AT LAST, PATAGONIA! 13 



the mouth of the Eio Negro, where there was a 

 pilot's house. An hour's walk brought us to 

 the hill. Climbing to the top, what was our dis- 

 may at beholding not the open blue Atlantic we 

 had so confidently expected to see, but an ocean of 

 barren yellow sand-hills, extending away before 

 us to where earth and heaven mingled in azure 

 mist ! I, however, had no right to repine now, as 

 I had set out that morning desirous only of drink- 

 ing from that wild cup, which is both bitter and 

 sweet to the taste. But I was certainly the great- 

 est sufferer that day, as I had insisted on taking 

 my large cloth poncho, and it proved a great bur- 

 den to carry ; then my feet had become so swollen 

 and painful, through wearing heavy riding boots, 

 that I was at last compelled to pull off these im- 

 pediments, and to travel barefooted on the hot 

 sand and gravel. 



Turning our backs on the hills, we started, 

 wearily enough, to seek the trail we had aban- 

 doned, directing our course so as to strike it 

 three or four miles in advance of the point where 

 we had turned aside. Escaping from the long 

 grass we again found gravelly, undulating plains, 

 with scattered dark-leafed bushes, and troops of 

 little singing and trilling birds. Armadilloes were 

 also seen, but now they scuttled across our path 

 with impunity, for we had no inclination to chase 

 them. It was near sunset when we struck the 

 path again; but although we had now been over 

 twelve hours walking in the heat, without tasting 



