,astateofexaltation,whenit would seem to me that I was lifted or translated into a purely spiritualatmosphereandwasincommunionandonewiththeunseenworld.

Itwaswonderful.AtlastandforevermyDarkNightoftheSoulwasover;nomore bitter broodings and mocking whispers and shrinking from the awful

phantom of death continually hovering near me; and, above all, no more"difficulties"—therockybarriersIhadvainlybeatandbruisedmyselfagainst.ForIhadbeenmiraculouslyliftedoverthemandsetsafelydownontheotherside,whereitwasallplainwalking.

Unhappily, these blissful intervals would not last long. A recollection ofsomething I had heard or read would come back to startle me out of theconfident happy mood; reason would revive as from a benumbed orhypnotizedcondition,andthemockingvoicewouldbeheardtellingmethatIhadbeenunderadelusion.OncemoreIwouldabhorandshudderattheblackphantom, andwhen the thought of annihilationwasmost insistent, I wouldoftenrecallthebitter,poignantwordsaboutdeathandimmortalityspokentome about two years before by an old gaucho landownerwho had been ourneighbourinmyformerhome.

Hewasarough,ratherstern-lookingman,withamassofsilver-whitehairandgreyeyes;agauchoinhisdressandprimitivewayoflife,theownerofalittleland and a few animals-the small remnant of the estancia which had oncebelongedtohispeople.Buthewasavigorousoldman,whospenthalfofhisdayonhorseback,lookingaftertheanimals,hisonlyliving.Onedayhewasatourhouse,andcomingouttowhereIwasdoingsomethinginthegrounds,hesatdownonabenchandcalledmetohim.Iwentgladlyenough,thinkingthathehad some interestingbird news to giveme.He remained silent for sometime,smokingacigar,andstaringattheskyasifwatchingthesmokevanishintheair.Atlengthheopenedfire.

"Look,"he said, "youareonlyaboy,butyoucan tellmesomething Idon'tknow.Yourparentsreadbooks,andyoulistentotheirconversationandlearnthings.WeareRomanCatholics,andyouareProtestants.Wecallyouhereticsandsaythatforsuchthereisnosalvation.NowIwantyoutotellmewhatisthedifferencebetweenourreligionandyours."

I explained the matter as well as I knew how, and added, somewhatmaliciously, that themaindifferencewashis religionwas a corrupt formofChristianityandoursapureone.

Thishadnoeffectonhim;hewentonsmokingandstaringattheskyasifhehadn't heardme.Thenhe began again: "Now I know.These differences arenothingtome,andthoughIwascurioustoknowwhattheywere,theyarenotworthtalkingabout,because,asIknow,allreligionsarefalse."

"Whatdidhemean—howdidheknow?"Iasked,verymuchsurprised.

"Theprieststellus,"hereplied,"thatwemustbelieveandliveareligiouslifein thisworld tobe saved.Yourpriests tell you the same, and as there is no

otherworldandwehavenosouls,alltheysaymustbefalse.Youseeallthiswithyoureyes,"hecontinued,wavinghishandstoindicatethewholevisibleworld."Andwhenyoushutthemorgoblindyouseenomore.Itisthesamewithourbrains.Wethinkofa thousand thingsandremember,andwhen thebraindecayswe forget everything, andwedie, andeverythingdieswithus.Havenot the cattle eyes to see andbrains to think and remember too?Andwhen they die no priest tells us that they have a soul and have to go topurgatory,orwhereverhelikestosendthem.Now,inreturnforwhatyoutoldme,I'vetoldyousomethingyoudidn'tknow."

Itcameasagreatshocktometohear this.HithertoIhadthought thatwhatwaswrongwithournativefriendswasthattheybelievedtoomuch,andthisman—thisgoodhonestoldgauchoweallrespected—believednothing!Itriedtoarguewithhimandtoldhimhehadsaidadreadfulthing,sinceeveryoneknew in his heart that he had an immortal soul and had to be judged afterdeath. He had distressed and even frightened me, but he went on calmlysmokingandappearednottobelisteningtome,andasherefusedtospeakIatlastburstout:"Howdoyouknow?Whydoyousayyouknow?"

At last he spoke. "Listen. I was once a boy too, and I know that a boy offourteencanunderstandthingsaswellasaman.Iwasanonlychild,andmymotherwasawidow,andIwasmore thanall theworld toher,andshewasmore than everything else tome.Wewere alone together in theworld—wetwo.Then shedied, andwhather losswas tome—howcan I say it?—howcouldyouunderstand?Andaftershewastakenawayandburied,Isaid:'Sheisnotdead,andwherevershenowis, inheavenor inpurgatory,or in thesun,shewillrememberandcometomeandcomfortme.'WhenitwasdarkIwentoutaloneandsatattheendofthehouse,andspenthourswaitingforher.'Shewill surely come,' I said, 'but I don't know whether I shall see her or not.Perhaps itwill be just awhisper inmyear, perhaps a touchof her handonmine,butIshallknowthatsheiswithme.'Andatlast,wornoutwithwaitingandwatching, Iwent tomybedandsaidshewillcome to-morrow.And thenextnightandthenextitwasthesame.SometimesIwouldgouptheladder,alwaysstandingagainstthegablesothatonecouldgoup,andstandingontheroof, lookoutovertheplainandseewhereourhorsesweregrazing.ThereIwould sitor lieon the thatch forhours.And Iwouldcry: 'Come tome,mymother! I cannot livewithoutyou!Comesoon-comesoon,before Idieof abroken heart!' Thatwasmy cry every night, untilworn outwithmy vigil Iwouldgobacktomyroom.Andshenevercame,andatlastIknewthatshewas dead and that we were separated for ever—that there is no life afterdeath."

