694 THE PAMPERO. 



level Pampas — inhabited by those bold and daring riders, the 

 Ganchos, and still wilder tribes of Indians — extending to the 

 base of the Andes, from its peculiar and interesting character 

 demands a separate description. 



THE PAMPERO. 



The pampero, dreaded on shore as well as at sea, blows 

 with tremendous force across this region. 



There is not a cloud in the sky. The night may be per- 

 fectly calm. Mosquitoes in vast numbers are busy with their 

 sharp stings. Suddenly a rustling in the woods may be heard 

 afar off. The noise increases into a dull roar. Clouds appear 

 above the horizon. Still all is calm. The mosquitoes vanish. 

 The dogs are howling in anticipation of danger. As if by 

 magic, dark masses of clouds cover the heavens like a curtain. 

 They are rent asunder, thunder roars, lightning flashes, and 

 the wind, like an army of wild beasts, rushes on. Down 

 comes the rain in torrents, beating furiously against the 

 liapless traveller exposed to its fury, or on the deck of the 

 ship. Flash succeeds flash ; the lightning in forked streaks 

 darting through the air. In an hour, perhaps, the heaviest 

 part of the storm may be over, but still the wind blows furi- 

 ously ; till at length it ceases, the clouds disappear, and the 

 air becomes delightfully fresh and cool. 



The craft on the rivers are, however, often caught in 

 these pamperos, and driven into the bush, or upset, when the 

 swift current carries down the best of swimmers to a watery 

 gTave. 



Houses, also, are frequently unroofed, orange groves stripped 

 of their golden fruit, and trees uprooted and hurled to the 

 ground. 



