IDLE DAYS IN PATAGONIA 
CHAPTER I. 
AT LAST, PATAGONIA ! 
TuzE wind had blown a gale all night, and I had 
been hourly expecting that the tumbling, storm- 
vexed old steamer, in which I had taken passage to 
the Rio Negro, would turn over once for all and 
settle down beneath that tremendous tumult of 
waters. For the groaning sound of its straining 
timbers, and the engine throbbing like an over- 
tasked human heart, had made the ship seem a 
living thing tome; and it was tired of the struggle, 
and under the tumult was peace. But at about 
three o’clock in the morning the wind began to 
moderate, and, taking off coat and boots, I threw 
myself into my bunk for a little sleep. 
Ours, it must be said, was a very curious boat, 
reported ancient and much damaged; long and 
narrow in shape, like a Viking’s ship, with the 
passengers’ cabins ranged like a row of small 
wooden cottages on the deck: it was as ugly 
to look at as it was said to be unsafe to voyage in. 
To make matters worse our captain, a man over 
B 