Hisstorypiercedmeto theheart,andwithoutanotherwordI lefthim,butI

succeeded inmakingmyselfbelieve thatgrief forhismotherhadmadehimmad,thatasaboyhehadgotthesedelusionsinhismindandhadkeptthemallhislife.Nowthisrecollectionhauntedme.Thenoneday,withmymindinthistroubledstate,inreadingGeorgeCombe'sPhysiologyIcameonapassageinwhich thequestionof thedesire for immortality isdiscussed,his contentionbeingthatitisnotuniversal,andasaproofofthisheaffirmsthathehimselfhadnosuchdesire.

Thiscameasagreatshocktome,sinceuptothemomentofreadingitIhadinmy ignorance taken It forgranted that thedesire is inherent ineveryhumanbeing from thedawnof consciousness to the endof life, that it is our chiefdesire,andisaninstinctofthesoullikethatphysicalinstinctofthemigratorybird which calls it annually from the most distant regions back to its natalhome.Ihadalsotakenitforgrantedthatourhopeofimmortality,orratherourbeliefinit,wasfoundedonthissamepassioninusandinitsuniversality.Thefactthattherewerethosewhohadnosuchdesirewassufficienttoshowthatitwasnospiritualinstinctornotofdivineorigin.

Thereweremanymoreshocksofthiskind—whenIgobackinmemorytothatsad time, it seems almost incredible to me that that poor doubtful faith inrevealedreligionstillsurvived,andthatthestrugglestillwenton,butgoonitcertainlydid.

Tomanyofmyreaders,toallwhohaveinterestedthemselvesinthehistoryofreligionanditseffectonindividualminds—itspsychology—allIhavewrittenconcerningmymentalconditionatthatperiod,willcomeasatwice-toldtale,sincethousandsandmillionsofmenhaveundergonesimilarexperiencesandhaverelatedtheminnumberlessbooks.AndhereImustbegmyreadertobearinmindthatinthedaysofmyyouthwehadnotyetfallenintotheindifferenceand scepticismwhich now infects the entire Christian world. In those dayspeoplestillbelieved;andhereinEngland,intheverycentreandmindoftheworld,many thousandsofmiles frommyrudewilderness, thechampionsofthe Church were in deadly conflict with the Evolutionists. I knew nothingabout all that: I had nomodern books—thosewe hadweremostly about ahundredyearsold.Myfightuptothisperiodwasallontheoldlines,andonthisaccountIhaverelateditasbrieflyaspossible;butithadtobetold,sinceitcomesintothestoryofthedevelopmentofmymindatthatperiod.Ihavenodoubtthatmysufferingsthroughthesereligiousexperienceswerefargreaterthan in the majority of cases, and this for the special reason which I havealreadyintimated.

CHAPTERXXIV

LOSSANDGAIN

Thesoul'sloneliness—Mymotherandherdeath-Amother'sloveforherson—Her character-Anecdotes-A mystery and a revelation—The autumnalmigration of birds—Moonlight vigils—My absent brother's return—HeintroducesmetoDarwin'sworks—Anewphilosophyoflife—Conclusion.

Themournful truth that aman—everyman-must die alone, had been thrustsharply intomymind and kept there by the frequent violent attacks ofmymalady I sufferedat that time, everyoneofwhich threatened tobe the last.Andthissenseandapprehensionoflonelinessatthemomentoftheseveranceofallearthlytiesandpartingwithlightandlife,wasperhapsthecauseoftheideaornotionwhichpossessedme,thatinallourmostintimatethoughtsandreflectionsconcerningourdestinyandourdeepestemotions,weareandmustbealone.Anyhow, in so far as thesematters areconcerned, Ineverhadnordesiredaconfidant.InthisconnectionIrecallthelastwordsspokentomebymyyoungerbrother,thebeingIlovedbestonearthatthattimeandtheoneIhadbeenmore intimatewith thanwithanyotherpersonIhaveeverknown.Thiswasafterthedarkdaysandyearshadbeenoverpass,whenIhadhadlongperiodsoffairlygoodhealthandhadknownhappinessinthesolitaryplacesIlovedtohaunt,communingwithwildnature,withwildbirdsforcompany.

Hewaswithme in the ship inwhich I had takenmy passage "home," as Iinsisted on calling England, to his amusement, and when we had graspedhandsforthelasttimeandhadsaidourlastgood-bye,headdedthisonemorelastword:"Ofall thepeopleIhaveeverknownyouaretheonlyoneIdon'tknow."

