214 RAMBLES AFTER SPORT. 



fisherman, a man myriad-seamed, of many winters, 

 hauled his halsa, on the beach and joined us. We talk 

 of Crusoe, or rather Selkirk, as a curious human being ; 

 but here was a man, like hundreds of others along 

 these shores, who lived in complete and total exile. He 

 told me he never saw anyone at all ; that occasionally 

 he went down to Coquimbo to sell a few fur-seal skins ; 

 but, carajo ! me gusta mucho la tranquilUdad — I like 

 the quiet. Well, there are worse places to ruralise in 

 than Chile, and no people love their country more than 

 the Chilenos. When the Peru railway fever broke out, 

 many hundreds of the Chileno peons were deported by 

 Mr. Meiggs to make the lines ; scores of them died from 

 vain longings for their native land. 



Federico and I returned to the boat by the shore, 

 while the old fisherman paddled back to his hut. We 

 found Jose and Juan awaiting our arrival, with their 

 mantos full of incos, sea-urchins, and clams. The lot 

 was all tumbled into the boat, and we pulled back to 

 where the old fellow had his hut. Near here were some 

 deserted ranchos, which had been occupied by fishermen 

 who come there periodically to catch and cure codfish. 

 Jose soon had the floor of one of them well cleaned, 

 and, strewing on the ground a layer of broom a foot 

 or so thick, we spread our 'ponchos on top, and had 

 as comfortable a billet as if we were at the Hotel 

 Frances at Coquimbo. 



It was now noon, and what a glorious day it was ! 

 The air was so clear that the other islands, some six 

 miles distant, were as distinctly visible as if they were 

 only half a mile off. Above, in the cerulean ether, four 

 or five huitres were sailing round and round in lazy 

 circles, never moving a feather, ^nd all around us the 



