54 IDLE DAYS IN PATAGONIA 



with a friend along the cliff when the majestic 

 bird appeared, and swooping downwards hovered 

 at a height of forty feet above our heads. My 

 companion raised his gun and fired, and we heard 

 the shot rattle loudly on the stiff quills of the 

 broad motionless wings. There is no doubt that 

 some of the shot entered its flesh, as it quickly 

 swept down over the edge of the cliff and disap- 

 peared from our sight. We got off our horses, 

 and crawling to the edge of the dreadful cliff 

 looked down, but could see nothing of the bird. 

 Remounting we rode on for a little over a mile, 

 until coming to the end of the cliff we went down 

 under it and galloped back over the narrow strip 

 of beach which appears at low tide. Arrived at 

 the spot where the bird had been lost we caught 

 sight of it once more, perched at the mouth of 

 a small cavity in the face of the rocky wall near 

 the summit, and looking at that height no bigger 

 than a buzzard. He was far beyond the reach of 

 shot, and safe, and if not fatally wounded, may 

 soar above that desolate coast, and fight with vul- 

 tures and gray eagles over the carcasses of 

 stranded fishes and seals for half a century to 

 come. 



Close to the mouth of the river there is a low 

 flat island, about half a mile in length, covered 

 in most part by a dense growth of coarse grass 

 and rushes. It is inhabited by a herd of swine; 

 and although these animals do not increase, they 

 have been able to maintain their existence for a 