Itwasaword,Iimagine,neverspokenbyamotherofalovedson,herinsight,born of her exceeding love, being so much greater than that of the closestfriendandbrother.Ineverbreathedawordofmydoubtsandmentalagonizingtomymother;Ispoketoheronlyofmybodilysufferings;yetsheknewitall,andIknewthatsheknew.Andbecausesheknewandunderstoodthetemperofmymindaswell,sheneverquestioned,neverprobed,butinvariablywhenalone with me she would with infinite tenderness in her manner touch onspiritual things and tell me of her own state, the consolations of her faithwhichgaveherpeaceandstrengthinallourreversesandanxieties.

Iknew,too,thatherconcernatmystatewasthegreaterbecauseitwasnotherfirst experienceof a troubleof this kind.Myelder long- absent brotherhadscarcelyceasedtobeaboybeforethrowingoffallbeliefintheChristiancreed

and congratulating himself on having got rid of old wives' fables, as hescornfullyexpressedit.Butneveraworddidhesaytoherofthischange,andwithoutawordsheknewit,andwhenshespoketousonthesubjectnearesttoher heart and he listened in respectful silence, she knew the thought andfeeling—thatwas inhim-thathe lovedheraboveeverybodybutwas freeofhercreed.

Hehadbeenabletocastitoffwithalightheartbecauseofhisperfecthealth,sinceinthatconditiondeathisnotinthemind—themindrefusestoadmitthethoughtofit,soremoteisitinthatstatethatweregardourselvesaspracticallyimmortal.And,untroubledbythatthought,themindisclearandvigorousandunfettered.What, Ihaveaskedmyself,evenwhenstrivingafter faith,wouldfaith in another world have mattered to me if I had not been suddenlysentenced to an early death, when the whole desire of my soul was life,nothingbutlife—toliveforever!

Thenmymotherdied.Herperfecthealthfailedhersuddenly,andherdeclinewas not long.But she sufferedmuch, and on the last occasion ofmybeingwithheratherbedsideshetoldmethatshewasverytiredandhadnofearofdeath, andwouldbeglad to gobut for the thought of leavingme in such aprecarious state of health andwith amind distressed.Even then she put noquestionstome,butonlyexpressedthehopethatherprayersformewouldbeansweredandthatatthelastweshouldbetogetheragain.

Icannotsay,asImightsay in thecaseofanyotherrelationorfriend, thatIhadlosther.Amother'sloveforthechildofherbodydiffersessentiallyfromallotheraffections,andburnswithsoclearandsteadyaflamethatitappearsliketheoneunchangeablethinginthisearthlymutablelife,sothatwhensheisnolongerpresentitisstillalighttoourstepsandaconsolation.

ItcametomeasagreatsurpriseafewyearsagotohavemysecretandmostcherishedfeelingsaboutmyownmotherexpressedtomeasIhadneverheardthemexpressedbeforebyafriendwho,albeitstillyoung,hasmadehimselfaname in the world, one who had never known a mother, she having diedduringhisinfancy.Helamentedthatithadbeenso,notonlyonaccountofthemotherlesschildhoodandboyhoodhehadknown,butchieflybecauseinafterlifeitwasborneinonhimthathehadbeendeprivedofsomethinginfinitelypreciouswhich others have—the enduring and sustainingmemory of a lovewhich isunlike anyother loveknown tomortals, and is almost a sense andprescienceofimmortality.

In reading, nothing goes tomy heart like any true account of amother andson's love for one another, such aswe find in that true book I have alreadyspokenofinaformerchapter,SergeAksakoff'sHistoryofmyChildhood.Of

other books I may cite Leigh Hunt's Autobiography in the early chapters.Readingtheincidentsherecordsofhismother'sloveandpityforallintroubleandher self- sacrificing acts, I have exclaimed: "How likemymother! It isjust how shewould have acted!" Iwill give an instance here of her loving-kindness.

Some days after her death I had occasion to go to the house of one of ournativeneighbours—thehumbleranchoofpoorpeople.ItwasnotinmymindatthemomentthatIhadnotseenthesepeoplesincemymotherdied,andoncoming into the living-room the old mother of the family, who hadgrandchildrenofmyage, rosefromherseatwith totteringsteps tomeetme,and takingmyhand inhers,with tears streaming fromhereyes, cried: "Shehasleftus!Shewhocalledmemotheronaccountofmyyearsandherlovingheart.Itwasshewhowasmymotherandthemotherofusall.Whatshallwedowithouther?"

Onlyaftergoingout andgettingonmyhorse it occurred tome that theoldwoman'smemorywent back to the timewhen she first knewmymother, agirl-wife,manyyearsbeforeIwasborn.Shecouldremembernumerousactsofloveandcompassion:thatwhenoneofherdaughtersdiedinchildbirthinthatveryhouse,mymother,whowasjustthennursingme,wenttogivethemwhateveraidandcomfortshecould,andfindingthechildalive,tookithomeandnursedit,withme,atherownbreastsforseveraldaysuntilanursewasfound.

