- // Last, Patagonia ! 13 



close to tlic sea once more, wo agreed that oui- best 

 ]ilan would be, after taking a refreshing bath, to 

 follow the beach on to the month of the Rio Negro, 

 wliere there was a pilot's house. An hour's walk 

 brought us to the hill. Climbing to the top, what 

 was our dismay at beholding not the open blue 

 Atlantic we hiad so confidently expected to see, but 

 an ocean of barren yellow sand-hills, extending away 

 before us to where earth aud heaven mingled in 

 azure mist ! I, however, had no right to repine 

 now, as I had set out that morning desirous only of 

 drinking from that wild cup, whicli is both bitter 

 aud sweet to the taste. But I was certainly the 

 greatest sufferer that day, as I had insisted on 

 taking my large cloth poncho, and it proved a great 

 burden to carry ; then my feet had become so 

 swollen and painful, tlirough wearing heavy riding- 

 boots, that I was at last compelled to pull off these 

 impediments, 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 abandoned, 

 directino: our course so as to strike it three or four 

 miles in advance of the point wliere 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 



