CHAPTER I. 



THE PAMPAS OF PATAGONIA. 



PERHAPS the chief charm of Patagonia lies in its 

 absolute unlikeness to any other land north or south. 

 The plains, rising in vast terraces across the continent 

 from the low coasts on the east to the mountain ranges 

 on the west show grass, on all sides grass as far as the 

 eye can reach. Not green inviting grass, but yellowish, 

 harsh and prickly, which leaves spines sticking into the 

 fingers. All vegetation other than the grass is dwarf, 

 stunted by the unceasing winds which sweep over the 

 open country. Leagues upon leagues of califaU thorn, 

 no higher than a man's waist, broken now and again by 

 pebbly patches sparsely set with mate negra, innumer- 

 able pools and huge tracts of glacial detritus are all 

 undergrown and overflown and surrounded by this sea 

 of grass. ... It forms a very desolate and forbidding 

 landscape, yet it is one which lays a strong hold on the 

 imagination and the memory ; once you have ridden 

 across those lonely plains, you often feel a desire which 

 sometimes amounts to a craving to go back and ride 

 across them again. The feeling brings to mind the 

 story told in the ancient chronicles of Magellan, who 

 decoyed on board his ship a Tehuelche Indian, one of 

 that race whose " huge footsteps " the Spaniards found 

 and marvelled at when first they touched upon the 

 Patagonian sands. The prisoner was destined to be 

 presented as a gift to the King of Spain by his great 



H.C. B 