From the time when I began to think for myself I used to wonder at hertolerance; for she was a saint in her life, spiritually-minded in the highestdegree. To her, a child ofNewEngland parents and ancestors, reared in anintenselyreligiousatmosphere,thepeopleofthepampasamongwhomherlotwas cast must have appeared almost like the inhabitants of another world.Theywereasstrangetohersoul,morallyandspiritually,astheywereunlikeherownpeopleoutwardlyinlanguage,dress,andcustoms.Yetshewasabletoaffiliatewiththem,tovisitandsitateasewiththemintheirlowliestranches,interesting herself asmuch in their affairs as if she belonged to them. Thissympathyandfreedomendearedhertothem,anditwasagrieftosomewhoweremuchattachedtoherthatshewasnotoftheirfaith.ShewasaProtestant,and what that exactly meant they didn't know, but they supposed it wassomething very bad. Protestants, someof themheld, had been concerned inthe crucifixion of the Saviour; at all events, they would not go to mass orconfessional, and despised the saints, those glorified beingswho, under theQueenofHeaven,andwiththeangels,weretheguardiansofChristiansoulsin this lifeand their intercessors in thenext.Theywereanxious tosaveher,andwhenIwasborn,thesameolddameIhavetoldaboutapageortwoback,

finding that I had come into theworld on St.Dominic'sDay, set herself topersuade my mother to name me after that saint, that being the religiouscustomofthecountry.Foriftheyshouldsucceedinthisitwouldbetakenasasignofgrace,thatshewasnotadespiserofthesaintsandhercasehopeless.Butmymotherhadalreadyfixedonanameformeandwouldnotchangeitforanother,eventopleaseherpoorneighbours—certainlynotforsuchanameas Dominic; perhaps there is not one in the calendar more obnoxious tohereticsofalldenominations.

Theyweremuchhurt-itwas theonlyhurt sheevercaused them-and theolddame and some of her people,who had thought the scheme too good to bedroppedaltogether,insistedalwaysoncallingmeDominic!

Mymother'ssympathyandloveforeverybodyappeared,too,inthehospitalityshedelightedtoexercise.That,indeed,wasthecommonvirtueofthecountry,especially in the native population; but from all my experience during mywanderingsonthesegreatplainsinsubsequentyears,wheneverynightwouldfindmeaguest inadifferentestablishment,Ineversawanythingquiteonaparwithmyparents'hospitality.Nothingseemed tomake themhappier thanhavingstrangersandtravellerstakingtheirrestwithus;therewerealsoagoodnumberofpersonswhowereaccustomedtomakeperiodicalvisitstothecityfromthesouthernpartoftheprovincewho,afteranightwithus,withperhapshalfaday'sresttofollow,wouldmakeourhousearegularresting-place.Butno distinctions were made. The poorest, even men who would be labelledtrampsinEngland,travellersonfootperhapswherecattlemadeitdangerousto be on foot, would be made as welcome as those of a better class. Ourdelight as children, loving fun too well, was when we had a guest of thishumbledescriptionatthesupper-table.Settlingdowninourplacesatthelongtableladenwithgoodthings,asternadmonitoryglancefromourfatherwouldlet us into the secret of the new guest's status—his unsuitability to hissurroundings. It was great fun to watch him furtively and listen to hisblunderingconversationalefforts,butweknewthattheleastsoundofatitteron our part would have been an unpardonable offence. The poor andmoreuncouth, or ridiculous, from our childish point of view, they appeared, themoreanxiousmymotherwouldbetoput themat theirease.Andshewouldsometimessaytousafterwardsthatshecouldnotlaughwithusbecausesheremembered the poor fellow probably had amother somewhere in a distantcountrywhowasperhapsthinkingofhimattheverytimehewasatthetablewithus, andhopingandpraying that inhiswanderingshewouldmeetwithsomewhowouldbekindtohim.

Iremembermanyofthesechanceguests,andwillgiveaparticularaccountofone—theguestand theeveningwepassed inhiscompany—as thissurvives

with a peculiar freshness in my memory, and it was also a cherishedrecollectionofmymother's.

I was then nine or ten years old, and our guest was a young Spanishgentleman, singularly handsome, with a most engaging expression andmanner.Hewas on a journey fromBuenosAyres to a part in our provincesome sixty or seventy leagues further south, and after asking permission topass the night at our house, he explained that he had only one horse, as heliked that way of travelling rather than the native way of drivinga tropillabefore him, going at a furious gallop from dawn to dark, andchanginghorseseverythreeorfourleagues.Havingbutonehorse,hehadtogo in a leisurelywaywithmany rests, and he liked to call atmany houseseverydayjusttotalkwiththepeople.

After supper, during which he charmed us with his conversation and pureCastilian,whichwas likemusic as he spoke it,we formed a circle before awoodfireinthedining-roomandmadehimtakethemiddleseat.Forhehadconfessedthatheperformedontheguitar,andweallwantedtositwherewecouldseeaswellaslisten.Hetunedtheinstrumentinaleisurelyway,pausingoften tocontinue theconversationwithmyparents,until at last, seeinghoweagerweallwere,hebegantoplay,andhismusicandstylewerestrangetous, forhehadno jigging tuneswith fantastic flights and flourishes somuchaffectedbyournativeguitarists.Itwasbeautifulbutseriousmusic.

Thencameanotherlongpauseandhetalkedagain,andsaidthepieceshehadbeen playing were composed by his chief favourite, Sarasate. He said thatSarasate had been one of the most famous guitarists in Spain, and hadcomposedagooddealofmusicfortheguitarbeforehehadgivenitupfortheviolin.AsaviolinisthewouldwinaEuropeanreputation,but inSpain theyweresorrythathehadabandonedthenationalinstrument.

Allhesaidwasinteresting,butwewantedmoreandmoreofhismusic,andheplayedlessandlessandatlongerintervals,andatlastheputtheguitardown,andturningtomyparents,saidwithasmile thathebeggedtobeexcused—thathecouldplaynomorefor thinking.Heowed it to them,hesaid, to tellthemwhathewasthinkingabout;theywouldthenknowhowmuchtheyhaddone for his pleasure that evening and how he appreciated it. He was, hecontinued,oneof a large family,veryunited, all livingwith theirparents athome;andinwinter,whichwascoldinhispartofSpain,theirhappiesttimewas in the eveningwhen theywouldgatherbefore a big fire of oak logs intheirsolar andpass the timewithbooksandconversationanda littlemusicandsinging.Naturally,sincehehadlefthiscountryyearsago,thethoughtofthat time and those evenings had occasionally been in hismind—a passingthoughtandmemory.Onthiseveningithadcomeinadifferentway,lesslike

amemorythanarevivalofthepast,sothatashesatthereamongus,hewasaboybackinSpainoncemore,sittingbythefirewithhisbrothersandsistersand parents.With that feeling in him he could not go on playing. And hethoughtitmoststrangethatsuchanexperienceshouldhavecometohimforthefirsttimeinthatplaceoutonthatgreatnakedpampa,sparselyinhabited,wherelifewassorough,soprimitive.

Andwhile he talkedwe all listened—how eagerly!—drinking in hiswords,especiallymymother, her eyes brightwith themoisture rising in them; andsheoftenafterwardsrecalledthateveningguest,whowasseennomorebyusbuthadleftanenduringimageinourhearts.

This is apictureofmymother as she appeared to allwhoknewher. Inmyindividualcasetherewasmore,asecretbondofunionbetweenus,sinceshebest understoodmy feeling forNature and sense of beauty, and recognizedthat in this Iwasnearest toher.Thus,besidesandabove the loveofmotherand son, we had a spiritual kinship, and this was so much to me thateverythingbeautiful insightorsound thataffectedmecameassociatedwithher tomymind. I have found this feelingmost perfectly expressed in somelinestotheSnowdropbyourlostpoet,Dolben.Iamindoubt,hewrote,

IfsummerbringsaflowersolovableOfsuchameditativerestfulness

Asthis,withallherrosesandcarnations.Themorninghardlystirstheirnoiselessbells;YetcouldIfancythattheywhispered"Home,"

Forallthingsgentle,allthingsbeautiful,Ihold,mymother,forapartofthee.

SohaveIheld.Allthingsbeautiful,butchieflyflowers.Herfeelingforthemwas little short of adoration.Her religiousmind appeared to regard themaslittlevoicelessmessengersfromtheAuthorofourbeingsandofNature,orasdivinesymbolsofaplaceandabeautybeyondourpowertoimagine.

IthinkitlikelythatwhenDolbenpennedthoselinestotheSnowdropitwasinhis mind that this was one of his mother's favourites. My mother had herfavouritestoo;nottherosesandcarnationsinourgardens,butmostlyamongthe wild flowers growing on the pampas— flowers which I never see inEngland.ButI remember them,and ifbysomestrangechanceIshouldfindmyselfoncemoreinthatdistantregion,Ishouldgooutinsearchofthem,andseeingthemagain,feelthatIwascommuningwithherspirit.

Thesememoriesofmymotherarearelieftomeinrecallingthatmelancholytime, the years of my youth that were wasted and worse, considering their

effectand that thevery thoughtof thatperiod,which is toothers thefullest,richest,andhappiestinlife,hasalwaysbeenpainfultome.YettoitIamnowobligedtoreturnforthespaceoftwoorthreepagestorelatehowIeventuallycameoutofit.

MycasewasnotpreciselylikethatofCooper'sCastaway,butratherlikethatofa fugitive fromhis shiponsome tropicalcoastwho,onswimming to theshore, finds himself in a mangrove swamp, waist-deep in mire, tangled inrope-likeroots,strainingfranticallytoescapehisdoom.

I have told howaftermy fifteenth anniversary,when I first began to reflectseriouslyonmyfuturelife,theideastillpersistedthatmyperpetualdelightinNaturewas nothingmore than a condition or phase ofmy child's and boy'smind,andwouldinevitablyfadeoutintime.Imighthaveguessedatanearlierdatethatthiswasadelusion,sincethefeelinghadgrowninstrengthwiththeyears,butitwasonlyafterItooktoreadingatthebeginningofmysixteenthyearthatIdiscoveredits truecharacter.OneofthebooksIreadthenforthefirsttimewasWhite'sSelborne,giventomebyanoldfriendofourfamily,amerchant inBuenosAyres,whohadbeenaccustomedtostayaweekor twowith us once a year when he took his holiday. He had been on a visit toEurope,andoneday,hetoldme,wheninLondonontheeveofhisdeparture,hewasinabookshop,andseeingthisbookonthecounterandglancingatapageor two, itoccurred tohimthat itwas just theright thingtogetfor thatbird-loving boy out on the pampas. I read and re-read it many times, fornothingsogoodofitskindhadevercometome,butitdidnotrevealtomethesecretofmyownfeelingforNature—thefeelingofwhichIwasbecomingmore andmore conscious,whichwas amystery tome, especially at certainmoments,when itwould comeuponmewith a sudden rush.Sopowerful itwas, sounaccountable, Iwasactuallyafraidof it,yet Iwouldgooutofmywaytoseekit.AtthehourofsunsetIwouldgoouthalfamileorsofromthehouse,andsittingonthedrygrasswithhandsclaspedroundmyknees,gazeatthewesternsky,waitingforittotakeme.AndIwouldaskmyself:Whatdoesitmean?Buttherewasnoanswertothatinanybookconcerningthe"lifeandconversationofanimals."Ifounditinotherworks:inBrown'sPhilosophy—anotheroftheancienttomesonourshelves—andinanoldvolumecontainingappreciationsoftheearlynineteenth-centurypoets;alsoinotherworks.Theydidnottellmeinsomanywordsthatitwasthemysticalfacultyinmewhichproducedthosestrangerushesorburstsoffeelingandliftedmeoutofmyselfatmoments;butwhatIfoundintheirwordswassufficienttoshowmethatthefeelingofdelightinNaturewasanenduringone,thatothershadknownit,andthatithadbeenasecretsourceofhappinessthroughouttheirlives.

This revelation, which in other circumstances would have made me

exceedinglyhappy,onlyaddedtomymiserywhen,asitappeared,Ihadonlyashort time to live. Nature could charm, she could enchant me, and herwordless messages to my soul were to me sweeter than honey and thehoneycomb,butshecouldnottakethestingandvictoryfromdeath,andIhadperforcetogoelsewhereforconsolation.Yetevenso, inmyworstdays,mydarkestyears,whenoccupiedwiththelaboriousbusinessofworkingoutmyown salvation with fear and trembling, with that spectre of death alwaysfollowingme,evensoIcouldnotridmymindofitsoldpassionanddelight.Therisingandsettingsun, thesightofa lucidblueskyaftercloudandrain,the longunheardfamiliarcall-noteofsomenewly-returnedmigrant, thefirstsightofsomeflowerinspring,wouldbringbacktheoldemotionandwouldbelikeasuddenrayofsunlightinadarkplace—amomentaryintensejoy,tobe succeeded by ineffable pain. Then there were times when these twoopposite feelingsmingled andwould be together inmymind for hours at atime,andthisoccurredoftenestduringtheautumnalmigration,whenthegreatwave of bird-life set northwards, and all throughMarch andApril the birdswerevisible in flock succeeding flock fromdawn todark, until the summervisitantswereallgone,tobesucceededinMaybythebirdsfromthefarsouth,flyingfromtheAntarcticwinter.

Thisannualspectaclehadalwaysbeenamovingone,but the feeling itnowproduced—this mingled feeling—was most powerful on still moonlightnights,whenIwouldsitorlieonmybedgazingoutontheprospect,earthandsky,initschangedmysteriousaspect.And,lyingthere,Iwouldlistenbythehourtothethree-syllablecall-noteoftheuplandorsolitaryplover,asthebirdswentpast,eachbirdalonefarupinthedimsky,winginghiswaytothenorth.Itwasastrangevigil Ikept, stirredbystrange thoughtsandfeelings, in thatmoonlit earth thatwas strange too, albeit familiar, for never before had thesenseof thesupernatural inNaturebeenstronger.And thebirdI listened to,thatsamesolitaryploverIhadknownandadmiredfrommyearliestyears,themost graceful of birds, beautiful to see and hear when it would spring upbeforemyhorsewith itsprolongedwildbubblingcryofalarmandgoawaywithswift,swallow-likeflight—whatintensityandgladnessoflifewasinit,whatawonderfulinheritedknowledgeinitsbrain,andwhataninexhaustiblevigourinitsslenderframetoenableittoperformthatannualdoublejourneyofupwardsoftenthousandmiles!Whatajoyitwouldbetoliveforagesinaworldof such fascinatingphenomena! If somegreatphysician,wisebeyondallothers,infallible,hadsaidtomethatallmydoctorshadbeenwrong,that,barringaccidents,Ihadyetfiftyyearstolive,orforty,oreventhirty,Ishouldhaveworshippedhimandwouldhavecountedmyself thehappiestbeingontheglobe,withsomanyautumnsandwintersandspringsandsummerstoseeyet.

WiththesesupernaturalmoonlightnightsIfinishthestoryof thatdarktime,albeitthedarknesshadnotyetgone;tohaverecalleditandrelateditbrieflyasIcouldonceinmylifeisenough.Letmenowgobacktothesimileofthelostwretchstrugglingforlifeinthemangroveswamp.Thefirstsenseofhavingsetmyfootonafirmerplaceinthatsloughoffetidslime,ofawholesomebreathofairblowntomefromoutsidetheshadowoftheblackabhorredforest,waswhenIbegantoexperienceintervalsofrelieffromphysicalpain,whenthesegrewmoreandmorefrequentandwouldextendtoentiredays,thentoweeks,andforatimeIwouldbecomeobliviousofmyprecariousstate.Iwasstillandforalongtimesubjecttoattacks,whenthepainwasintolerableandwaslikesteel driven into my heart, always followed by violent palpitations, whichwouldlastforhours.ButIfoundthatexerciseonfootorhorsebackmademenoworse, and I becamemore andmore venturesome, spendingmost ofmytimeoutofdoors,althoughoftentroubledwiththethoughtthatmypassionforNaturewas a hindrance tome, a turning aside from the difficultway I hadbeenstrivingtokeep.

Thenmyelderbrotherreturned,aneventofthegreatestimportanceinmylife;andashehadnotbeenexpectedsosoon,Iwasforaminuteindoubtthatthisstrangevisitorcouldbemybrother,sogreatlyhadhealteredinappearanceinthosefivelongyearsofabsence,whichhadseemedlikeanagetome.Hehadleftusasa smooth-facedyouth,withskin tanned tosuchadeepcolour thatwithhisdarkpiercingeyesandlongblackhairhehadlookedtomemorelikean Indian than a whiteman. Now his skinwaswhite, and he had grown abrown beard andmoustache. In disposition, too, he had grownmore genialandtolerant,butIsoondiscoveredthatincharacterhehadnotchanged.

As soonasanopportunitycamehebegan to interrogateandcross-questionmeastomymind—lifeandwhereIstood,andexpressedhimselfsurprisedtohear that I still held to the creed in which we had been reared. How, hedemanded,didIreconciletheseancientfabulousnotionswiththedoctrineofevolution?WhateffecthadDarwinproducedonme? Ihad toconfess that Ihadnotreadalineofhiswork,thatwiththeexceptionofDraper'sHistoryofCivilisation,whichhadcomebychanceinmyway,Ihadduringallthosefiveyearsreadnothingbut theoldbookswhichhadalwaysbeenonourshelves.HesaidheknewDraper'sHistory,and itwasnot thesortofbookforme toreadatpresent.Iwantedadifferenthistory,withanimalsaswellasmeninit.Hehadastoreofbookswithhim,andwouldlendmetheOriginofSpeciestobeginwith.

WhenIhadreadandreturnedthebook,andhewaseagertohearmyopinion,I said it had not hurt me in the least, since Darwin had to my mind onlysucceeded in disproving his own theory with his argument from artificial

selection.Hehimselfconfessedthatnonewspecieshadeverbeenproducedinthatway.

That, he said in reply,was the easy criticism that anyonewho came to thereadinginahostilespiritwouldmake.Theywouldfastenonthatapparentlyweak point and not paymuch attention to the fact that it is fairlymet andanswered in thebook.Whenhe first read thebook itconvincedhim;buthehadcometoitwithanopenmindandIwithaprejudicedmindonaccountofmy religious ideas. He advisedme to read it again, to read and consider itcarefullywiththesolepurposeofgettingatthetruth."Takeit,"hesaid,"andreaditagainintherightwayforyoutoreadit—asanaturalist."

He had been surprised that I, an ignorant boy or youth on the pampas, hadventuredtocriticisesuchawork.I,onmyside,hadbeenequallysurprisedathis quiet way of reasoning with me, with none of the old scornful spiritflamingout.Hewasgentlewithme,knowing that Ihadsufferedmuch,andwasnotfreeyet.

I read it again in theway he had counselled, and then refused to think anymore on the subject. I was sick of thinking. Like thewretchwho long hastosseduponthethornybedofpain,Ionlywantedtorepairmyvigourlostandbreatheandwalkagain.Tobeonhorseback,gallopingoverthegreenpampas,in sun andwind. For after all itwas only a reprieve, not a commutation ofsentence—though one of a kind unknown in the Courts, in which thecondemnedman is allowedoutonbail.Mypardonwasnot receiveduntil afew years later. I returned with a new wonderful zest to my old sports,shootingandfishing,andwouldspenddaysandweeksfromhome,sometimesstaying with old gaucho friends and former neighbours at their ranches,attendingcattle-markingsandpartings,dances,andothergatherings,andalsomadelongerexpeditionstothesouthernandwesternfrontiersoftheprovince,livingoutofdoorsformonthsatatime.

Despitemydeterminationtoputthequestionoff,mymind,orsub-consciousmind,likeadogwithabonewhichitrefusestodropindefianceofitsmaster'scommand,wentonrevolvingit.Itwenttobedandgotupwithme,andwaswithmethedaylong,andwheneverIhadastillinterval,whenIwouldpullupmyhorsetositmotionlesswatchingsomecreature,birdorbeastorsnake,orsaton thegroundporingover some insectoccupiedwith thebusinessof itslittlelife,Iwouldbecomeconsciousofthediscussionandargumentgoingon.AndeverycreatureIwatched,fromthegreatsoaringbirdcirclingintheskyatavastaltitudetothelittlelifeatmyfeet,wasbroughtintotheargument,andwas a type, representing a group marked by a family likeness not only infigureandcolouringandlanguage,butinmindaswell,inhabitsandthemosttrivialtraitsandtricksofgestureandsoon;theentiregroupinitsturnrelated

to another group, and to others, still further and further away, the likenessgrowinglessandless.Whatexplanationwaspossiblebut thatofcommunityofdescent?Howincredibleitappearedthatthishadnotbeenseenyearsago—yes,evenbeforeitwasdiscoveredthattheworldwasroundandwasoneofasystemofplanets revolving round the sun.All this starryknowledgewasoflittle or no importance compared to that of our relationship with all theinfinitelyvariousformsoflifethatsharetheearthwithus.Yetitwasnottillthe second half of the nineteenth century that this great, almost self-evidenttruthhadwonahearingintheworld!

Nodoubtthisisacommonexperience:nosoonerhastheinquirerbeendriventoacceptanewdoctrinethanittakescompletepossessionofhismind,andhasnotthentheappearanceofastrangeandunwelcomeguest,butratherthatofafamiliarfriendlyone,andislikealong-establishedhousemate.Isupposetheexplanation is that when we throw open the doors to the new importunatevisitor, it is virtually a ceremony, since the real event has been alreadyaccomplished,theguesthavingstoleninbysomeotherwayandmadehimselfathomeinthesub-consciousmind.InsensiblyandinevitablyIhadbecomeanevolutionist, albeit never wholly satisfiedwith natural selection as the onlyand sufficient explanation of the change in the forms of life. And again,insensiblyandinevitably,thenewdoctrinehasledtomodificationsoftheoldreligious ideas and eventually to anewand simplifiedphilosophyof life.Agood enough one so far as this life is concerned, but unhappily it takes noaccountofanother,asecondandperdurablelifewithoutchangeofpersonality.

This subject has been much in men's minds during the past two or threedreadful years, often reminding me of that shock I received as a boy offourteen at the old gaucho's bitter story of his soul; I have also again beenreminded of the theory inwhich that younger and greatly- loved brother ofmine was able to find comfort. He had become deeply religious, and aftermuch reading in Herbert Spencer and other modern philosophers andevolutionists,hetoldmehethoughtitwasidleforChristianstofightagainstthe argument of the materialists that the mind is a function of the brain.Undoubtedlyitwasthat,andourmentalfacultiesperishedwiththebrain;butwehadasoulthatwasimperishableaswell.Heknewit,whichmeantthathetoowas amystic, and beingwholly preoccupiedwith religion, hismysticalfacultyfounditsuseandexercisethere.Atallevents,hisnotionservedtolifthimoverhisdifficultiesand togethimoutofhismangroveswamp—awayperhapslessimpossiblethantheonerecentlypointedoutbyWilliamJames.

Thus I came out of the contest a loser, but as a compensation had theknowledge thatmyphysicianswere falseprophets; that, barring accidents, Icouldcountonthirty,forty,evenfiftyyearswiththeirsummersandautumns

andwinters.AndthatwasthelifeIdesired—thelifetheheartcanconceive—theearthlife.WhenIhearpeoplesaytheyhavenotfoundtheworldandlifeso agreeable or interesting as to be in love with it, or that they look withequanimity to itsend, Iamapt to think theyhaveneverbeenproperlyalivenorseenwithclearvisiontheworldtheythinksomeanlyof,oranythinginit—notabladeofgrass.OnlyIknowthatmineisanexceptionalcase,thatthevisibleworldistomemorebeautifulandinterestingthantomostpersons,thatthedelight I experienced inmy communingwithNaturedidnot pass away,leavingnothingbutarecollectionofvanishedhappinesstointensifyapresentpain.Thehappinesswasneverlost,butowingtothatfacultyIhavespokenof,hadacumulativeeffectonthemindandwasmineagain,sothatinmyworsttimes,whenIwascompelledtoexistshutoutfromNatureinLondonforlongperiods, sick and poor and friendless, I could yet always feel that it wasinfinitelybettertobethannottobe.

THEEND

LikedThisBook?

ForMoreFREEe-BooksvisitFreeditorial.com